The road is life.

2012-01-27T15:52:00.002Z

"It is a curious emotion, this certain homesickness I have in mind. With Americans, it is a national trait, as native to us as the roller-coaster or the jukebox. It is no simple longing for the home town or country of our birth. The emotion is Janus-faced: we are torn between a nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange. As often as not, we are homesick most for the places we have never known."

-Carson McCullers

EvacuSpots in NOLA

2012-01-20T17:32:00.000Z

Art is political. Art has purpose. Art saves lives?

Never more so than with Evacuteer.org coordinated EvacuSpots, an innovative new public art installation project in New Orleans that will use public art pieces to mark evacuatory pick-up points around the city.

This is such a perfect marriage of artistic expression and public good---it makes my disaster-preparedness-loving heart swell.

Yarn Bombs in Cape Town

2011-08-31T06:50:00.000+01:00

On my last wander in the mother city, I happened across a street filled with yarn bombs. My delight was immeasurable.

Here's a great NYT article on the phenomenon of yarn bombing.

Shark Infested Waters

2011-08-30T21:49:00.011+01:00

I did not see this happen but I've probably seen its cousin.

I took a break from art huntin' and went on a few touristy travels. Mainly, to the beautiful beautiful town of Hermanus where I could safely wander alone at night and where I spotted approximately 90 trillion Southern Right whales engaging in nautical gymnastics.

I also trekked the Cape peninsula where I came across precious little surfing penguins. Of note: I nearly hit an ostrich while cycling around the Cape of Good Hope Nature Reserve.

Throughout all of these coastal trips, I kept thinking "JESUS, do you animals not realize that you're piddling around in SHARK INFESTED WATERS??" Seriously, great white sharks everywhere. I had numerous dreams about them swimming into little sea pools and eating me alive.

The braai of human kindness

2011-08-30T20:55:00.004+01:00

After almost being mugged one of my first few days in Cape Town, I began to feel the itsiest inkling of hate for Cape Town. And, I felt unsafe. How the hell was I supposed to do what I needed to do when it was so obviously a safety issue?

Within just a few hours of sharing my frustration with my incredible friends, Angel and Anna, who also happen to be international queer activists, they trumpeted the rainbow horn and goddamnit, everyone and their queer South African mother began Facebooking me, calling me, sending carrier pigeons my way to see how they could help or if I'd like to hang out.

Berne, the director of Engender, invited me to a Cape Cultural Collective performance. The collective is comprised of artists and musicians who work within a creative sphere to work through socio economic issues. The performance was just lovely. Hanging out at neighborhood bar with all of the artists afterwards was a definite trip highlight.

The next night, the owner of the hostel I was staying at invited me and a couple other guests to a family braai (bbq) where I enjoyed another slightly tipsy evening in the company of kind, interesting people.

I'm beginning to understand that I am a horrible tourist. I do not enjoy wandering around to see tourist sights. I do not want to stand in line for 4 hours to get a ticket for something (unless it's a Bob Dylan concert or a Cutest Baby in America competition) and I sure as hell do not want my photo taken and then cheesily photoshopped onto a fake background.

While sitting in Archbishop Tutu's church reading a newspaper, I serendipitously came across this quote by Bernard George Shaw, "A perpetual holiday is a good working definition of Hell." Yes. Yes, it is.

But, I am content to be a tourist among niche communities. That I can do. There is something special about the way in which the tendrils of community spread out wide over the world and unexpectedly grasp you when you're feeling alone and down.

JR in Cape Town

2011-08-23T17:15:00.001+01:00

JR, a French street artist who recently won a TED prize, was one of the artists who inspired me to apply for this grant in the first place. I first came across his work and mentioned it on this blog while working in Kibera during the summer of 2009.

The manner in which he had taken incredibly expressive photos of local women and worked them into the slum environment creatively addressed the issue of how to empower people to begin to exercise ownership over their built environment. Beautiful and activist!

One of the many JR prints I've seen thus far.

JR has plastered works up all over the world. I had heard that he had done some work in Cape Town. for his Inside Out Project, but didn't expect to actually find any. Lucky for me, I've been running into it just about everywhere!

Check out his TED talk here.

TIA

2011-08-23T14:11:00.003+01:00

Well, I was almost robbed today.

I'm rattled and frustrated, but physically okay. Today I moved to Woodstock, which is a slightly sketchy area of town. But, it's also where all of the incredible street art is and where the creative community lives. This always seems to be true; that the more rundown an area is, the more street art there is to be found.

I decided to go check out some alternative galleries that people have recommended over the past few days. On the way back, I glimpsed an especially detailed mural down a perfectly decent looking street and headed towards it to take a photo. Within 5 seconds of having taken the photo, a guy came running up behind me and tried to snatch the camera out of my hand. He didn't manage to grab it and kept running past me. After I screeched at him and then burst into tears, an older couple on the street walked up to me and reminded me to be extra careful in this part of town.

And, it's true. I'd let down my guard. I'd forgotten TIA--- this is Africa. TIA is the acronym that people use to describe the kind of mindset you need to cultivate to remain sane in Africa. TIA means that you should prepare to be robbed at some point. TIA means that if you tell someone to meet you at 3pm, they may show up at 7pm or not at all. TIA means that if you are white AND female, you are vulnerable and therefore, subject to catcalls, ass grabbing and overt attention.

It's frustrating, but it is what it is. You have to accept those norms and prepare for them so that you can appreciate everything else that this incredible place has to offer.

It sounds like there are some local CouchSurfers interested in exploring with me so hopefully, having an additional person with me will amp up safety. I'm taking a break for today but fully plan on exploring some more tomorrow.

Here's to a better day tomorrow!

The Butcher Boys

2011-08-20T21:30:00.002+01:00

Made it to Cape Town safe and tired but not too tired to hit the ground running. First stop was the National Gallery of South Africa where I fell in love with the "The Butcher Boys" by Jane Alexander. At first glance, I thought for sure that it was a living installation piece. Aren't the poses incredibly humanistic for such strange looking creatures? They also reminded me of the blind monster from Pan's Labyrinth.

And yes, those brutes are indeed political art; Alexander created them as a visual representation of the dehumanizing force of apartheid.

Taken

2011-08-18T22:02:00.003+01:00

This is not a good movie to watch before you hop a plane to South Africa where you will be traveling alone.

Bye, Ireland. It's been swell.

Dear readers, I've got a backlog of posts to share with you all. Hopefully I'll have a productive plane ride and unload 'em when I'm recovering on the ground.

The Falls is burning.

2011-08-09T19:36:00.001+01:00

London isn’t the only UK city smoldering this evening.

On my way back from a lovely day trip at Giant’s Causeway, the bus I was on passed a mountain of tinder and flags at the beginning of Lower Falls Rd in West Belfast. Thinking the worst, I interpreted the mountain as a menacing snub planted by Irish Loyalists eager to start a fight. I figured that the night would end in sectarian violence.

Not quite. I walked back that way this morning to check it out and take a few photos. Turns out that the Ulster mountain was actually a mock British funeral pyre built and lit by drunk Republicans looking to memorialize the 30^th anniversary of Republican internment and hunger strikes.

Least you think that graffiti is not telling nor an important form of public discourse, know that protestors succeeded in tagging "Free Marian Price Now" in at least 20 different areas throughout West Belfast in just a day. This is in addition to the ever present "Smash Maghaberry" graffiti. Maghaberry is the prison where a number of Republican prisoners died and where a few of them, Marian Price included, remain. In the context of the 30th anniversary of Republican imprisonment and hunger strikes, this is meaningful. It's also part of the public and on-going struggle to get the EU to recognize the dead and still imprisoned as POWs. Recognizing Republican prisoners as POWs would legitimize the Republican cause in a manner previously unknown.

