Cultural context makes all the difference both in the classroom and on the volleyball court, which is where Joseph Lekadaa and I found ourselves yesterday afternoon having a conversation about how to treat people politely (and how this should be different than how people treat animals.) This is pretty much verbatim how the dialogue went:
Me: "Lekadaa, please come here."
Lekadaa: Looks at me briefly but no response...
Me: "Lekadaa, come."
Lekadaa: "Yes Madame?"
Me: "Lekadaa, are you supposed to throw rocks at goats or at girls?"
Lekadaa: "Sorry Madame."
Me: "Lekadaa, answer the question. Do you throw rocks only at goats or at girls?"
Lekadaa: (Awkward chuckle) "Only at goats Madame."
Me: "Alright Lekadaa, please do not throw stones at Ann. Show her respect."
Lekadaa: "OK, sorry Madame."
Me: "Thank you Lekadaa."
Culture Key: To herd obstinate goats, you throw small stones at them to get them moving. You should NOT throw stones at girls, even if they are obstinate and not moving.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Rendille Wedding Planner
If one were a Rendille wedding planner, one would have to be traditional, old, bossy, well informed in the ways of the traditions,and a Rendille elder. I'm none of those things, but from what I observed last weekend I have a general idea of what must be prepared for and how the time line should go.
8 am Saturday morning:
Get dressed in your warrior gear included fringed kanga, beaded necklaces and bracelets, headdress (not forgetting the feathers), red ocher painted on hair and face, and panga.
4 pm Saturday afternoon:
Paint and load up the groom's camels with all his possessions and pieces of construction materials to build his new house in the bride's goob. (The new husband will live with the clan of the wife for a period of time until the elders decide the couple should move back to the clan of the husband. For example, in this wedding, a man from Dubsahi moved from Dubsahi to his bride's clan of Salle.)
(A sail boat in the desert.)
4:45 pm Saturday afternoon:
The groom moves out with the camels and his family to begin walking to the bride's goob. The Abbas yell out instructions and tell the women to get moving while the Mommas follow behind singing the wedding chant, all the while with their ceremonial bell belts jingling around their waists.
The rest of Saturday afternoon:
Arrive at the bride's goob, make chai, and hang out with your buddies.
7 pm Saturday evening:
Start getting everyone together to begin the various wedding ceremonies.
8 pm Saturday evening:
The warriors of the groom's clan, only those of the wedding party or relations, gather in a large min in the goob of the bride. They begin chanting a special wedding chant and call the bride and all unmarried girls from her clan into the min in order to paint them with red ocher. Two at a time, beginning with the bride and her relations, the girls come in and have their irtiyyo (large beaded necklaces) painted with the animal fat and red ocher mixture. Say it's gross, but I think this actually smells quite nice.
8:30/9 pm Saturday evening:
The rest of the warriors and the ladies who have already been painted begin dancing. Traditional dances include much head bobbing and circular skipping. One warrior even attaches a small blinking Christmas light to his headdress, which adds to the general merriment of the party.
9:30/10 pm on Saturday evening:
The bride is called to slaughter a sheep at the entrance to her parent's house. This action is meant to symbolize her ability to take care of her husband. Immediately after the slaughter the bride will enter the min with her mother, cook and eat the sheep with the other women of their goob, and not exit the hut until the next day.
The rest of Saturday evening:
Warriors and ladies dance the night away.
6 am Sunday morning:
Chanting by the women of both clans and more sacrifices are supposed to take place, but someone has misplaced the warriors. They fell asleep somewhere after staying up all night, and no one can find them. As a result everyone kind of just sits around waiting for things to get moving.
7:30 am Sunday morning:
The warriors grace us with their presence and the ceremonies can finally begin. The Mommas on the groom's side begin the same chant from the previous day, recounting the virtues of the groom to his soon-to-be-wife.
(Watching the Mommas chant)
8 am Sunday morning:
A goat is slaughtered over a hole where the tirrim, "king post," of the couple's new min is to be built. The small bloody well is covered with stones to protect it from being walked over.
