The road is life?

What does it mean to say that “the road is life?” It’s a mantra I’ve had for over five years now. It's a well known quote from Jack Kerouac's On the Road, a book I fell in love with many years ago and still hold near and dear to my heart. I think that "The road is life" is a brief way of saying that life is a journey, a slow trip down a long road, with lots of stops, flat tires and beautiful scenery. In Kenya and in working within Kibera I embraced this mantra even more. And what a journey it was, full of so much joy and LOTS of tears. Yet, I cannot imagine a future without Kenya, without another trip to Kibera.

Some people, some places, some moments work their way into your bones, deep into the marrow, seeping out into your blood with every move you make and decision you take. Kibera, the girls of Binti Pamoja, the staff of CFK, Taylor and Liz, Hell’s Gate and so many other places and memories have made their way into my marrow. I’ve traveled a lot--- to Ecuador, Southeast Asia, Europe, Canada and Mexico-- but never have I come across a place and people that have left such a deep impression on me. I think that “home” is about community, not physical place and I have found a home in Kibera. If life is really a journey then I'm sure I'll make another pit stop there in a couple years. :)

For all our talk of underdeveloped countries and the need to build, to fix, and to develop, I think that we stand to learn a lot from communities like Kibera. So many visitors come to Kibera, stand by the side of the railroad, survey the trash, and people and lament their sad situation. These people are blind to the wealth around them. There is no poverty of community or human connections here. For all our western money, our conveniences, health, and “development”, we have forgotten what it is to depend on each other, to value our human capital and human relationships as the most essential and valuable resource we have. Talking with Toby, the founder of Shoe4Africa, he perfectly summed up the poverty of our Western individualism by saying that if you live in the U.S. and you have an internet connection and computer, you never actually have to leave your house or interact with others.

People in Kibera, and in urban settlements across the world are not bereft of motivation, talent or creativity. They lack financial opportunities and resources. Opportunities taken from them by corrupt governments, and long histories of oppression via the long and greedy arm of colonialism. This type of colonialism continues by way of international corporations, and the production of commodities created from the resources and the labor of those living in these developing nations. Unequal and inadequate compensation as well as a lack of employee ownership helps to maintain a cycle of poverty. But perhaps that's a blog entry for another time?

There's so much more I want to blog about Kenya and I may very well write a few more entries once I process things and have time to really think about the experience. For now, thanks for following along with my experience volunteering in Kenya this summer with Carolina for Kibera! I encourage you to check out their website (and donate!!).

Christmas in July!

My time here is coming to an end and I'm trying my best not to think about it. Salim's birthday was yesterday so Liz, Taylor and I decided to decorate the office, going with a "Christmas in July" themed party because the Nakumatt had a fantastic array of Christmas decorations.

Last night on our way to dinner and Harry Potter (!) Liz and I got stopped at a police check. Of course, the one time I'm not wearing my seatbelt because it's broken, the cop shines his light in on me and demands a bribe or else he'll give me a ticket. The norm in Kenya is to bribe police officers at check points like this, and continue on your merry way. This pisses me off. I refuse to contribute to a culture and system of corruption by bribing an officer of the law. The officer kept insisting that I pay a fine for breaking the law. "Bribing you is also breaking the law," I kept insisting. He was not a happy camper about me arguing with him, especially when I continued to tell him that I would be SO HAPPY to take a ticket and go to court in the morning. Eventually (after 20 minutes of angry arguing and 10 minutes after I had stuffed all my money in my bra when he turned around for a moment) he got fed up and let us go.

Note to Kenyan travelers: Most of the cops who stop you are not traffic officers, and cannot actually ticket you. You should, however, always wear your seatbelt to avoid situations like this. Bribing is almost NEVER necessary and really, you're just contributing to the cycle of corruption. This is especially backwards is you are a volunteer in Kenya, trying to create social change. ;)

Kibera in Pop Culture

If reading this blog has made you hungry for more glimpses into Kibera then I suggest you check out the following:

• "The Constant Gardener": All of the slum scenes were filmed in Kibera. The railroad, overhead shots of the house tops, and all of the children shouting "How are you?" are very classic snapshots of Kiberan life.
  
  
• "Kibera Kid": a movie filmed in Kibera, starring a local kid. In the vein of Slumdog Millionaire though the Kiberan actors haven't been nearly as well recognized or compensated as the stars of Slumdog.