Those tags were also present near another fire set smack dab next to a pedestrian entrance in the “Peace” Wall which separates the Loyalist and Republican neighborhoods. Though you can’t really see them, there are a couple drunk fellows lolling around next to that bonfire.

Few local newspapers and stations have reported on the unrest, but while eating lunch I overheard a brief radio blip that explained that there were altercations between police and protestors, with a few petrol bombs thrown.

The Lonely

2011-07-29T22:40:00.002+01:00

“Spells of acute loneliness are an essential part of travel. Loneliness makes things happen.”

– Jonathan Raban

(via Candy Chang)

I thought that I might keep this blog real professional and only write long winded and arrogant entries about the various exhibits and performances I'll be seeing.

But, let's be real.

Yes, I applied for this travel grant because I wanted to go adventuring and to explore how people creatively cope with and mediate conflict. But on a more personal level, I also wanted to see if I could learn to be alone for an extended period of time.

Maybe that sounds stupid, but it's real and I don't know how the hell to do it. Sure, I can sit in my room by myself for a couple hours (or days) at a time if I want. And, I've done that before. I eventually get antsy. I find something to do, someone to be with. Then, I knew that I could call up a friend or a family member or wander out to a public area where someone I know would be able to offer support.

That does not exist when one is traveling alone. There's Facebook, Skype and Google+ but that's certainly not the same as physically being with someone you know and love and can share regular experiences with. While traveling alone, I cannot spontaneously show up at my best friend's apartment when I am upset, and know that she will listen to me cry and let me sleep on her too-small couch. A hypothetical situation, of course...

So, here I (willingly) am. I am uncomfortable. I am socially alone and often, physically alone. And, I think that I might just be ready to make friends with the lonely, if not with some complete strangers.

Fragments

2011-07-29T22:05:00.001+01:00

I am the not the Belle of Belfast, but I am here at last. I’m pretty in love with Ireland. Minus the damn cold. Isn’t it supposed to be summer?

Today, I trekked to Falls Rd in West Belfast, which is notably the Catholic/Sinn Fein/IRA part of divided Belfast. Nearly all of the events for the most excellent art festival I’m here for will be there. My INFJ psychic powers did not fail me today (as they did yesterday when I accidentally ended up by the Titanic monument while trying to find Falls Rd) and I actually located the reception area for the “Fragments” exhibit opening. At the opening, the Mayor and former Senator (x2, a power husband/wife duo if there ever was one) for Berkeley, CA gave long, rambling speeches about what a hippy, progressive place Berkeley. Berzerkely, we know! Who and why they were invited, goodness only knows.

The “Fragments” exhibit was…interesting. It was another piece of textual installation art composed of painstakingly hand painted excerpts from letters written by IRA hunger strikers. Not necessarily an aesthetically moving piece but pretty zen in concept as it took the artist, Shane Cullen, over 4 years to create it. He explains that the method and attention to detail are akin to the physical commitment and toil that the hunger strikers experienced. He also claims that his work is apolitical. I mean, really? Even if we're willing to discount the subject matter, it’s art; art is political.

From the few events I’ve attended and what I’ve read about August Feile, I’m beginning to find that although the festival claims to be about bridging the divide, it definitely favors legitimization of the IRA’s political actions back in the day. This isn’t good or bad---just interesting.

Commercialization of Graffiti

2011-06-28T15:15:00.000+01:00

Interesting article on the graffiti exhibit cancellation at the Brooklyn Museum and the increasing commercialization of graffiti as an art form. Definitely don't buy the "it's the economic climate" excuse.

Warphabet

2011-06-26T14:13:00.000+01:00

e spent four hot hours wandering around the UN border and Ledra Street yesterday. At the end of Ledra Street, near one of the UN checkpoints, we discovered a temporary exhibit by Viktor Koen. He's a graphic designer who studied in Israel and has produced graphic illustrations for just about every well known publication anywhere. Warphabet, the exhibit that we saw, seems to be in the same steampunk vein as his other work.

Though disquieting, there's something elegant about the way in which he's taken the machinery of war and transformed it into the benign everyday alphabet. In an Anth class I took a couple years ago, we spent hours discussing the banality of evil. And, it's true. Evil and war are boring. Which isn't to downplay the tragedy or effects of either. The fact is that the processes and people behind war and seemingly removed from the visible violence are bureaucratic and surprisingly undramatic. In a country where civil war has become normative and yes, banal, Koen's exhibit is fitting.

The entire Warphabet can be found here, courtesy of William. Be sure to maximize individual letters to take in all of the nitty gritty details.

Graffiti Appetizer

2011-06-25T08:02:00.000+01:00

William and I arrived somewhat groggily in Nicosia early Thursday morning in time to hear the call for prayers on the Turkish side. We seem to have conquered jetlag though we're still trying to find our physical bearings.

Promise that there's a real blog entry to come. In the meantime, here's a Cypriot graffiti appetizer to tide you over.

Loizias Lore

2011-06-24T18:33:00.000+01:00

Today, while walking to Ledra Street from the apartment, my dad turned to a nearby street sign and thwacked it. He explained that our grandfather (Grandpa Panyiotis) served under the general for which the street is named and that the general had been good friends with the family.

Apparently, grandpa was a resistance fighter during the Cypriot struggle for independence from the British in the 1950’s. He left my grandma Anna for over a year and went into hiding with the EOKA. Before he left, he had the gall to knock up grandma Anna who promptly became severely pregnant with my Dad and his twin brother, Louise. Months passed and as pregnant women are wont to do, Anna went into labor. Somehow, other EOKA fighters got word to my grandpa that Anna was in labor. To avoid capture by the British, Grandpa Panyiotis, the King of Mediterranean Machismo, dressed up as a woman and snuck out of the EOKA bunker to visit his laboring wife.

We'll be heading out of Nicosia, towards the eastern part of the UN controlled border to visit his grave in a couple days.

The Magical Murder Mystery Tour

2011-06-16T06:07:00.005+01:00

Well, dear reader, I'm back with more free money and three months worth of wanderin' in Cyprus, N Ireland and S Africa. This time around, the plan is to explore and document street art in conflict communities.
The general response to this plan has been something along the lines of, "Ah?" or "Interesting...and, what will you do with that when you return?" As an Anthropology major I may not be employable, but I have been well prepped in the art of snappy retorts to such questions. However, I do believe that my favorite reaction was as follows:

"LOIZIAS, the point of free money is to go to fun places, not get kidnapped and murdered places which I realize is fun to you."

-Laurel Holden

She has also lovingly referred to this trip as my "magical murder mystery tour". Hardly. In any case, you can stay tuned to my whereabouts, and (mis)adventures here.

Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go.

2010-05-08T02:52:00.014+01:00

Around this time last year, I was preparing to leave for Kenya. Lately, I've been incredibly nostalgic about my experience there. Missing the people, and reflecting on how my time in Kenya changed me, how it influenced my thoughts on aid, and the world. And oh boy, how do I even begin to count the ways, to explain how working with the girls in Kibera, and living in Africa has changed me for the better? Well, I've got a start. Here are a couple thoughts on doing any kind of aid/volunteer work....

1. Take your experience home with you and do something with it. Chances are you'll be a drain on the community you worked with, and not as productive as you'd have liked to have been. So, take your experience home with you, and do something with the more accessible resources you have there.

While I was in Kibera, teaching photography to the Binti girls, Liz and I hatched this harebrained idea to create an outdoor, nighttime and illuminated "lightbox" exhibit using the girls' photography. Nine months of difficult, frustrating work later, I made it happen (it's my baby!). It was a huge success, and more people in the US now know 1) how amazing the Binti girls are but also that, 2) people living in poverty are strong, capable and talented.