8:30 am Sunday morning:
Various other slaughters occur, and for the more wealthy family, even a young camel is killed. The chanting of the Mommas continues. A young goat is also tied behind the min of the bride as a gift for her mother. Once the goat is presented to the mother-of-the-bride, the elders will give the groom and his new M.O.B. new names to address each other by.
(Goat gift.)
9 am Sunday morning:
While the elders pray for the new couple (repeating something that sounds like, "Amen" over and over), some men make chai to feed the warriors for the rest of the day, and the Mommas continue to cater to the bride, who is still hiding in her parent's min. There is also more dancing! The style differs from the night before, however, and now the warriors take turns strutting out in front of the others, doing a sort of catwalk dance with hops thrown in.
(Warriors chanting: not actual words but sounds that, according to our students, "make us happy.")
(Line of hopping warriors stretching out to the left of the above group of warriors.)
9:30 am Sunday morning:
There are actually 2 weddings going on this morning, so we wander next door to another Saale village to see the marriage of the elder brother of Baicha, one of our Form 2 students. White people are good as wedding photographers, so we get set up for family photos of the Amiyos, which really, I don't mind at all.
(John Baicha on the right with his newly-wed brother.)
(Adding the Best Man in on the left with some sort of traditional skin bag.)
10 am Sunday morning:
Even MORE dancing! This time, all the warriors and unmarried girls join in, and massive mosh pit in formed with snaking Conga lines going around and around the center of the goob. Bells clinking, beads and feathers bobbing, feet skipping, and the celebration continues for the rest of the day.
(Jr. High dance: the girls on the left and the boys on the right.)
(Conga Line!)
(Notice the line formation and how the girls hold the hands of the warriors and stand outside of the line.)
(Best Man on the left, me, then John Baicha and his brother - interestingly wearing a white kanga as part of tradition)
8 am Saturday morning:
Get dressed in your warrior gear included fringed kanga, beaded necklaces and bracelets, headdress (not forgetting the feathers), red ocher painted on hair and face, and panga.
4 pm Saturday afternoon:
Paint and load up the groom's camels with all his possessions and pieces of construction materials to build his new house in the bride's goob. (The new husband will live with the clan of the wife for a period of time until the elders decide the couple should move back to the clan of the husband. For example, in this wedding, a man from Dubsahi moved from Dubsahi to his bride's clan of Salle.)
(A sail boat in the desert.)
4:45 pm Saturday afternoon:
The groom moves out with the camels and his family to begin walking to the bride's goob. The Abbas yell out instructions and tell the women to get moving while the Mommas follow behind singing the wedding chant, all the while with their ceremonial bell belts jingling around their waists.
The rest of Saturday afternoon:
Arrive at the bride's goob, make chai, and hang out with your buddies.
7 pm Saturday evening:
Start getting everyone together to begin the various wedding ceremonies.
8 pm Saturday evening:
The warriors of the groom's clan, only those of the wedding party or relations, gather in a large min in the goob of the bride. They begin chanting a special wedding chant and call the bride and all unmarried girls from her clan into the min in order to paint them with red ocher. Two at a time, beginning with the bride and her relations, the girls come in and have their irtiyyo (large beaded necklaces) painted with the animal fat and red ocher mixture. Say it's gross, but I think this actually smells quite nice.
8:30/9 pm Saturday evening:
The rest of the warriors and the ladies who have already been painted begin dancing. Traditional dances include much head bobbing and circular skipping. One warrior even attaches a small blinking Christmas light to his headdress, which adds to the general merriment of the party.
9:30/10 pm on Saturday evening:
The bride is called to slaughter a sheep at the entrance to her parent's house. This action is meant to symbolize her ability to take care of her husband. Immediately after the slaughter the bride will enter the min with her mother, cook and eat the sheep with the other women of their goob, and not exit the hut until the next day.
The rest of Saturday evening:
Warriors and ladies dance the night away.
