Today Meredith and I were on our way back from the children’s home in Kiminini, stuffed like sardines in a matatue, as usual. About half way home, we neared a police check point. Very common, however, today they were stopping every vehicle and rather then the normal 4 police manning the check, there were about 20 men, many wearing built proof vests. As we neared, they signaled for the matatu to pull over. We did. Then one of the men carrying an M16 opened the side sliding door and in Swahili, demanded all the men to get out. I didn’t know what was going on until a lady next to me told me that they wanted all men to get out. So I followed the rest of the guys exiting the matatu. After getting out, they individually searched each on of us as if we were being arrested. They did the full check starting from the ankles up patting down everywhere. They even went through my bag. After not finding anything, they told us to get back in. We sat there for a few more minutes before they told the driver he could go. I later found out that they were checking for guns because of the tribal clashes on our neighboring MT. Elgon. Sometimes I forget I am in Kenya, until moments like this one.

Labels: Only in Africa

Today I got my first water bill for the new house. I was shocked to find out that it was 30 shillings (about 35 cents U.S.). One would think that I would be thrilled with the low bill, but you have to first understand the monthly process for paying the water bill. First I have to go to the Co-Operative Bank of Kenya and stand in a line that could easily take an hour to reach the front. In Kenyan lines, there is no such thing is personal space. I can’t wear my sandals because people step on my heals and toes. No joke, as if I’m not even there. I can’t tell you how many fights I’ve almost stated in bank lines. The best trick, I’ve found, is to carry a short umbrella and hold it is such a way that when the guy standing behind me decides to rapidly invade my personal space, he is reminded of that day in first grade when the girls figured out where to kick him. Not to get side tracked, or forget my umbrella tomorrow, in order to pay my bill, I have to stand in this horrible line.

Once I pay my 35 cents, that’s right, 35 cents, I then take my bank slip and walk a good 20 minutes to the water co. where I will wait in yet another line (that is if they aren’t out to lunch for three hours) to show them my bank slip and receive my official receipt and be credited that I have paid my water bill.

Why, you may be asking, don’t I just wait until next month to add my 35 cents bill to the next one and save a trip. The answer in found in the fine print on my bill that says “Please pay your bill before August 8^th to avoid Disconnection.” Would they really disconnect my water over a late bill of 35 cents? You bet, and then I would have to pay $10 to get them to come out and reconnect my water.

So thank you Nzoia Water Services for making me spend a good half of my day in lines for a 35 cent bill. This is Kenya my friends, this is Kenya.

Labels: Only in Africa

Imagine being an African woman with 8 children, trying to make ends meet by living on the average Kenyan wage of $1 a day. Up by 4:00am building a fire to make tea for the kids. While the fire is gaining some momentum, she rushes to a neighbor’s house to buy some fresh milk. By 5:30am she pulls the kids out of bed, bathes them, gives them a cup of tea (no bread because she can’t afford it) then by 6:30 she sends them off to school. They have to leave so early because of the two mile walk and if they are there a minute past 8:00, they will be beaten and sent back home. After the kids leave for school, the African woman washes some clothes (by hand) then sets out walking from garden to garden looking for work, weeding, digging, anything that will bring that $1 so she can buy a meager amount of corn maize and vegetables so the kids don’t have to go to bed hungry like they did last night.

After a long days work digging, she gets a few shillings, enough to give the kids something for dinner. She arrives home at 7:00pm to find a small pile of wood the children collected on their way home from school. She builds the fire and cooks the food. By 9:00pm serves the children dinner. After the meal is finished, she washed the dishes and by 11:30pm, climbs into bed, exhausted, discouraged, hopeless. The only thing keeping her going is knowing that her children can’t survive without her. As she drifts to sleep, she dreams of the days when her husband was alive, when she didn’t worry about the 8 mouth’s to feed, when she enjoyed cooking for her family, when life wasn’t such a burden.

The story of the African widow is all to common. Everywhere I look, everywhere I go, I see her, struggling for her life and for the lives of her children. In most cases, as she was home caring for the children and preparing food for her husband, he was with another woman, unknowingly contracting HIV, leading to his death and leaving the poor African widow all alone with nothing…

My heart, my desire is not only for the orphans, but for the widows who are equally a victim of AIDS and poverty. This last week I went to visit Colleta and Eunice, two widows left with 5 and 8 children after their husbands past away. As I sat with them and told them that they have been chosen for our widows program, tears welled up in their eyes. These are two women who have been struggling for years, living the same story of the African widow, faced with one hardship after the other. These are also two women who know how to work and can make a micro business successful. I asked them what kind of business they could do and they both said that they want to sell second hand clothes in their local market. We discussed a working plan and put some number down. As we figured out all the costs, it came out that they need $45 U.S. each to start their business, a business that will provide for the needs of their family. I will go back in two weeks to train them in book keeping and basic business skills and will also bring the money they need to get started. From there, I will visit every 6 weeks to check up and help out. I don’t want to make the mistake many people have in the past of giving money and leaving all together, leaving the widow to fail. I want to be there with them, to see them struggled out of the hole of poverty.