• Kiberan art project by French artist, JR: He took beautiful photos of women in Kibera, blew them up and pasted them on the tops of homes, the sides of the hills and even on the train that runs through Kibera several times a day. The coolest part is that he spliced three of the photos, putting part on the hillside bordering the railroad tracks and the middle part on the train so that when the train passed by this specific area, the parts all lined up perfectly to display a whole face. I absolutely love art that turns everyday locations/materials into masterpieces and in addition, invests funds and resources into the local community.
  

I'll update this as I come across more projects.

Hell's Gate National Park

On July 2nd Liz and I headed to Hell’s Gate National Park for a much needed vacation and adventure. And oh, what an adventure it was. I need more time to collect my thoughts on the unplanned adventures that occurred but here’s the planned part of our adventure… I’ve included prices and travel specifics to help out fellow travelers.

Around 8AM Liz and I took a taxi from our house near Adam’s Arcade downtown to one of the matatu stages in River Road, one of the more dangerous streets in Nairobi. We bought a 160ksh ticket to Naivasha and napped in the matatu while waiting for it to fill up. After an hour we were finally off. The ride wasn’t too bad, maybe 1 and a half hours? Probably would have been even shorter if we hadn’t stopped every 5 minutes to pick up another traveler! When we arrived in Naivasha town around 11AM we bought another matatu ticket at a stage on Kenyatta Avenue to Fisherman’s Camp (60ksh, I think). Moi Avenue is littered with camping sites, boat companies and touristy cafes. After arriving at Fisherman’s Camp we paid for one night in a banda (1200 per person per night, camping is cheaper at around 300ish a night per person). Liz and I wandered around the site for a while after dropping off our bags at the banda. Fisherman’s Camp is lakeside, next to Lake Naivasha and it is absolutely beautiful. Just ignore the numerous signs posted around the camp warning campers of rogue tree branches. Apparently several people have been killed by Yellow Fever tree branches falling out of the sky!! We walked out on the dock and enjoyed the lake breeze, then glimpsed some Colobus monkeys hanging out by the café. The site was so peaceful and breezy—another wonderful respite from the smog and noise pollution of Nairobi.

Around noon we met up with a biking guide, and another couple, made up of a German gal, and French fellow (500ksh to rent a bike for a day, 500 ksh for the guide). Orfin, our guide, cracked up at us as we all tooled around the camp, attempting to find a decent bike that wasn’t on the verge of death or completely flat. Near impossible! Finally, we headed off to Hell’s Gate National Park, wheezing the entire way up the first hill out of the camp. The first 5 km was down the main road to the park entrance. We had to pay 2000ksh at the park entrance but it was well worth it because once inside the park we were blown away by the rock formations, and the fact that we were BIKING right next to giraffes, pumbas, and zebras! Being right next to the wild animals, physically pushing myself, and just enjoying the outdoors was just what I needed. Both Liz and I had been feeling pretty burnt out from working at CFK EVERY day of the week, for two weeks straight without a break.

We biked for a couple hours, stopping every 10 minutes or so check out wildlife or rock formations. Our guide was wonderful and in addition to talking about the animals, I had an interesting conversation with him about the flower industry around Naivasha but I’m saving that for a later post because it relates to the rest of our adventure that I’m omitting for now. After all that biking, we parked our bikes at a kind of base camp and proceeded on foot.

We hiked for a couple hours, through dry river beds, precariously balancing over water, through narrow gorges and under waterfalls. Hell’s Gate National Park was named by the Masaii for the geothermal activity around the area. The geothermal activity in the area has created random hot springs, easily identifiable by the bright green moss growing underneath running streams of water. At one point we came to Hell’s Kitchen, a wide gorge, with dozens of puddles dispersed over the ground. Some of the puddles are boiling hot. Locals come to the area with eggs, potatoes and other veggies, dropping them into the puddles for a few minutes to cook up a tasty meal, hence the name “Hell’s Kitchen.” Despite the smoking induced wheezing from the European couple (who we later ate dinner with), we made it up a mountain, to the look out point. As frustrating as my experience in Kibera has been and as much as I haven’t been able to accomplish, at least I can say that I scaled ONE mountain. :)

In total we biked around 30km that day (around 19 miles) for six hours, arriving back at the camp around dusk. On the way back to the camp, I had to swerve to avoid being hit by a matatu after the other riders in front of me braked all of a sudden. I survived that only to fall off my bike while waving to a little boy on the side of the road. I biked back to the camp with blood oozing down my knee, onto my shoes (ew! I know!). With no first aid kit in sight, our guide offered to treat my knee with some aloe vera. I politely passed. At least the scar is goin

g to look somewhat like the continent of Africa!