2. Good Intentions are NOT enough. Can I say this enough? No, never. More than anything my experience with CFK, and my experience with Haiti-related relief work this past semester has taught me that good intentions in the aid world are not enough for affected communities. Right now the aid world is experiencing this tremendous overhaul, reminiscent of the corporate responsibility overhaul that's swept through the business world in the past decade. More and more people are exploring aid efforts, looking at issues such as program effectiveness, the role of "disaster porn" in donor campaigns, and how to give well when disaster hits.

That's what I've got for now. More later, perhaps?

I'm staying domestic this summer. Mostly, because I LOVE the 4th of July. I'm serious! Celebrating the 4th is not quite the same while in-flight to Thailand, or in Nairobi with a bunch of expats. I'll miss the excitement of travel but am eager to learn more at my disaster planning/management internship, and to live a well seasoned southern summer.

Will I update this blog this summer? Maybe. After all, the road isn't always an unpaved path in Malaysia, or a smoggy traffic filled road in downtown Nairobi. The road is also that secret bike path to Carrboro....

The road is life?

2009-08-07T22:37:00.017+01:00

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!

2009-07-23T08:22:00.009+01:00

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.

Kibera in Pop Culture

2009-07-19T10:06:00.006+01:00

If reading this blog has left 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

2009-07-12T11:03:00.022+01:00

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.

2009-07-06T12:26:00.006+01:00

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.

In their own words.

2009-06-28T11:57:00.007+01:00

This is a short clip of Judy and Cha Cha goofing off on our way to an outreach event we had in Laini Saba about two weeks ago.

Yesterday, I taught the first creative writing workshop with the Binti Pamoja core group. We read Maya Angelou's well known poem, "Phenomenal Woman," and talked about what makes them phenomenal, strong young women. With some additional instruction, they wrote their own poems. Here's one of the poems they wrote:

I am an African Woman

I feel strong with the life of Kibera
the beauty of this world.
The love that I have for all of my surroundings.
I appreciate my self well whether you hate me or love me.
The sun that shines I feel very nice.
I am an African woman God loves me.

I am beautiful the gift from God
The way I walk I smile makes me happy
Many people in this world like the way I behave,
chat, with others, and how I feel about myself.
All the time as I look at myself at the mirror I feel good.
I am an Africa woman I feel proud of myself.

I call myself an African woman cause of my
complexion.
I am beautiful like the rose flower
I rise up like an African woman
who smiles everyday even if it is a sad moment
I am an African woman, love me the way I am.

There is no need for you to hate me
Show me some respect as I show you
Even if you annoy me I still continue with
The journey of my life
I am an African woman. Don’t treat me like an animal.

The pot that I sometimes carry on my head and
The child on my back doesn’t mean I don’t have
My rights to be loved, respected and also to have freedom
I have a memory of the year two thousand and eight.
During the post election violence that took place
In Kenya. Young women were raped, kidnapped, and also displaced
I felt like I was an animal.

The have the beauty of stars.
The love of God
The encouragements that I get
From my friends and my parents
I am an African woman appreciate me
The way I am.

Written by Hilda, Salma, Valarie, Everlyne, Shekila

I'm HIV negative. What's your status?

2009-06-23T06:50:00.006+01:00

Today Catherine, one of the new VCT counselors, tested me for HIV. After eating lunch with a few of the peer educators we wandered into her office. We began chatting about international differences in HIV testing procedures and, eventually, whether or not I had been tested recently. After an itsy bitsy amount of positive peer pressure (yes, positive peer pressure exists!) from the peer educators, Catherine kicked them out and began the counseling process. Though I know my status, I wanted to go through the process to understand what it’s like to be tested for HIV in Kibera. I also need first hand knowledge for one of the VCT pamphlets we’re working on.

First, Catherine made me put on a serious face because we were both giggling. We began the session by having a casual conversation about the ways in which HIV is transmitted. (I think I aced all her questions…) The whole time she reassured me that the whole session would be very private and very confidential—yes, I’m willing breaching that promised confidentiality now. We continued discussing risk factors and ways I cam reduce my risk of transmission of HIV. Then, she introduced the HIV test. They actually have three different tests that they use, all of which use a few drops of blood from a simple finger prick. Typically one test is given and if you test HIV positive then they use another test to confirm the results. A third test is used as a “tie breaker” if the two previous tests are contradictory. After describing the testing procedure to a client, the VCT counselor also visually shows the client what HIV positive and HIV negative results will look like on the testing apparatus. Catherine then pricked my finger, took a sample and put it on the testing paper.

While we waited for the test to react with the added solution, Catherine discussed the kinds of steps and precautions I would need to take if I did test positive. I was elated to hear her repeat that testing HIV positive isn’t a death sentence; if I tested positive I would need to maintain a positive attitude towards life, as well. We often forget that trying to mentally process and deal with the overwhelming feelings that hit when you learn that you are positive are often more crippling than the actual virus!

Ten minutes later, Catherine told me that I could look at my test results and then, let her see. Though I know my status, I was still incredibly nervous. Knowing your status is important but it’s also terrifying because there’s the possibility that in that moment of disclosure, your life will change forever. Because so much of the medical field is based on the power and authority of doctors and other professionals to diagnose and cure our physical or mental ailments it’s empowering to actually be the first individual to see, to know and to understand your own status. It’s also important because as an HIV positive individual, you must accept your status and begin learning how to maintain your own health.

In total, the testing and counseling took maybe 20 minutes- about the time it takes for a rapid saliva test in the U.S.. Catherine was really interested to hear that the saliva tests are popular in the U.S. They’re fairly expensive here but would be useful for people who won’t get tested because they’re afraid of needles. Every few minutes or so I broke through my ”confused client” façade to ask her questions about her experiences as a VCT counselor. She tests around 10-15 clients a week. In the period of a week, anywhere between 1-3 people at the VCT office here at CFK test HIV positive. Compared to the last place she worked at where maybe three people tested positive in a month, this is a pretty high number. When clients do test positive, the VCT counselors refer them to a medical facility near the client that can provide free ARVs. There are also a number of support groups in Kibera for people who are HIV positive.

So, much love to all of you, and if you don't know your status yet, get your butt over to a clinic (in the US, in Kenya, wherever!). The test is almost always free and ALWAYS easy- you have no excuses!

The Ethics of Photography

2009-06-17T07:25:00.007+01:00

Photography is one of my oldest passions. As a wee sixth grader at Standley Middle School, I can recall the sensations, the joy, and the awe that ran through me when I first picked up a camera and later, developed my own photos in our school darkroom. Thank you, San Diego, California, for being progressive enough to have active photography programs and darkrooms in your middle schools! Being able to continue photography and darkroom work when I came to NC for high school was a boon. And now, being able to pass on my love of photography to girls in Kibera is probably one of biggest blessings I’ve come across.

Film photography—the whole long, tedious, and often frustrating process of it—is a meditative experience for me. Not that quick, easy digital nonsense I turn to when I’m feeling lazy. Snapping a photo at just the right moment---your cousins battling each other in a water fight, the stray frog that found itself on your bedroom wall--- these captured moments are maybe about your skills or talent but also about the spontaneity of life, and about seeing the world in a new way. It’s Zen, focusing on the details, the moments in life we’d miss otherwise. Film photography is definitely more expensive and time consuming than digital. I’m not fond of the expense but I like that I cannot immediately see the results, that I must be patient, and wait, that I must consciously frame a shot before snapping away. In America I think that we like to focus on immediate results, and on instant satisfaction. I hold onto film photography as a respite from our culture of impatience and our focus on results.