As we finished our meeting in their small mud house, a since of pride came over them as they now had purpose and hope. A hope of being someone, something… other then the poor African women.

(Colleta left and Eunice right)

Labels: group update, Only in Africa

Many of you didn’t know me when I first came to Kenya and lived in a mud hut with a grass thatched roof in a small village where we didn’t have running water or electricity.

The past weekend I went to my old home and spent some time with the kids. It was great to see them again and to visit the village life. I miss it. I miss the bathing process of walking down the hill to the well, pulling buckets of water out, carrying it back up the hill, building a fire, heating up the water and finally an hour later, splashing the water on myself out of a bucket to wash the days sweat away. I also miss waking up to the sound of roosters and cows. I miss the laid back lifestyle where nothing really matters that much. I miss leisure afternoon walks to the river and stopping for a hot soda on the way.

I am so blessed to be able to go and visit the children and the village where my adventures in Kenya started, the place that captured my heart and made Kenya home.

For those of you who didn’t know me back then, this is a picture of my mud hut with a grass thatched roof. When I first came to Kenya, I lived in an old hut that was the falling apart and was more a home to the bugs and spider than the people who slept inside. In December 2004 I built this one. Well, I didn’t do it all, but I had my hand in it and designed it to be a “modern” mud hut, if there is such a thing. I learned to mud the walls and thatch the roof… and all the other unseen things that it takes to construct such a hut.

Labels: Only in Africa

Friday last week, Meredith, Cordi (a girl from Germany) and I went up to Turkana for the weekend. Turkana is located in Northern Kenya and is all desert. The Turkanen people are traditional nomads. Going to Turkana is like stepping into the pages of National Geographic Magazine. We spent two nights in a town called Kakuma, 1 mile from the U.N. refugee camp. On Sunday at 1:00pm, we started our journey back to Kitale, expecting to arrive by 3:00am Monday morning.

We got on an old matatu (14 seat van). This matatu had 20 people. The drive from Kakuma to Lodwar is normally 1 and a half hours. About an hour into the trip, the driver stopped the matatu, got out and looked underneath. He then asked us to get out and proceeded to dismantle a part of the car. He then took a hug container of oil and emptied it in the car. I got down on my hands and knees and looked underneath. Sure enough, oil was draining out pretty fast. As the last drops dribbled from the container my first thought was “what if we run out again.” He put the section back together, packed up his tools and we loaded back in. He was going really slowly. About 15 minutes later the driver stopped to drop off a person. The car turned off and wouldn’t start again. After a few minutes, three of us got out and started pushing. After three failed attempts, we finally got it going. We had to run and jump in while the matatu was going. It putted along for another 45 minutes. It stopped again about 2 miles from Lodwar, the town we were going to. We tried pushing but couldn’t get it started. The driver got a rope and tried to tie something together under the car. We gave up and decided to walk the rest of the way, grabbed our bags and set out on foot. Just a ways ahead we hit a lugga (a cement dip that passes through a normally dry river bed for cars to driver through). When we crossed a few days before, it was dry. But today, due to some rain in the area, it was a rushing river. Only buses and large trucks could pass. Small cars and our matatu could not. We stood there stumped for a few minutes, noticing some people forging across on foot. We knew that we could do the same. As I rolled up my pant legs and the girls hiked up their dresses, the locals stopped talking and gathered along the rivers edge on both sides, waiting in anticipation to see if we were really crazy enough to cross. We were, with backpacks on, we went forward with a crowd all around us who decided that it would be fun to also cross with us. By the time we got out to the middle, it was about knee deep, muddy and rushing really fast. If we were to fall, there would not be much hope of catching anything before getting swept down river. We reached the other side safe, much to the surprise of the locals and a Dutch guy who was equally amazed by our stupidity. I don’t know if I would call it stupidity, maybe desperation.