Admittedly, I’m becoming anxious about the amount of time I have left here. There’s so much to do, so much to learn, and so many people to spend more time with! I’m becoming really busy but will try to blog every few days as time is quickly running out and there are so many more things I want to share!

Much love!

Close to home.

One of the official, risk assessment questions that Cathrine asked when I was tested a couple weeks ago was whether or not I engaged in homosexual behavior. Cathrine told me that “yes” is not a common answer to that question. No surprise, as homosexuality is illegal in Kenya. This legal discrimination, the lack of a vocal social movement against it and, the prevalence of the issue in my work with CFK has really taken up a prominent place in the back of my mind lately. My brother is queer (hi lil’ brother!), and my two of my closest friends are queer (hi Angel and Tasios). It’s an issue that hits very close to home for me.

Liz and I had a very long and very delicious lunch at Khalif’s home a few Sundays ago. The excitement of eating omena (little fried sardines) could hardly match the conversation we had with Khalif about being queer in America. In Kenya two men, or two women holding hands is not gay--- it’s just a gesture of friendship. Khalif was awe struck to learn that if two men held hands for a prolonged period in the U.S. most people would probably peg them as a gay couple. He was also amazed to learn that Liz and I personally know a lot of queer people. Reminiscent of the kind of anti-gay sentiment that still runs rampant in the U.S., he talked about how the idea of gay couples makes him physically ill. “Someone can choose differently. Men in Kenya love women, that’s why HIV is such an issue. They chase multiple women because they love them so much,” he told us. But how would you know if there were gays in Kibera, I asked him. I mean, of course it appears that no one is gay, it’s illegal to be out! Why would you let your community know about your sexual preferences if it could get you killed?

As I was walking through Mashimoni with some of village coordinators they pulled me aside and pointed out a person in the distance. “She has male and female parts,” one of them whispered.” “The male part is functioning. She married another woman!” I think that they were more curious and unsure than anything. If gay relationships are rarely discussed then I imagine that trans and intersexed people and issues are almost completely unheard of.

Then last weekend I held a workshop on homosexuality with some of the older Binti girls. We talked about sexuality, Kenyan laws, and safe sex. I was unprepared for many of their answers. “How would you respond if a friend of yours told you that he or she was homosexual?” I asked them. “Kill herself,” one of the girls responded. As much as I can try to be a neutral participant and tell myself that her response wasn’t personal-- it was. A high percentage of suicides in the US are attempted by queer people. It's not about faceless statistics as people I know and love are included in that percentage. In response to that comment we talked about how, regardless of whether or not you believe that homosexuality is wrong, you can still treat people compassionately. The conversation took a turn for the better when we started talking about culture and how our hate and dislike of groups of people is not something we’re born with, it’s taught. (I think that this kind of questioning is the most beneficial thing that anthropology has contributed towards social justice movements.) At the end of the workshop we went around the discussion circle and shared one thing we’d learned. One of the girls said that she’d support a friend who came out to her because they already had to face so much discrimination and regardless of their sexuality, they are still a person that she knows and loved. One tiny seed of hope planted?

I left the workshop with that funny feeling you get in the back of throat when you’re on the verge of tears. In the US we’re fighting so hard for marriage equality and equal rights. For all the progress we’ve made, queers still face so much prejudice, and hate in America. Coming out to one’s family and friends is rarely an easy process. Staying out is a lifelong struggle. But can you imagine not even being allowed the opportunity to come out? It’s painful to think about how many individuals here are struggling with the idea that expressing their sexuality is “un-Kenyan” or unnatural.

Though I am admittedly biased I didn’t want them to come away believing that homosexuality is right so much as I wanted them to question their beliefs about it and to recognize that all people should be treated with compassion. I’m not going to start a revolution but I do believe that change begins slowly, with new and uneasy conversations like the one with Khalif or with the Binti girls. One step at a time.