That was a long personal side note! It came up because I taught the first photography workshop to Binti girls last Saturday. We had eleven cameras with about 5 girls to each camera. In between blinding each other with the camera flashes, I think that some of the girls actually learned a good deal about basic photography skills and camera parts. I tried to use metaphors and descriptions that children of any age can understand i.e, the shutter works like an eyelid/eye, allowing light in and out. If the number of fights the girls got in over the cameras was any representation of how enthusiastic they were, then I’d say that the girls were thrilled. We brainstormed, and voted on the theme of “Problems and challenges faced by girls in Kibera.” On Sunday, on our way to the community outreach in Laini saba, I saw a lot of the girls pausing along the railroad tracks to take photos. Hopefully, that stern lecture on composition and field of view came in handy!

One Binti girl in particular, Judith, is already an impressive photographer. She quickly absorbed the information I taught her, and does a wonderful job of helping the other girls when they become confused. Every chance she gets she borrows my digital camera and snaps shots left and right. I wonder if there are any contests in which we can try to enter her photos? Hmmm…

This brings me to another debate I’ve been struggling with lately. Typically I’m an absolute shutterbug, taking photos left and right, only pausing to reload film. Other than the roll I took on safari, I’ve maybe snapped 20 photos around Kibera. For the first couple weeks I told myself that I was trying to become acclimated, and trying to create personal bonds with the people. To an extent that was true. Taking photos usually removes you from a scene, and from deep observation or interaction. But after talking with Khalif, an amazing PYE here, I realized that I’m not taking many photos here because I don’t want to exploit this community that has trusted me with the future of their community, and with their youth. Yesterday Khalif mentioned that a group of foreign men down in Gatwekera were doing some filming for a movie or documentary. He mentioned the movie “Kibera Kid” which apparently won a lot of acclaim overseas, mostly for the director and producers. The kid from Kibera who starred in the film remains in Kibera, and actually dropped out of school because, like so many kids in Kibera, he couldn’t afford school fees. “That’s just exploitation,” Khalif told me, going on to say that the same goes for tourists and for journalists, who come in Kibera to take photos, and then profit off of the photos without any kind of meaningful contribution to the community.

Khalif confirmed what I had been feeling about photo taking here. Kibera isn’t some place that I’m floating through as a tourist. I’m not an objective journalist who can sweep through, take the images I need, and then peace out. This place and these people are home. This is the first time I’ve actually encountered and struggled with the ethics of photography. I’m still grappling with what to do. For now, I feel right in teaching the Binti girls how to capture, and how to develop their community, their neighbors and their lives via photography. I think that their self knowledge and their keen eyes can do a far better job of capturing these scenes than I can.

On Security

2009-06-12T06:44:00.002+01:00

When I told my friends and family that I was applying to volunteer for a summer in one of the largest slums in East Africa they all grimaced in horror. (Dear reader, I think that “slum” is a contentious term but I’ll use it for now until I can delve into that argument). Even now, when calling my family or emailing friends, they ask concerned questions about my personal security. Not that I blame them. CFK’s waiver, and the guidebooks I shared before I left definitely made it seem as though I’d be in constant danger of robbery and other kinds of violence. A direct quote from the Lonely Planet guidebook: “The suburbs further out (from Nairobi city center), such as Kibera, Kayole, Githurai, are mainly poverty stricken slums with terribly reputations for crime, violence and carjacking, and are best avoided” (96).

Lonely Planet writers, it is evident that you have never actually ventured into Kibera. I feel safer in Kibera than on Ngong Rd, the main road I walk home on. I am protected by my association with CFK and by the tight knit community of Kibera. The same cannot be said of Nairobi as cities rarely yield such communities. Though I’ve never felt unsafe in Kibera, I am still consistently tuned into my surroundings and the movement of individuals around me. Keeping one hand on my bag and being wary of individuals who are intruding on my personal space is something I do in any place I am foreign to. It’s common sense. I must admit that it’s exhausting to constantly be on edge.

I also recognize that I’m working within our CFK bubble. There’s almost always a Binti girl, another volunteer, or a staff member with me. When people approach me or shout things in Swahili the people with me are able to deflect questions or comments. And usually, people are just curious, asking my partner what a mzungu is doing walking through Kibera, where I came from and the like. With some advice from Jane, I developed a few tactics to ward off bold men. Though I’ll answer questions that people direct towards me, if their questioning begins to make me uncomfortable, I begin asking them the same questions. If a man approaches me and offers to take me out on a date or asks for a my phone number, I begin reciting a long list of somewhat silly demands and requirements he must meet in order to take me out (i.e., if we get married, he must bear our children). Those two tactics, along with a lot of confidence have sent all of my admirers packing thus far.

More recently, on my way home (outside of Kibera) I’ve been approached by street kids asking for money. This has been trickier and regardless of how I reply, the response makes me feel miserable. I generally do not make eye contact, and say “no” in a stern voice. If they persist I tell them that I work in Kibera and do not have any money. They must think that any mzungu crazy enough to work in Kibera is probably not a very wealthy mzungu as they always go away after I say that. It makes me feel down right rotten to be that cold to a kid but those are the moments in which I’ve felt most unsafe. For those of you who have traveled extensively, what do you think about giving them pens or pencils when they hit me up for money?

On another note, hearing people call me “mzungu” is definitely wearing on me. Especially when it’s accompanied by laughter and Swahili. The peak of this frustration occurred on Saturday when I went to the adolescent Braintrust meeting with Maureen and Jackie. The facilitator not only taught biased and incorrect information about abortion but, he also said things like, “ Mzungu, say this word for us,” “Mzungu, spell this for us” and “Thank goodness we have a mzungu to help us pronounce things!” I have a name, sir!

My new response when kids or adults shout “mzungu” at me is to look confused and shout back “Wapi?” or “Where?” in Swahili. Other times, teenagers will pinch their noses and nasally ask myself and the other volunteers, “How are you?” I guess that’s what an American accent sounds like to some Kenyans? I’ve started responding with an equally nasally “I’m fine! And you?” Maybe that seems a little childish but I’ve received a lot of appreciative laughs and high fives from people who had not expected such a silly response. In general, it also helps me laugh off any frustration that surface.

So, do not worry about me! I feel safe and secure. I’m being extremely cautious and wary. So much so that I’ve found myself jogging home at dusk, trying to beat the setting sun because it’s definitely not safe for me to walk around alone at night. Trying to beat the sun home makes me feel like the last human in a town full of vampires---so absurd!

A collapsed bridge.

2009-06-08T09:34:00.004+01:00

Honestly, safari was wonderful as it was just a relief to be away from the grime and pollution of Nairobi. Working in Kibera is physically and mentally exhausting. The exhaustion and frustration really hit me at the beginning of last week when I was walking back from the Tabitha Clinic. Most of the time, when I’m working at the Binti or CFK office, I’m out on one of the more main roads of Kibera. None of the roads in Kibera are paved but the ones I typically travel are at least flat and wide enough for vehicles. Going to the clinic is a windy and tricky walk as one must walk further into the community, walking oan narrow paths (2 ft wide in some places) between shanties, avoiding the mud, trash, and filthy streams of water that head down hill, towards the river. I was walking to the clinic with Jane, the office manager, after a heavy rain and the mud was almost up to my knees. Mind you, the mud in Kibera is not simply dirt and water. The mud in Kibera is actually a toxic sludge made up of human and animal waste, syringes, household cleaning water, plastics, food and all kinds of other contaminants. There is no formal waste system in Kibera to contain or organize the waste though there are a few organizations like CFK’s Taka Ni Pato (Trash for Cash) that collect household trash and initiate recycling projects.