Upon reaching the bus office where I had already booked but was supposed to pick up our tickets, I was told that our bus (leaving at 7:00 that night) next at 7:00 in the morning and we missed it. One of the bridges half way had washed out and now the people had to get out of the bus on one side and board another on the other side. So the bus left in the morning so it could meet the morning bus on the other side. They said we would have to sleep in Lodwar for the night and then catch a bus in the morning. I needed to be back by Monday as we had a full day already planned. I went and found another bus that was leaving that evening and had a bus on the other side of the bridge waiting. They also assured me that we would be in Kitale by 8:00am. After much arguing and me finally whimpering, the first bus gave me my money back. I went and booked on the other bus, getting really bad seats and paying more for them.

After getting the tickets, I went to the market to get baskets. The ones we use for shipping goods to the U.S. I got 14 huge baskets and packed them into three hug sack, hired four guys to carry them to the bus office and paid to have them carried on the bus. I now could rest for a few hours before the bus left. I found the girls and we got some food and relaxed.

At 7:00pm we boarded the bus that was supposed to leave around that time. We sat there until 8:30. The road is just terrible. There are ditches on both sides so the bus in never level, it is always leaning to one side or the other, either the person on the isle seat is crushing the people on the side or being crushed by them on one side and jammed into the paddles armrest on the other side, making for a sleepless and long drive. By 2:00am, we arrive at the half way point where the bridge was broken. I told the girls to hurry if they needed to go to the bathroom or get some food from the small café there. They did, in the meantime I asked the guy who worked on the bus if we were unloading our cargo there or if the bus was going to go closer to the bridge. He said that they would drive right up to the bridge then unload. We quickly got back on the bus and waited, and waited and waited. For 45 minutes we sat there. I went to find the drive but couldn’t. The ground all around the bus was littered with people sleeping, three buses worth. I found a guy who spoke English and asked him what was going on. He told me that there were robbers at the bridge dragging people into the bushes and taking everything as they tried to cross. Now no one was allowed to cross until daylight. I just about lost it. I was so frustrated. I only kept myself together for the sake of Meredith and Cordi. I went back on the bus and told them. We decided to get off and find a place on the ground to sleep. We couldn’t go off far because for sure someone would try to rob us or bother us as we were the only white people there. I found a place by a wall of a closed shop, people were sleeping on both sides, but it was big enough for us. We took our sheets out of our bags and used them to cover the goat poo and try to keep warm. It was hard to sleep as I was so nervous about all the people around and knew that I was responsible for our safety. I drifted in and out of sleep, waking up to rocks jabbing into my side and the smell of goat urine. At 6:00am we were jarred awake by the sound of our bus engine. “I think that’s our bus” Meredith said. Sure enough. We jumped up and grabbed our sheets. Just as we started walking, the bus began to back up. It was leaving without us, we ran and caught up as it was pulling away. “Run and jump on” I told they girls. They did and I followed just before it sped up.

We drove down to the bridge where rows and rows and trucks sat idle, unable to carry their good to the other side. Only a small section of the bridge was still attached, big enough to walk across. I once again hired a few guys to carry my three bundles of baskets from one bus to the other. By 7:30am, all the cargo from one bus had been loaded onto the other. In the midst of waiting, we were told by several people that sure enough the robbers had been stilling from people just hours before and it was very unsafe to cross. We got on the bus and left, reaching Kitale by 11:30am, over 8 hours late.

In the past 20 hours I had pushed a matatu twice, crossed a possibly fatal flooded lugga on foot, been jabbed on the side by a pad-les armrest for hours, slept on the ground on top of goat poop, ran and jumped onto a moving bus in an attempt to not be left behind, avoided being robbed by broken bridge bandits and only kept myself pulled together because I was the man and didn’t want to start crying in front of the girls. Ok, I wouldn’t have cried…

some people might complain, but for me, this was the kind of adventure I live for. I kept reminding myself that whatever doesn’t kill me will make for a really good story.

After reaching Kitale, we had 30 minutes to clean up before Meredith and had to be at our next meeting an hours drive away. I fell into bed at 8:00 that night only to wake up at 4:30am with an extreme case of malaria. No joke…

The martyr in me said I wasn’t that sick and could make it through our morning staff meeting. I conducted the meeting from under a blanket shivering due to a fever. In the midst of praying, I ran to the bathroom and vomited… first time in 8 years. I was more mad that my 8 year vomitless streak was ruined than the fact that I had malaria. I postponed the meeting until another day.

Now I am feeling a bit better, the medication I am on is really strong. I attempted to go out of the house today and have lunch with Meredith and Todd. During lunch I couldn’t carry on a logical conversation. I was convinced that everyone was just out of it, but I guess it was me.