6 am Sunday morning:
Chanting by the women of both clans and more sacrifices are supposed to take place, but someone has misplaced the warriors. They fell asleep somewhere after staying up all night, and no one can find them. As a result everyone kind of just sits around waiting for things to get moving.
7:30 am Sunday morning:
The warriors grace us with their presence and the ceremonies can finally begin. The Mommas on the groom's side begin the same chant from the previous day, recounting the virtues of the groom to his soon-to-be-wife.
(Watching the Mommas chant)8 am Sunday morning:
A goat is slaughtered over a hole where the tirrim, "king post," of the couple's new min is to be built. The small bloody well is covered with stones to protect it from being walked over.
8:30 am Sunday morning:
Various other slaughters occur, and for the more wealthy family, even a young camel is killed. The chanting of the Mommas continues. A young goat is also tied behind the min of the bride as a gift for her mother. Once the goat is presented to the mother-of-the-bride, the elders will give the groom and his new M.O.B. new names to address each other by.
(Goat gift.)9 am Sunday morning:
While the elders pray for the new couple (repeating something that sounds like, "Amen" over and over), some men make chai to feed the warriors for the rest of the day, and the Mommas continue to cater to the bride, who is still hiding in her parent's min. There is also more dancing! The style differs from the night before, however, and now the warriors take turns strutting out in front of the others, doing a sort of catwalk dance with hops thrown in.
(Warriors chanting: not actual words but sounds that, according to our students, "make us happy.")
(Line of hopping warriors stretching out to the left of the above group of warriors.)9:30 am Sunday morning:
There are actually 2 weddings going on this morning, so we wander next door to another Saale village to see the marriage of the elder brother of Baicha, one of our Form 2 students. White people are good as wedding photographers, so we get set up for family photos of the Amiyos, which really, I don't mind at all.
(John Baicha on the right with his newly-wed brother.)
(Adding the Best Man in on the left with some sort of traditional skin bag.)10 am Sunday morning:
Even MORE dancing! This time, all the warriors and unmarried girls join in, and massive mosh pit in formed with snaking Conga lines going around and around the center of the goob. Bells clinking, beads and feathers bobbing, feet skipping, and the celebration continues for the rest of the day.
(Jr. High dance: the girls on the left and the boys on the right.)
(Conga Line!)
(Notice the line formation and how the girls hold the hands of the warriors and stand outside of the line.)
(Best Man on the left, me, then John Baicha and his brother - interestingly wearing a white kanga as part of tradition)
Friday, June 11, 2010
"Snakes, I hate snakes."
The Rendille attribute various supernatural powers to specific clans. These powers, I'm afraid to say, are all negative; used primarily as a way to get revenge on the offending clan or person of another clan. For example, Chawle, my clan, is said to have the power to curse food. I've heard a story that there was a man once who bought a leg of sheep, and after his purchase he set it down for just for a moment to chat with a friend. As they were talking a huge crow came and flew off with the man's meat! The poor bird probably never knew what hit him; as soon as it landed several yards away, it bit into the meat and promptly keeled over, legs up.
Traditional Rendille believe that the clan of Rongumo has the power to control snakes. They will send snakes to harass or kill their enemies, so whenever there's a snake problem one must seriously reconsider that petty argument or goat you stole.
I don't believe a word of it, but the Rendille will swear on the curses. So, according to them, someone in Rongumo has been really upset lately.
A few weeks ago, Abaya Esymbasele found a baby puff adder hanging out on our back porch. Upon hearing banging, we opened the door and found him beating the thing dead with a broom. One down.
Then, at the beginning of the week, Mr. Abdey (ironically, a self-proclaimed conservationist) tracked a huge puff adder from just outside the gates of our school and bludgeoned it to death as it attempted to crawl into someone's home in town. 2 down. He brought it into our office in a plastic bag and simply said, "I caught a snake."
No, this is not a snake, Abdey. This is a demon viper whose presence in my office is highly unappreciated. Abdey laid it out on the concrete of our tennis court and it turned out to be at least a yard and a half long and looked as if it had recently swallowed an R.O.U.S.
