The Clouds Roll On

Overall, I'd say I have adjusted quite well to rural life here in Kenya. I made it into town last weekend and purchased the very expensive sunscreen (they know who's buying this) and some precious peanut butter, but other than that, everything I need is provided for. My mama prepares more food than I would ever need, and everyone else I meet is always giving me something, being the only mzungu around. They have amazing, HUGE avocadoes here, and just eat them with a spoon, so I decided to make my family some guacamole. Mama and my two youngest sisters hovered over me as I sliced garlic, tomatoes, cilantro (they kept practicing silantrro quietly in my ear), squeezed some lime and whipped up a batch of some of the best guac EVER. I've never made it before, but I'm not kidding, Jen-Mel, this was some good stuff.

There were no corn chips in town, so I purchased arrowroot chips instead which my family also had never seen. They loved it. Every once in a while now, Elena, my seven year old sister, quietly says guatemole, to see if I notice and praise her. And they make for me simple repetitious meals that I can't seem to get enough of. Anyone who has ever seen me eat chicken knows that I leave a good amount of space around the "yucky" parts. Now, by candlelight, I grab what's put in the bowl in front of me and rip all the soft parts forcefully from the bones and joints and suck these chewy pieces and their juices off my fingers as it drips down my chin. I use the ugali everyone's tearing at to sop up the rest of the juices that fall back into the bowl. Mmmmm, just like chicken pot pie. (Gwen is still running around. I check everyday).

I have much work to do in this last month before all our papers are due and we return to Nairobi for exams, so I spend every evening now sitting in front of the kerosene writing away. Someone will bring my dinner in for me and say, "Emily is very busy," then leave me to it. Last Sunday, I took a break from the work to watch my sisters, Brenda and Elena. They were making little dolls out of clay they found in the yard. They gave them dried grass earrings, hair made of string, and a little dress made of old torn fabric. Then they made a table and chairs, and a bed, and put a yellow flower, which are strewn all over the ground around us from the big tree next to the house, in a clay pot. They'd giggle after they made everything because they love watching my reactions to everything they do. Then we tied a long string around a tree and did some kind of counting jump rope game. At one point I got squirmish over this wormy thing with legs that came near me (I see it all the time, hate it), but little Elena was quick to come over and squish it with her finger. After they run to the house to prepare my bath water or gather firewood for dinner, I set up a little table outside the house for myself to continue writing.

The breeze blows the fresh, rain-smelling air around me and I glance up now and then to witness the amazing clouds and unbeatable sunsets. The sound of tugging grass gets near and far as the sheep we have work their way around the yard, and around it again. I love the little baby that tries to nap at times but then wakes and runs around crying for his mom because she's moved on to another area. There is another sheep the same color as she, and I find it interesting that he sometimes thinks she's mom and goes for her teats. She brutally shoves him away and he gives out another little cry. Mom doesn't miss a blade of grass as she quickly works her way back to baby to comfort him. Sometimes, one sheep stops in front of me and stares, wanting me to bring it water (yep, I know what the sheep are saying now), but I just say, "Bring me the baby", and that makes 'em move on. We have a couple baby cows and one follows the baby sheep around sometimes; they're friends. And I can't believe how close the big cattle come to me when they're feeding, walking up to and around me with their big horns. And I'm surprised that this doesn't frighten me.

The two adult dogs are named Wangari Maathai and President Nyerye (former Pres of Tanzania), which prompted me to ask the names of the pups. They hadn't named then yet, but said that I could do it. I named the girl Winona, and the boy Albert Lea. But, then found out the other day why they wait to name them. I asked where Albert was, and Gabriel, my brother, and their caretaker, just smiled and said he died. Oh, and I was surprised that this didn't bother me. I was standing near one roof holding the dead sheep's carcass, waiting to be buried, and another with the skin of a chicken waiting to be taken by a bird. I said a sweet hello to Winona who now seems more energetic as she follows Gabriel everywhere.

There's always a thunderstorm somewhere and I watch the lightning and listen to the rumbles, but it usually passes us without many drops. Everyone gets some rain about twice a week, and every home has its system of harnessing the water. This is all the water we have, the rain. Some homes have big cement tanks built next to the house with the gutter pouring into it. Our system is just one of us grabbing the biggest bucket near by and putting it in the designated spot where the gutter pours its contents. Then mama puts Riteguard in the water and the family can drink it. I'm still buying bottles from the market which we then use to carry our kerosene.

I try my hardest to not get creeped out easily, although it can be slow going. There's an enormous spider that likes to make an appearance every night when I'm alone and run around the wall quickly, making me shriek. Once it's out of sight I try to forget about it. The tops of the walls open up to the air, it can find its way back out again. But, every night, it's back again, laughing at me. Last night, a moth the size of a Monarch began flying around our heads as mama and I had a great conversation about the coming elections, husbands taking girlfriends, and birth control. I love talking to her. But the moth became our entertainment as we rooted for the two little geckos on the ceiling who were trying to chase it. It seriously became our Primetime Crime Show.. we she be caught? She got herself into this mess, can she find her way out? Come on geckos, you're closing in, trap her into giving herself away... then mama grabbed my hard cover photo album and smashed her. Show over.

I grabbed my toilet paper and took the journey to the latrine pits the other night, and as I was beginning to squat, a bat came flying out of the hole up at me. I released a shrieky yyYYEEELP I have never heard leave my body before, and forced my way out of the locked door into the night with my pants around my ankles. There was a funeral taking place somewhere in the distance which is a three day event with music and dancing, so this covered my scream, but all the dogs took notice and started barking like crazy. I'm just glad it was dark, because during the day, I'm within view of the school windows and all the students watch me as a trot to the toilet with my funny tissue paper. When I told my mama and her sister, they had a great laugh, and my mama grabbed a blunt weapon, and said, "Who's trying to hurt my Emily?!! If I had heard you scream I would have come running!!"