So, that’s life in Kenya. There is a lot of political stuff going on here, but that will be for another e-mail…

Labels: group update, Only in Africa

This morning at 4:45am, I was abruptly woken up by something crawling on my leg. My natural instincts kicked in and I swatted if off. At first I thought it was a big grasshopper but by the thud of it hitting the wall, I knew it was something bigger than a bug. It hit the wall and then the floor and then fluttered on the floor, kind of like a bird. In a dazed stooper, I frantically searched for my flashlight on floor by my bed. I found it and turned it on. As soon as the light hit the thing, it scurried under the wicker chair in my room. From what I could see, it looked like a baby rat, but it moved too slowly to be a rat. I carefully lifted up the chair, not wanting to get attacked by this slow moving baby rat. As the chair move, it ran from the chair to the bed… I about flew half way across the room. “Ok, it’s not going to kill you” I assured myself. I bent down and looked under the bed and realized that this was not a baby rat, but a baby bat. My mind went crazy trying to figure out how a bat got into my room and why it was crawling on me while I was sleeping. My heart was still beating fast, I was now wide awake.

I found an old washing soap container. I wanted to catch this thing so I could show everyone in the morning. There is no way they would believe me without the proof. I had the soap container in one hand and my Bible in the other. Well, it was just the closest thing to hold in my other hind. After some chasing, on the bats and my part, I trapped the it under the soap container. I got it turned over and covered it with my Bible. I got my pocket knife to poke holes in the lid of the container to let air in. Somehow in the process, I just about cut my thumb off. I felt so stupid… should have lost my totem ship (boy scouts reference).

So, here is a picture of my bed bat. I’ll show it off today and then let it go. I hope that my room isn’t becoming a cave. Before I sleep at night I will now be checking for mosquitoes, spider and bats.

Labels: Only in Africa

I was riding in a shuttle (10 passenger van) from Nairobi to Kitale on Thursday last week. We were about 30 minutes out of Nairobi, it was 12:00pm, just in the middle of the day. I looked out my window and thought I was watching a movie. Time slowed down as we drove past 3 men wearing ski masks, each holding a M16 pointed at the passengers of a small car. The passengers were exiting the car with their hands in the air. I could not believe I was witnessing a car jacking in the middle of the day. Just a half a mile away was a police check station, totally unaware of the events unfolding around the corner. I told our driver to stop and tell the police, he kept driving. It is so Kenyan to mind your own business even when someone needs help. My heart was beating so fast for a half hour. Only in Kenya, only in Kenya.

I reached Kitale at 7:00pm, dusk. It had rained a good part of the day making all the roads very muddy. I decided that I didn’t want to walk to my house in the mud. I waved down a boda boda (bicycle taxi). I had my backpack full of a weeks clothes on my back, my laptop in its case slung over my shoulder and a huge bag of sacks used for shipping in my arms. The driver was having a hard time peddling up hill because the load was so heavy. We reached the top of the hill and started coasting down. He was going to fast in my opinion. We hit a patch of mud and the back tire started going side to side. Before I knew it, I was laying flat on my back in the mud. I didn’t mention that I was in slacks and a light blue dress shirt. I landed half way on my side and half way on my backpack and laptop. I felt like a turtle that flipped over on its back and couldn’t move. The driver just stood there looking at me in shock. I reached out my hand for him to help me up and I just started laughing. I think he thought I was going to kill him or something. But I just stood there, covered in mud laughing.

My computer still worked fine (it was only the second time in the week it got dropped) and the mud washed out.

Labels: Only in Africa

This article is from the Kenya Daily Nation news paper Tuesday, May 1, 2007

Man chops off genitals to “punish” wife

A man shopped off his penis following a quarrel with his wife in Kakamega District. The victim, who a shoe repair man decided to cut off his manhood as a “punishment” to his wife after a tiff over finances. The man was incensed that his wife could not spare him some few shillings to buy materials for his shoe repair business. The Saturday incident happened shortly after his wife had left for a menial job in the neighborhood. Earlier, the couple was reported to have had a bitter verbal exchange after the man demanded money from his wife. Area assistant chief Fredrick said the man needed the money to buy some thread to mend customers’ pairs of shoes but failed to get the cash. The man then locked himself in a room and used a sharp scalpel to chop off his genitailia. He could not bear the pain and his screams alerted the neighbors, who on breaking into the house, found him writhing in pain. They rushed him to the hospital for treatment.

Only in Kenya

Labels: Only in Africa