The kids did a dissection of the thing, looked at its poison-filled fangs, and then skinned it. I bet you Abdey will duct-tape the skin to his wall, next to his petrified scorpion.
I also bet that someone in Rongumo is kicking themselves for not sending a bigger snake.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
"Is this real life?"
I wish I could access YouTube so I could link this to the video entitled, "David visits the Dentist." It's this hilarious video a father took of his 6 year old son high on painkillers after a trip to the dentist. Amongst other humorous comments and noises, one of the things David slurrs out is, "Is this real life?" as he looks cross-eyed at the video camera. And I must admit that I identify deeply with this blazed kindergartner.
Is this real life? Am I really a missionary living in the bush of Northern Kenya? Do I really eat a basic diet of rice, bread, and mutton? Do I really deal with 100 degree weather every day and praise the Lord when it hits 90? Am I really learning how to function in a different language? Do I really find it totally normal to walk around town and see half-naked women and warriors wearing fake flowers on their heads and fluorescent pink kikois? At what point did my life change from that of a college student's in Southern California to this?
It seems that I'm part of a trend now-a-days to go live/work abroad straight out of college. I've had lots of friends who have sent themselves off to Europe to work as an au-pair, or off to Asia to teach, or off to South America to do humanitarian work. But, as I've seen so far, these have all been temporary arrangements. 6 months to a year is the common time frame I hear, and it's mine as well. 12 months in Korr, Kenya teaching secondary students at a Christian school for poor Rendille nomads. Temporary contracting work with an incredible benefits package.
And then, when the adventure runs its course, you move on to the next thing.
At least that's how I've thought of it until now...
What if this weren't temporary? What if I didn't plan for "next" just at this moment? What if I'm called to stay at Tirrim Secondary for more than just by 12 months?
For all of my friends who have gone abroad to work or do missions, there's always been the understanding that you come home afterward and start real life as an adult with certain responsibilities. I'm not necessarily thinking of a 9-5 at the office, just something that brings in enough cash to invest and then looking to settle somewhere. It's cool to go explore the world while you're still young and not tied down, but eventually many of us think, "I'll end up back in such-and-such state, working as a such-and-such." Even to my previous mentality, that's real life.
What if, though, this, here and now, this adventure, is to be my real life? I would be perfectly happy if Kenya weren't just some brief period in my life, but a substantial part of it. To say, "I lived in Kenya for a little bit after college" is great, but to say, "I live in Korr, Kenya and teach the most beautiful people you'll ever meet, and they have changed my life forever..."
And so, as I reflect on what "real life" will be for me after December 2010, I'm trying to stay away from the fuzziness of preconceived notions and leave my life and heart open to divine direction. I admit that at times here, in Kenya, I feel that I'm floating out of my car-seat and that I only have 3 fingers, but I guess that's why I'm not ultimately in the driver's seat.
Is this real life? Am I really a missionary living in the bush of Northern Kenya? Do I really eat a basic diet of rice, bread, and mutton? Do I really deal with 100 degree weather every day and praise the Lord when it hits 90? Am I really learning how to function in a different language? Do I really find it totally normal to walk around town and see half-naked women and warriors wearing fake flowers on their heads and fluorescent pink kikois? At what point did my life change from that of a college student's in Southern California to this?
It seems that I'm part of a trend now-a-days to go live/work abroad straight out of college. I've had lots of friends who have sent themselves off to Europe to work as an au-pair, or off to Asia to teach, or off to South America to do humanitarian work. But, as I've seen so far, these have all been temporary arrangements. 6 months to a year is the common time frame I hear, and it's mine as well. 12 months in Korr, Kenya teaching secondary students at a Christian school for poor Rendille nomads. Temporary contracting work with an incredible benefits package.
And then, when the adventure runs its course, you move on to the next thing.
At least that's how I've thought of it until now...
What if this weren't temporary? What if I didn't plan for "next" just at this moment? What if I'm called to stay at Tirrim Secondary for more than just by 12 months?