As I was walking through the sludge, I came across a baby sitting in the mud, playing with trash. I mean, that wasn’t the first time I had seen a child playing with trash or sitting on the ground. It just hit me and I was so furious at the forces--the politics, the government, the lack of infrastructure---all those big, systematic forces completely beyond that little baby’s control. And it’s not that Kibera doesn’t have allies or people in power. Raila Odinga, the Prime Minister of Kenya, is from Kibera. Last week, Ann helped Salim write a letter to Odinga, asking him to support efforts to bring more consistent electricity to Kibera. Though the Tabitha Clinic has a large back up generator, it’s still a dangerous hassle to have the electricity in a medical clinic go out six or seven times each day. Overall, it seems that the government turns a blind eye to the people of Kibera unless a rallying speech is necessary to assuage the media.

My frustration brings me back to an argument that I often have with myself and other individuals involved with NGOs, social change and volunteer work. Is it more effective to lobby for policy/governmental change or, work on a community level? Personally, I think that it’s a combination of both. In the SOWO 490, Public Service and Social Change class I took last fall, our TA gave us an ideal metaphor. A bridge collapses. A group of people argue about the shoddy bridge construction. “We need to fix the bridge and build better bridges in the future!” they argue. Other people argue that the people drowning in the water need to be saved and rescued. Resources are limited and each side wants the available resources. My TA argued that both sides are right because we need people fixing the bridge, and building us stronger bridges in the future but we also need organizations and individuals rescuing the drowning people. I think that as a community based organization, CFK is one of those teams trying to save the people from drowning but unlike the other rescue teams is also teaching them how to save others and how to be one of those “bridge builders” in the future. Maybe it’s a cheesy metaphor but it’s helped me come to peace with my decision to work more within the field of community organizing as opposed to policy.

A brief update on my CFK projects:

-Will teach the first photography workshop for a group of Binti girls next weekend
-Talked with Ben, the head of VCT services, about working with him within the counseling and testing program and the Peer Health Education program. First project is going to be to create pamphlets for the VCT services. I told Ben that I’d only do it if a PHE would write all of the print in sheng (Swahili-English slang) because that’s how their target audience communicates and my English is too formal. Good opportunity for me to learn more sheng and Swahili, which Ben really stresses every time I see him.
-On Saturday I had my first peer education session with the Binti girls. I am in awe of how much they opened up to me. All of the questions were wonderful. Most of the time, the girls were able to answer each others questions. Liz teased me afterward, saying that at one point I sounded like a typical high school sex ed teacher. You try casually chatting about C-sections and normal vaginal delivery!

Saturday was actually quite frustrating but I’ll leave it for another post.

Love you all and am still so grateful for your support!

In which many things occur but mostly, Liz, Ann and Alex attempt to ford a river in the Masai Mara Oregon Trail style and get stuck (multiple times).

2009-06-05T22:00:00.005+01:00

Hello brave reader!

I made it back from safari in one piece though the same cannot be said for our safari vehicle. Liz ,Ann, Patty (the mother of a friend of a roommate of Ann’s!) and I left Nairobi for the Masai Mara on Wednesday but only after the driver wandered around lost for two hours trying to find our houses. On our very bumpy ride on the border of Masai land almost at our camp, we attempted to ford a river and became hopelessly stuck. Not just stuck in the river but actually trapped in the safari vehicle for two hours! The safari vehicle in front of us stopped to help us, as did a pick up truck full of local men and eventually, a Masai man in traditional garb and a spear also wandered over to help us out. Good teamwork, guys. By the time we got lodged in the mud later that evening we all felt like seasoned pros.

A summation of the safari: LIONS! A HERD OF ELEPHANTS! TWO CHEETAHS STALKING PREY! OVER A DOZEN GIRAFFES! Hippos, crocodiles, wildebeest, water buffalo, hyenas, baboons, all kinds o’ birds, gazelle, antelope, vulture, and more! We also saw herds and herds and herds of cattle and goat as we were in Masai land and for the Masai people, those animals are their life blood. One of the Masai men with us told us a valiant story about how he killed a lion that had been attacking his village’s cattle. Not sure if I believe it but it gives you an idea of how essential their cattle are. One of their main vittles is a drink consisting of milk and cow’s blood—a high protein drink, indeed.

Note: This entry and the most recent were initially one entry but I decided to divide it up for the sake of those of you with short attention spans. :)

2009-05-30T15:59:00.003+01:00

I am tirrrrrrrrrrrrred! Yesterday I spent the day at the monthly Braintrust meeting learning about about monitoring and evaluation. Braintrust is a network of organizations that focus on adolescent girls. Representatives from each organization meet togther monthly to share best practices, listen to speakers, and visit other organizations. Later that night Catar (head of soccer) invited Ann, myself and three Holy Cross volunteers to his home for a tasty dinner of pilau. His niece Saleema stole my camera and took a lot of cute photos that I plan on sharing soon.

Today I went to a Binti drama community outreach event for the first time. The Binti girls hold monthly community outreach events with loud singing, dancing, spoken word and drama to both inform local girls and recruit more girls for the the program. They're in the midst of trying to broaden their outreach by trying to expand Safe Spaces groups to areas typically underserved by the Binti program.

Two Harvard researchers have been here for the past week. They actually took all of the CFK volunteers to a fancy shamancy dinner the other night. One of them had invited a friend to come hang out for the day \, with the Binti girls and at the soccer tournament. A very white, very tall (6 ft 8 inches), very buff fellow. Oh, did he stick out!

Afterward, one of of the village coordinators took me to Kibera Primary where CFK was hosting a girl's soccer tournament. Th Binti girls also did a few dances and skits in between gams. The fields were incredibly muddy as it's been raining a lot lately. Mud football anyone? Mostly, I spent the day peer health educating with groups of girls from the school and teaching Cha Cha and Judith basic photography skills. By the end of the day they had really gotten the hang of it. It was so thrilling to see how interested and eager they were to learn about photography and cameras. I have so many photos to share but this public internet connection is super pokey. I'll try to insert my photos in a few days.

Ann, Liz and I are going on safari next week! Hooray!

Much love to you all.

Mzungu, mzungu!

2009-05-27T11:09:00.004+01:00

Least I bore you with another post in narrative form here are a few interesting tidbits about life in Kenya thus far...

Every and anytime I walk down the road, people shout "mzungu" which, from what I've garnered, is kinda like calling someone "cracker" or "whitey."
Toddlers run up to me and yell in baby sing song voices, "How are you?" That's the only English they know and it is DARLING.
Any time is tea time. I am force fed Kenyan tea at breakfast, lunch and dinner as well a severy time I enter a building. I've given up on trying to say no to it. Kenya tea is different in that the tea leaves and milk are boiled together. Heaping spoonfuls of sugar are added afterward.
Kenyan food is basically Southern food. No surprise there considering the history of slave trade... Ugali is a big ball of overcooked grits. We also eat oodles of beans and COLLARDS! Yum.
Prior to last night, my homestay house had been without running water for 2 weeks. We were bathing using water stored in big rain barrels. I've actually come to enjoy cold baths!

"There are no shanties in our minds..."

2009-05-25T09:58:00.007+01:00

I hope that you all are doing well. Asante sana (thank you very much) for all of your birthday wishes. So, I am officially in Kenya. I keep expecting some kind of culture shock to hit me but it actually hasn’t (yet!). The plane ride wasn’t too bad. Warning to all travelers: Nigeria is as sketchy as it seems. When the airport officials took my passport so that I could go retrieve my bags from the carousel, I almost passed out. Because I was only in transit through Nigeria I didn’t need to buy a visa though honestly, I would have bought one if it meant that I could have held on to my passport. In Lagos, I met a guy who had just graduated from NC Central. He was heading to Nairobi to visit family there. It was comforting to be able to talk with someone from home, especially about the kinds of things to expect. On the plane I also had the distinct pleasure of sitting next a Nigerian businessman who tried to argue that corruption is the best industry around. Though I told him multiple times that I WOULD NOT call him if he gave me his number, he gave it to me anyways for “networking” purposes. Yeah, right, and that’s why he started off the conversation by asking if I was married.