The next day I went to the pit and when the door opened and the sun hit the hole, I saw the bat try to cover himself. Nope, not going in there. There's two adjoined pits, so I walked into the other one, and saw a stupid bat in there too! Nope. I walked back to the house and whined to my mommy that there are now bats in both latrines and I don't know what to do. She asked if I was really scared of a bat, and I said I am when it's flying at my butt! So she finally showed me the pit the family uses (I wondered why I was the only one I saw go so far), she just thought I wouldn't like it because it's made of mud, leaning to one side, the door doesn't fully close, and it's infested with large cockroaches that are not afraid of you, but eh... it's better than the bats, and the laughing, pointing children for that matter.

Although most people in the area are getting used to me, this just leads them to approach me more with their questions and assumptions. No, I cannot give you money. No, I cannot help increase your fishing yield. No, I am not here to teach. No, I am not here to write the history of the land. No, I cannot help you get to America, but I wish I could. The children have made it a game to call out to me as I pass every morning and every night. I sometimes stop at Mama Stevens barber shop to say hello, and they gather around because she's right in the middle of the market area. Last time, she taught me how to say I'd like some water in Luo, as I was on the way to the water duka. Mia Pi, I said, and all the children started yelling it around me. MIA PI, MIA PI! And it's hard to say that, by the way. Water is pronounced "pee". Bring me some pee, Brenda, I'd like to take a bath now. I'm thirsty, I could use some pee. One child saw me walk by and screamed, "Dolly!" My mama was with me and burst into laughter. "She thinks you're a dolly!" The girl followed for a while in complete disbelief that a life-sized dolly was walking through the market. One boy was made to shake my hand by his mother. He did it reluctantly, then looked at his palm and wiped it on his shirt. They just don't know what I am.

The women's groups I've been visiting have been the highlight. They dance and sing when I arrive, and show me everything they do. I have learned how to basket weave and make rope out of sisal fibres. They even send me home with the supplies to continue. I watched a group make earthen pots, and watched them bake a cake in a traditional oven. They baked a cassava cake for me and it was gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooood. The group with the pots sent me home with a large pot of my choice, a chicken-shaped sugar bowl, a basket, a colorful rope for hanging pots, and a huge sack of ground nuts they picked and peeled that day. The next group prepared for me uji (the local pooridge), and cakes all made completely out of sweet potato flour and amarinth (a natural malaria medicine). They sent me home with a bag of this wonderful flour, and a huge rack of fresh eggs. Everyday now, I return home with my arms full, and I place everything on the center table. My siblings say to my mother in Luo that everyone really loves me here. And as I've been told by all that I am such a fast learner, I am invited back to continue my work making ropes and baskets. I REALLY LOVE doing it, so I'll probably spend a lot of my time with them all when I return in January. And it's great for the research I'll be doing next semester. I am just so happy I was moved here to NYADEC, at Harambe Market, in Nyakach, near Kisumu.

I have decided to help get NYADEC and all of their activities known around the world by giving them a website. Mike has agreed to take on the project, and we are now busy creating a huge site that will educate all about the amazing work being done here. On the gullies, the wetlands, with the tree nurseries, and in cooperation with the women's groups. There is so much funding needed by all the different groups here, and as I visit every single one I take pictures and learn all I can about who's involved and what methods they are using and why. I have learned of all the benefits of sisal, papyrus, aloe, and many more indigenous trees. Then the women make amazing things to raise money for the projects, and for their orphans. AIDS is so prevalent here that most of these women are widows, and all the groups support many orphans. At the group that made the pottery, they have about 20 little children staying right there, taking school in a church that is not big enough for this purpose. They all came up to me and stared at me with big innocent eyes that said, take ME with you. And I have to admit, I wanted to. How does one really go to an orphanage and pick one when they are all there praying and praying it will be them? I found myself looking each one directly in the eye as the women described their activities, with the thought, which one would it be...

But what I can do is help get them known. This group is in need of money to build classrooms right now, and they even showed me professional blueprints they had made. They showed me the location, and the pile of bricks they are collecting and saving money to buy, and they will build it themselves once they have everything they need. A gully trust group told me the need for gloves because of the sandy dirt they must dig in. Another group needs the money to fix their truck as their main method is building rock contours. Now they do it all by hand, and it is SO much. And it's really working! It's so amazing it even shows in a photograph. These are just some of the needs that I hope to help get known out there for them. I simply tell them I think what they are doing is impressive, and I will do what I can to make what they do known and available on the internet. Now, we can only pray that the world will take interest. And this makes them happy, and they start clapping and singing again.

I know I made the right decision in staying for four more months. I have so much I want to do, and I love the people I'm meeting, and everything they are willing to teach me. They all ask how long I'm staying and they light up with smiles when I tell them I will return in January after a month holiday. Then I'll be with them until April, researching for one project, my own, and spending my time the way I want to. Wednesdays with Kudho Kodit Women's Group, Thursdays with Ritri Kendi Women's Group, Sunday's planting the family food garden with my mama... it's going to be a time I will cherish forever.

On the way to the matatu stand this morning a man I passed asked, "On your way to work, Emily?"
"No, not today, going to Kisumu."
His smile faded, "Are you coming back?"
"Yes", I laughed.

And I know they will remember me too.

Emily Sara