For all of my friends who have gone abroad to work or do missions, there's always been the understanding that you come home afterward and start real life as an adult with certain responsibilities. I'm not necessarily thinking of a 9-5 at the office, just something that brings in enough cash to invest and then looking to settle somewhere. It's cool to go explore the world while you're still young and not tied down, but eventually many of us think, "I'll end up back in such-and-such state, working as a such-and-such." Even to my previous mentality, that's real life.
What if, though, this, here and now, this adventure, is to be my real life? I would be perfectly happy if Kenya weren't just some brief period in my life, but a substantial part of it. To say, "I lived in Kenya for a little bit after college" is great, but to say, "I live in Korr, Kenya and teach the most beautiful people you'll ever meet, and they have changed my life forever..."
And so, as I reflect on what "real life" will be for me after December 2010, I'm trying to stay away from the fuzziness of preconceived notions and leave my life and heart open to divine direction. I admit that at times here, in Kenya, I feel that I'm floating out of my car-seat and that I only have 3 fingers, but I guess that's why I'm not ultimately in the driver's seat.
"These are our ladies"
The girls and I went out to visit Goob Neebey on Tuesday, Kenyan National Independence Day. Basking in the novelty of a weekday without obligations, we headed out around 7 am, when the weather was still cool, to visit Abaya Bagajo and Abaya Esymbasele's homes at Neebey. Everybody warned us that it was this HUGE trek and that we probably should drive instead because white ladies might not be able to walk out that far. Psshhh. 45 minutes of signing, laughing, picture taking, and trail -marker building (which caused Abaya Bagajo to break into riotous laughter) later we arrived at Neebey. As Bagajo had been walking with us out, we picked up Abaya Esymbasele and headed to Bagajo's min first.
(Hiking out. Now that's a good tree.)
And that's when it happened; the moment where I felt totally loved and accepted in Rendille-land. As we passed some warriors, they naturally asked our Abayas who these white ladies were and how in heaven's name we survived the walk out into the bush. Without missing a beat, Esymbasele and Bagajo said, in Rendille, "These are our ladies - who we work for." That's right! "Our ladies." Though they probably come home and talk about the crazy things we do, and whine about how sometimes we forget to give them chai, at that moment they were proud to call us "our ladies" and I was proud to be called as such.
(We call it Mancala, they call it "Bolaa." Sitting outside Bagajo's min.)
Leaving those warriors staring behind us, we ran into one of the goob primary school teachers, a man who we've met briefly a few times and who also speaks English well enough to act as our translator. He was just about to send his camels out into the fora, and I was handed Bagajo's stick and told to go herd them. What am I supposed to do?!
(Attempting to herd the camels)
Nobody was a help as they were all laughing so hard at me chasing these things around the goob in no particular direction. Alicia joined in on the fun with Esymbasele's stick, and for some reason I was relieved of my duties. Their owner took control and sent them out to join the other camels, and the girls and I entered Bagajo's min.
We were greeted by a chaotic, American-esque, family-arriving-for-Christmas-scene. Bagajo's wife sat inside with his two children, 4 year old Kulaamo ("She who brings people together") and 1 year old Ilmaliyon ("Born in the afternoon"). At least a dozen other curious children piled into the hut as well, and we were immediately served chai.
(Ilamaliyon getting some love.)
The real miracle, however, was that Bagajo's kids actually liked us! To them we were no White Witches of the West but fantastic play things with cameras that would make fun flashes! Ilmaliyon is exactly like his father - personable and goofy while Kulaamo seems like her mother, observing the chaos around her with calm collection.
(Abaya Bagajo, Kulaamo, and Ilmaliyon)
Some 45 minutes later we went with Esymbasale to meet his kids; three precious little girls named Ndegeyey ("Of the plane" - she was probably born when the plan landed in town), Dukano (whose name I can't translate), and the 3-month old baby (whose name I've totally forgotten, but it means something like "bells.") Once again we were surprised by the girls' acceptance of us, and willingness to sit in our laps and even smile at us shyly. The kids look exactly like their father, with "indo wen" ("big eyes"), but they have their mom's ebony skin. Precious angels.