Caro (head of Binti), James (the CFK driver), and Cantar (head of the sports program) met me at the airport in Nairobi. They were all incredibly friendly and welcoming. It was dark outside so I didn’t really get the chance to see the city center. They dropped me off with my homestay family, the Kimani’s. I think that our world would be a better place if everyone were as friendly and welcoming as them. Angel, who is ten years old and the youngest of my homestay sisters, was already asleep so I didn’t meet her until the next morning when she took me for a wonderful bike ride. Nothing like an early morning birthday bike ride in Kenya! Janet greeted me and about thirty minutes later I met Mother, and Natasha, the eldest daughter.

Salim picked me up in the morning and we headed to Kibera Primary to watch a soccer tournament. There I met approximately nine million amazing individuals whose names I am still attempting to recall. I was able to met Ann, the goalie from UNC’s varsity soccer team and also, Liz, the CFK volunteer from Duke. Most of the kids play soccer without any shoes, on the dirt fields peppered with large rocks. I noticed that many of them wear one sock on their primary kicking foot, probably to blunt the impact of the ball. Eventually I said goodbye to everyone and Maureen, a long time Binti graduate who works with both Binti and the sports program, walked me to the Binti office where I was able to meet the girls. Mostly, I watched them practice skits on STIs, early pregnancy and child labor. They’ll perform them next weekend at the continuation of the sports tournament. Sarah, who’s the assistant director/field officer for Binti was the only one there. I was able to talk with her a little bit about the program and she showed me their newsletter, which I hope to help with. Watching the girls practice was pretty overwhelming as it was all in ki-Swahili but I got the gist of their plays. Honestly, the language barrier has been the biggest frustration thus far but I’m picking it up pretty quickly.

By the end of the day I was feeling exhausted from jet lag. At home I talked for a long time with Natasha about our love of reading, travel and about the kinds of relationships we’ve had. This just confirms my belief that despite our many differences, humanity shares thousands of common threads!

The next morning, I headed to church with her. It was a Christian hip hop concert and dance exhibition more than anything but definitely enjoyable compared to my experiences with church at home! On the way there rode a matatu for the first time. If I die in Kenya, it will be because I was hit by a matatu or was in a matatu crash. Matatus are 14 passengers taxi vans that have been “pimped out” in bright colors and with stickers of Western hip hop artists (Weezy and Rhianna are quite popular). Some of them actually have TVs inside! People pack like sardines into matatus and when the one you want to take drives by, you chase after it and hop in while it’s still moving. The drivers are awful, swerving around each other, missing pedestrians by mere millimeters, and even driving up on the sidewalk when the street traffic is going too slow for their liking!

After church I headed to the Binti office to meet up with the core group of girls. Liz tagged along for the day . Caro was there today which was a relief. I think that she’s more in tune to the knowledge gaps and needs that volunteers have as she made sure that one of the girl translated what was going on for us. We began with a group of graduated Binti girls who were meeting to practice their public speaking skills and leadership ability by facilitating a discussion around “boy-girl relationships.” I am so incredibly impressed by how witty, creative and honest these girls are. We eventually moved to the old medical clinic where they had more room to discuss. I cannot imagine medical services ever being distributed via that clinic as it’s essentially a mud and straw building with concrete floors. Aaliyah, a field officer, came to get Liz and I to take us back to the center to speak with the core group of Binti girls.

The railroad tracks in Kibera serve as a kind of main thoroughfare for locals. Aaliyah told me that the train runs through Kibera three times a day, taking passengers and their goods to and from Uganda . Apparently, after the election violence of last year, residents pulled up the tracks when they saw that people were taking much needed food to Uganda. I asked Aaliyah how CFK fared during the violence. Amazingly, no one was hurt. A group of Luo kids protected CFK from looters and people who wanted to burn it down. Yes, I became teary eyed hearing about that because I think that their actions are a testament to how well loved CFK is in the community. According to Aaliyah, many of the Kikuyu, against which the violence was directed, haven’t returned back to Kibera which is a majority Luo.

When we got back to the Binti office the core girls were discussing financial literary and why it’s important to save money. In the Binti Pamoja program there are approximately 40-50 girls in the core group though via alumni leaders, Binti serves over 600 girls in Kibera. They all thought that it was hilarious that my name is "Alex." Apparently only men and boys go by that nickname. Like most Kenyans, they were also under the impression that, as an American, I am tight with Obama (I wish!). If I ever run into our president I'll have to give him a hearty "hello" from the population of Kibera. The highlight of my day was dancing like a fool with the older girls.

On my first day, while talking with the fellow who runs the conflict resolution program with CFK, he said something that really stood out to me. “There are no shanties in our minds,” he said, “Sure, we come back to them at night and sleep in them, but they are not up here.” For many of the Binti girls and individuals I’ve spoken with, that mindset seems to hold true. It’s inspiring and it reminds me that I’m here because I wanted to help build up a social infrastructure that can actually create a material state of being that will be able support that type of mindset in everyone.

Much love to you all. Comments and questions are welcome!! :)

willy nilly, round wilmywood.

2009-05-20T03:24:00.006+01:00

I depart for Kenya in approximately 36 hours...ACK! Those little flutters I always get a day or so before I depart for a trip have appeared and made themselves at home in my belly.

Here are a couple priceless gems my family bestowed upon me today:

"Alexandra, please, shoot photos--not wildlife!"
-My father calling from Cyprus

"Prayers and pills! Just remember to take your pills and say your prayers, okay?"
-My grandma

Will do, family! Honestly, I'm not concerned about the disaster scenarios and diseases that all touristy guidebooks and old women seem to be concerned about i.e.: malaria, Somalian pirates, theft and the like. I'll leave that kind of worrying up to my grandmother. It may sound silly but, I'm most concerned about being an effective volunteer, and about not being a burden. As college volunteers we like to believe that we're going to save the world, and in a single summer no less!! I'm completely honest with myself about the fact that I'm a temporary volunteer and that, in some ways, having me as a volunteer is actually a drain on CFK's resources. That said, I am still incredibly eager to contribute the many skills that I do have. My aim is also to learn, to explore, to listen and, to see the many wonderful things that Kenya and Kibera have to offer. I always come back to that wonderful quote by Mark Twain: "I have never let my schooling interfere with my education." Viewing the world as a classroom and everyday experiences as educational is an eye opening way to approach to travel and volunteer work.

Purchased a couple dozen rolls of B&W film--hooray! On somewhat of a whim, I also purchased a digital audio recorder. Leann (the US Program Coordinator for CFK) and I had briefly talked about the possibility of collecting oral histories while I'm with CFK. This past semester I worked with the UNC LGBTQ Center and had the honor of interviewing a myriad of people re: the history of the LGBTQ movement on campus. I think that adding an audio element to the photos that the Binti girls (and myself) will take this summer could turn out a dynamic and personal end product.

I promise, in an upcoming post I'll give you a brief history of CFK and Kibera.

Finally, words cannot express how immensely grateful I am for all of my friends, family and various other individuals who have encouraged and supported me from the beginning, when I first decided to apply for this opportunity and then, anxiously awaited the acceptance. Seriously, thanks for reassuring me, for praying for me, and for listening to me talk through my fears and excitement.

Next time I update this blog, I'll be 20 years old (May 23!) and living in Kenya! Love y'all so much.

Out of Africa

2009-05-13T18:17:00.012+01:00

Here I am again!

I remain in awe of all of the amazing opportunities and experiences that Carolina has to offer. As you may garner from previous blog entries, I spent last summer traveling throughout Southeast Asia with the Carolina SEAS program. This summer I'll be in Kenya for 11 weeks volunteering with Carolina for Kibera and more specifically, with the Binti Pamoja program.

Binti Pamoja brings together a group of adolescent girls from different communities in Kibera to take field trips, interact, discuss and utilize creative outlets to learn more about empowerment, women's health, women's rights, etc as well as giving the girls the tools they need to deal with many of the difficult issues they'll have to navigate through during their lives. Based on a write up from Caroline, the director of Binti, they're interested in having me talk about some of my experiences in America, teach some creative writing workshops, maybe restart the photography program, and of course, work with the peer health education program. If you know me, then you can imagine how thrilled I am to be able to work with so many of my passions!

It sounds like I'll be living with a local family in the suburbs of Nairobi and walking to work in Kibera, the largest slum in East Africa. Despite it being ONE WEEK until I depart for my African adventure, many things (housing included!) are still up in the air. So much to do and so many errands to run before I leave. At least I was able to change my crazy 24+ hour layover in Nigeria. Got all my shots, too!

I'll try to write up a background post on Kibera and Kenya before I leave next week.

In the meantime, check it out: http://cfk.unc.edu/binti-pamoja.php

El Fin

2008-07-03T04:53:00.011+01:00

This strange journey is coming to an end. Six weeks goes by so quickly. I don't know what to make of my time in Singapore quite yet. I think that time is a wonderful clarifying agent. Ask me again in a couple months. Being immersed in another culture, especially Singapore's, has made me question quite a few things I once accepted as "normal."

We're heading to Thailand for about ten days tomorrow and then back to the States!

Things I've done in past couple weeks (but have been too busy to blog about):

Kayaking on MacRitchie Reservoir

Checking out the Buddhist Temple of the Holy Tooth
(this photo is from the room of 10,000 Buddhas- it literally has 10,000 itsy bitsy Buddha's sitting in enclaves in the walls. There was a giant prayer wheel in the middle of the room. All of this was on the garden roof of the temple. Yes, I want an om mani padme hum tattoo even more than ever now.)

Hiking at Bukit Timah where monkeys and creepy caves abound.

Checking out the Chinese Gardens.

Biking around Pulau Ubin and wandering round Changi Chapel.

Rollerskating at East Coast Park!

Picnic at the Botanical Gardens with SEAS kids, YongMin, Nadiah, Layna and Cece.

Lots and lots and lots of dancing and discussion of good music and concerts to attend.

And, working on an overwhelming number of essays and tests.

Check out the collective blog (seas08.blogspot.com) for other activities that people here have engaged in.

I'm sure I forgot something.

"When Earthworms Go Clubbin"

2008-06-19T17:30:00.004+01:00

We saw the Korean dance performance Ah Q tonight. I didn't check out a synopsis of the play prior to watching it and thus, my interpretation/summary is as follows:

1. People have chicken pox/mysterious ailment that causes them to itch heads, stomachs, bellys and hips incessantly.
2. Flowers. Damn. Lots of flowers. People shooting flowers into other people. (all sarcasm aside, this scene was pretty neat)
3. Bees buzzing around each other.
4. Man puppet smoking a cigarette.
5. Male dancers and female mannequins stuffed with flowers. Male dancers alternate between beating them to a pulp and attempting to make babies?
6. MY FAVORITE SCENE! Earthworms (dancers in very nude suits) dancing at a gay bar! I couldn't control myself during this scene because it was just that absurd.
7. Lots of birds (or were they fish or rats or gophers) doing the robot. Sweet face masks!
8. Woman screeching while a dinosaur checks her out.
9. Everybody writhing around in their underwear.

The rest is unimportant. I actually thought that the dance was a metaphor was the beginning of life or for the seasons or something. Yep, definitely wrong about jiving worms. This is a summary of the real story: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_True_Story_of_Ah_Q.

I loved the music. Professional dancers are always impressive but something about the dance just didn't grab me.

Nisha and I interviewed the president of TWC2 for our class project. The NGO office was in Golden Mile Complex which is known for its population of Thai migrant workers, trans people and cell phone buying monks. Afterward we went to Arab street for some teh tarik and rice something. Hanging out with Nisha was definitely a trip highlight.

Also, all you creepers (ahem, Leia and Nawsheen), I think that comments are pretty sweet.

Much love.

Staring Contests

2008-06-17T12:46:00.005+01:00

The pace of life here seems to be slowing down a bit. We went to Malaysia over the weekend. Honestly, I didn't like it that much though most of my disdain for the country stems from an absurd fourth grade style treasure hunt we were forced to do in 95 degree weather. I did enjoy the delicious and very odd looking piles of seafood I ate there: crunchy baby squid and whole fish! We headed to a national park on the first day where monkeys and international trade ships abounded. The mangroves would have been stunning had there not been piles of assorted debris (lightbulbs?) cluttering the marsh- it was quite sad to see.

On Saturday we went biking through a kampong (Malaysian village) that's surrounded by palm and fruit plantations. Biking a month post back surgery has got to be one of the most thrilling moments of my life. I can't wait to bike to the beach everyday back in Wilmington; I've missed the feel of air brushing my bare shoulders as I catapult over potholes and shoot down steep hills.

Friday and Saturday nights small groups of us wandered around the night market. I bought a pretty sweet bag and a mini sewing machine for mas o menos nada dinero. Gotta love a floating exchange rate. I also ate a skewer of chocolate covered grapes which were quite delectable until I accidentally choked on one. On Friday night we went to a bar with one of our professors who bought us buckets of Tiger Beer. All was going well there until one of my peers decided to steal a SACRED pineapple off of the Chinese altar located at the back of the bar. The situation was mortifying yet hilarious in a "one day I will tell my grandbabies about this" kind of way. The following night we went to karaoke bar with our other professor. Awful karaoking ensued. A cocky Irish fellow talked Malaysian politics at me but I swiftly abandoned him when I discovered that he was in trouble for money laundering (ACK!). After the large portion of our group left the bar, I attempted to scare away a foul mood I could feel coming on by doing some line dancing/ salsaing with a very enthusiastic Malay business man.

Lately I've noticed myself becoming incredibly impatient with (local) people who oogle at me and treat me coldly. As a foreigner most every time I go to a market or public place I'm harangued and followed around. Usually it's people who want to sell me goods but there are always a few employees who follow me around their stores; perhaps because they think I look suspicious? I don't know. At bars and restaurants my cohorts and I receive plenty of stares but I suppose that we're okay with them to an extent because we usually end up getting a free drink out of the exchange (a minor form of prostitution, I wonder?). But, as a whole, being stared at like a piece of meat is getting real old. Again, I think that this goes back to the fact that I've never been a minority before. I'm somewhat ashamed to finally recognize this privilege that I carry. I'm working on my patience and on understanding that this is an important experience of my travels abroad.

Loizias is gun learn Singlish lah!

2008-06-04T10:17:00.008+01:00

Oh, Singlish. Wonderful Wonderful Singlish. Singlish is the real national language of Singapore. A number of people (mostly the government and snooty expats) look down on it but it's a legit way of speaking that is actually necessary in some situations. Singlish is a form of English that incorporates Malay and Chinese phrases with a word or two of Tamil thrown in. It's difficult for foreigners (such as myself!) to understand but that's kind of beneficial because Singlish gives the population another commonality that can be used to construct a united Singaporean identity - something that's especially hard for a country with such a gumbo of ethnicities.

Recently, a few of the NUS students we know here created a facebook event (filled with Singlish) inviting us to go to "Mambo Night" at one of the clubs with them.

Here's what the description looks like:

Ok. Very simple.
This Wednesday we's going Mambo (for a variety of reasons, some want to emo, some nv go b4, some... just pure chao clubber).

So we's going to make it happen!