(Everyone piled into Esymbasele's min.)
Esymbasele proudly pointed out the kikoi we gave him and the microwave Loutjki (the missionary whose home we're living in now) gave him. What he does with a microwave 6 km away from an outlet is beyond me, but it sure does look impressive in the corner of his min. More pictures and cuddles later, we had to set off back home because it was about 10 am, and the weather was warming up.
(Abaya Esymbasle's beautiful wife and the baby!!)
(Suckers.)
Rarely do you go to a new place and find such warmth - a place where you feel it would be totally fine to show up unannounced. We found that in Goob Neebey, and can't wait to go back out with candies to spoil the kids, and (hopefully) better Rendille to communicate with "Our Abayas."
(The girls with Abayas and Ilmaliyon)
(Hiking out. Now that's a good tree.)
And that's when it happened; the moment where I felt totally loved and accepted in Rendille-land. As we passed some warriors, they naturally asked our Abayas who these white ladies were and how in heaven's name we survived the walk out into the bush. Without missing a beat, Esymbasele and Bagajo said, in Rendille, "These are our ladies - who we work for." That's right! "Our ladies." Though they probably come home and talk about the crazy things we do, and whine about how sometimes we forget to give them chai, at that moment they were proud to call us "our ladies" and I was proud to be called as such.
(We call it Mancala, they call it "Bolaa." Sitting outside Bagajo's min.)Leaving those warriors staring behind us, we ran into one of the goob primary school teachers, a man who we've met briefly a few times and who also speaks English well enough to act as our translator. He was just about to send his camels out into the fora, and I was handed Bagajo's stick and told to go herd them. What am I supposed to do?!
(Attempting to herd the camels)Nobody was a help as they were all laughing so hard at me chasing these things around the goob in no particular direction. Alicia joined in on the fun with Esymbasele's stick, and for some reason I was relieved of my duties. Their owner took control and sent them out to join the other camels, and the girls and I entered Bagajo's min.
We were greeted by a chaotic, American-esque, family-arriving-for-Christmas-scene. Bagajo's wife sat inside with his two children, 4 year old Kulaamo ("She who brings people together") and 1 year old Ilmaliyon ("Born in the afternoon"). At least a dozen other curious children piled into the hut as well, and we were immediately served chai.
(Ilamaliyon getting some love.)The real miracle, however, was that Bagajo's kids actually liked us! To them we were no White Witches of the West but fantastic play things with cameras that would make fun flashes! Ilmaliyon is exactly like his father - personable and goofy while Kulaamo seems like her mother, observing the chaos around her with calm collection.
(Abaya Bagajo, Kulaamo, and Ilmaliyon)Some 45 minutes later we went with Esymbasale to meet his kids; three precious little girls named Ndegeyey ("Of the plane" - she was probably born when the plan landed in town), Dukano (whose name I can't translate), and the 3-month old baby (whose name I've totally forgotten, but it means something like "bells.") Once again we were surprised by the girls' acceptance of us, and willingness to sit in our laps and even smile at us shyly. The kids look exactly like their father, with "indo wen" ("big eyes"), but they have their mom's ebony skin. Precious angels.
(Everyone piled into Esymbasele's min.)Esymbasele proudly pointed out the kikoi we gave him and the microwave Loutjki (the missionary whose home we're living in now) gave him. What he does with a microwave 6 km away from an outlet is beyond me, but it sure does look impressive in the corner of his min. More pictures and cuddles later, we had to set off back home because it was about 10 am, and the weather was warming up.
(Abaya Esymbasle's beautiful wife and the baby!!)
(Suckers.)Rarely do you go to a new place and find such warmth - a place where you feel it would be totally fine to show up unannounced. We found that in Goob Neebey, and can't wait to go back out with candies to spoil the kids, and (hopefully) better Rendille to communicate with "Our Abayas."
(The girls with Abayas and Ilmaliyon)
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