9pm sharp, we go queues for tickets (arh boh cannot get into Phuture).

Ppl with cams, bring it! We's going to whore like siao that night!

See u there!

Tarheels: If you don't quite get the Singlish above, it all means let your hair down and LETS PARTY!

Event Wall (yes I edited the names):

thehost

wrote: at 2:03am on June 2nd, 2008 take mc lah

someotherdude (Singapore) wrote at 11:31pm on June 1st, 2008 I can't lah! :( Got camp the next day, damn blardy early

thisfellowwrote wrote at 10:40pm on June 1st, 2008 Let's MAMBOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

thispersonwrote wrote at 5:53pm on June 1st, 2008 u invite lah

Suchandsuch wrote:
at 5:24pm on June 1st, 2008

dun forget the tarheels!

From what I understand "lah" is an exclamatory word in Malay. "Siao" means crazy in Chinese. not too sure about the others. There was an even funnier sentence about how going clubbing was going to be even crazier than a game of racquetball but I think that our host removed it after we teased him about it.

All is well otherwise! Much love!

Beneficial racism?

2008-06-02T16:11:00.000+01:00

This entry is more a memo to myself than anything else- I plan on expounding on some of these things when I have more time to sit down and write.

Race: housing quotas, required integration and the downside, nat'l IDs, experience w/ mall survey (other is not an option like US)
Ministry of Sound: the expat population, and age differences
in a similar vein: US dating and dancing vs the scene in SE Asia

Subsidized matchmaking services?
Dating to marry vs. fishing

UNC alum dinner and NUS-UNC alum lunch
Little India adventure by myself
Singapore-Uzbekistan World Cup qualifier game
Arab street

I am also seriously debating sticking around in Thailand after the program officially ends.

Much love to all.

"I even ironed your underwear for you!"

2008-05-29T12:32:00.000+01:00

We had our first two classes of the session this morning. Our Singapore/Malaysia history professor is a witty, middle aged woman named Dr Qwek. We didn't cover any material today and instead were allowed to ask her a variety of questions about things that we were curious about. She obtained her master's and phd in the US and so understood a lot of our confusion and was able to aptly explain some of the cultural differences. According to her, her class will show us a more subversive take on the government and People's Action Party.

Ah yes, a primer on Singapore's government! Singapore has three branches like we do. We actually visited their Parliament (legislative branch) this afternoon. Their Parliament is both one house and (unfortunately?) one party. The People's Action Party controls 82 of the 84 seats. They've held a vast majority for some years now. Obviously, this differs from the US where a two party system and various factions reign or at the very least, mill about in disarray. Our tour guide at Parliament kept mentioning how efficient the government is because of certain rules and procedure though having a one party system probably helps. After our tour, I'm especially eager to hear more about Dr Qwek's view on the government. Also, we learned that voting in Singapore is COMPULSORY-something like 90-95% of citizens vote!

On a related note, I was pretty surprised to hear that Singapore has almost no activist groups. When President Bush came to visit last fall, Singaporeans were threatened with arrest if they choose to protest and so, though most Singaporeans sincerely dislike him, only expats and exchange students showed up to rally. I find this interesting considering that so many social movements in East Asia (Thailand and China come to mind) begin in universities, of which Singapore has many.

After leaving Parliament the group split up into smaller groups. Some people went to see the new Sex and the City movie. I'm wondering if it was at all censored? My little group wandered around the Colonial area which is spliced in two by the "Singapore River." It's really more of a waterway than actual river. We meandered past a statue of an obese pigeon and headed to Chinatown on foot. Yesterday we went on a bus tour of Singapore and today we wanted to begin exploring some of the places we caught a glimpse of then.

Elaina, one girl in our group, has only taken a year of Chinese but is damn amazing at speaking with people so going places with her is always interesting as over 70 percent of Singapore's population is ethnically Chinese. In Chinatown we strolled round the market and eventually sat down for a slightly sketch dinner. I ordered some black pepper chicken rice which was smothered in a gloopy black peppered flavored sauce. We were the only people in the place and I think that our giggly group left left the staff with a very typical impression of American tourists. Ah, and the title of today's blog comes from a Chinese soap opera that was on. A man was giving his apathetic lover a list of romantic things he'd done for her and ironing her underwear was one of his sentimental gestures.

We navigated the metro and buses eventually making it back to the dorms. Most people in Singapore are forced to take unpredictable mass transit because the number of cars on the island are both limited in number and by a number of extravagant taxes that the government wages on "road privileges" and importation of the actual car.

It's possible that a group of us may head out tonight with some Penn State and Georgia Tech kids who are here as well though, I'd love to spend more time with the NUS (Nat'l University of Singapore) students who have been helping us for the past few days.

Next entry I'll try to write less about specifics and more about first impressions. Also, if you have any questions or comments, shoot! Love you all!

Jurong Birdpark and Jetlag

2008-05-27T13:43:00.000+01:00

Well, I made it here in one piece and on time unlike our poor San Francisco section who got stuck in Hong Kong for a night. The plane rides were fairly dull. I probably slept too much. They fed us dinner three times, perhaps every time we entered a new time zone?

Today was a fairly lax day. After eating a delicious breakfast of some cheese prata and curry we made our way to the transit station to figure out how the bus system and light rail work. Afterwards we headed to a shopping area and Hawker's center. Hawker centers are food courts where Malay, Indian and Chinese food is served from individual stands. Simple actions like exchanging money and ordering food were pretty overwhelming due to both the brand new environment and lingering jet lag.

Singapore is home to a variety of cultures (mainly, Malay, Indian and Chinese) and all of these groups operate within and next to one another. Therefore, all signs are shown in the different languages and most people here know a smattering of the other languages. People often refer to the US as a "melting pot" but in actual practice, Singapore fits such a description much more aptly. I played it pretty safe by eating chicken and rice which is a classic Singaporean dish. One girl in our group misheard one of the hawkers and ended up with her coke in a plastic bag "to go." We spent an hour or two just wandering around the area absorbing the sights and smells. The most unusual feeling was that of being a minority. It's something that I definitely take for granted at home.

After lazily meandering around the various stands pointing odd foods and strange labels we headed to Jurong Bird Park where our main goal was to stay awake. After gazing at birds for a few hours we met up with the missing group members at a mall where we had dinner and shopped. Back at the PGP dorms we cooled down and headed to a little bar for some delicious Tiger beer. I doubt that there will be oodles of wild partying here because of the high sin tax the government imposes on alcohol and tobacco products.

I blame any incoherency in this entry on jet lag and humidity shock. I'll likely update this thing less as the days progress and we become busier but I hope that all you people are doing well.

Much love.

Almost there.

2008-05-24T15:23:00.001+01:00

I woke up this morning and the two ton cement truck that's been lingering in the back of my mind for months now finally hit me. I'm heading to Southeast Asia for seven weeks this summer. For weeks now my friends and family have asked me if I'm excited. Each time I gave a somewhat perfunctory "yes" though I was really feeling somewhat neutral about the idea.

At the moment I'm a bit anxious about group dynamics, workload and of course, eager to make the most of this incredible opportunity. This time tomorrow I'll be on my way. As usual, I've procrastinated on packing and need to do that. I'll be leaving Wilmington for RDU at about 3:30AM tomorrow!

Ah yes, in the event that you haven't already been harassed regarding contact methods, if you give me your address I'll send you a vibrant postcard or, download skype so that we can chat like nerds via our computer mics.

This origami dream is beautiful.

2008-05-20T04:35:00.000+01:00

It's been a long time since I've post to a blagh. I think it's time to begin again. I'm days away from a new adventure that I want to document- both for myself and for a possible public. And, I'm not gonna lie, doing this is cathartic. So, you, whoever you are, read, comment, discuss, explore!