"No, Really! I'm OK" and Other Cultural Misunderstandings

I mentioned earlier that most Kenyans I know are extremely generous people. Due to the issues they face, both agricultural, urban, and ethnic, they tend to be more community minded. In fact, the motto of Kenya is Harambee or "Let's pull together" and this became the rallying cry for the start of self-help groups and business cooperatives that formed post-independence under Kenyatta's regime. I find it wonderful. However, at times, it takes getting used to.

Like food. When I stayed in rural Kenya, I got fed a LOT. Of course, I could never finish my plate, which would provoke concern about my "fear of eating" (of course, any American who knows me knows that this is patently untrue). Or statements about how skinny I am, which, due to some body image hangups from my childhood, I find more than a little bit annoying (at least they're not like some Americans who told me my body would break if I attempted to have children. Don't worry, Dante and I had a talk. They're going to the twelfth circle). It's really sweet but sometimes, it feels a little forceful. "No, really! Eat more! Can I add you? Why not?" I swear, they give the Italians a run for their money (and I thought we were food pushers). Or when people offer to buy you a soda or milk. When you refuse, they always tell you it's no issue and that Africans are big on generosity. It doesn't occur to them that you really don't want either and are cool with your water. You still are made to feel bad if you say no thank you. Or you have to go into an explanation about how your doctors told you NOT to drink soda or whole milk and, even if it's true, you still feel like it's just an excuse.

Or compliments. In America, you tell someone you like their shoes and it's just a compliment, a way of saying, "You look nice today." In Kenya, you tell someone you like their shoes and they take them off and give them to you. Or they buy you a pair. It's awkward because you weren't asking for the shoes, you just wanted to be nice. And, if you wanted them, it wouldn't have been an issue to just buy them yourself. At the same time, it's rude to refuse, like you're rejecting their generosity. I've had to learn to not say, "I want xyz" or "wow, that's a really nice xyz" just so I wouldn't be put in that position.

Or needing to pamper the mzungu, especially if she's a woman. "Wow, are you sure you're OK with walking this far?" as we walk the five blocks from one matatu stage to another. "Dude, I walk much further in the U.S.!" Or worrying about me because my pants got stained in muck. "Look, it's a STAIN! I'll be FINE!" Or the need to escort me all the way to my hotel room (which feels even more awkward because, to me, it looks very improper if I'm not "with you" with you). I'll admit, this one isn't just awkward or a little strange, it's frustrating. I have always prided myself on my independence, on my ability to carry heavy things, take care of myself, bring myself home, walk long distances (by the way, I'm in VERY good shape, if I do say so myself) and never wanted to be treated differently because I have boobs. I do appreciate concern if I seriously need it. But worrying about me because I get a little dirty or have to walk from a sidewalk to a door ten feet away? After paying my own rent, doing 30 hours of manual labor a week while going to school full time (and still making awesome grades), not to mention flying here by myself, I think I'll be OK with a little shit on my shoe (yes, it's actual shit, not making that one up).

Really, I do like the generosity and I find a lot of kindness in my friends here, a willingness to share that puts me to shame. At the same time, I'm really not used to it. I've been such an independent individualist all of my life that I'm just not used to being helped with the tiniest things. And, in America, if someone offers you something, you're supposed to say no out of courtesy. So I'm not used to people insisting so much on treating you to things. It's just not what I'm used to. And yes, some of it does annoy me, simply because I don't like being babied and I never have.

Nevertheless, everyone can use some cultural awkwardness. It's good for the soul. It means you've learned something about someone and about yourself. So, even though it does frustrate me at times, I'm glad because it means I'm learning.

Ideology Questions-Obituaries of Young Girls

Many who know me may recall some strict pro-life convictions on my part. For the most part, I still believe human life begins at conception. I believe that pregnancy is not a measure of character and that motherhood should not determine a woman's employment or reputation. I believe that all should be done to allow babies and mothers to thrive and I never really liked the idea of abortion. At the same time, a few troubling questions have come up, especially since my stay here.

Abortion is actually legal in Kenya under the old Constitution. However, it's legal under strict circumstances and guidelines. In addition, stigma is still attached to the procedure and it remains extremely inaccessible to most Kenyan women. Even though the new Constitution was merely clarifying, NOT adding new policy, the Catholic bishops of Kenya still felt the slightest mention an outrage and urged others to vote no, despite the multitude of other positive changes (that fall more in line with Catholic values than how the government is currently run) present. Basic health care still remains out of reach for many so, even if abortion was not so heavily stigmatized, it would still be inaccessible.

What does this have to do with my viewpoint? I started realizing the problems lack of access can cause. What really catalyzed this was the presence of obituaries in The Standard. Some of them were for young girls who passed away from illegal, back alley abortions. One in particular had procured one (by OD'ing on drugs) after becoming pregnant by her secondary school teacher. I never felt so angry.

Because of a man's abuse, a young girl is dead! By the way, so is her baby. Rather than save both lives, both were extinguished. Both extinguished before they ever really began.

I don't think abortion should be birth control. I think every effort should be made to reduce the need for one. This includes giving young women and men education and resources. This includes removing stigma of unwed pregnancy, of women in the work force, and of young motherhood. This includes providing opportunities for job training, connections with employers, and chances for education. This includes providing family friendly policies that allow women to earn a living while taking care of children. This includes making sure men and fathers are accountable and responsible for the children they beget and the women they are with. This includes making health care a priority. Finally, it includes making sure any abortion is done in a doctor's office, with qualified supervision and sanitation.

I don't like abortion. I'd like to see it rare. I'd like to see a need for it reduced. However, I must also value the mother's life. No teenage girl should have to die alone with her child due to some man's greed. No woman should have to leave little ones behind because she can't afford another one. No mother should feel she has nothing left to lose if a pregnancy puts her life in jeopardy and her child is unlikely to be viable.

Restricting abortion to this extent isn't saving anyone. Rather, two lives are lost at once. For what?

I wonder what those bishops would say if they had daughters.

A Week in Rural Kenya and Thoughts as a Youth

As part of our program, we took a week to go upcountry, specifically in Western/Nyanza provinces, to learn about rural issues. One of the major themes in our studies is the phenomena of urban migration. Nairobi is not only Kenya's capital city, it is the hub of Kenya and many people move to search for economic opportunities. As a result, due to issues of rent and other factors, slums pop up everywhere. Around two thirds of the city live in slums. You can imagine the resulting issues with this. This week, we were out to see the rural side. As part of our final projects, we were assigned to choose a topic relating to urban issues and, while in the rural areas, were supposed to ask questions.

I stayed in a small village near Kisumu. My host mother is a lovely woman who lives with her three youngest children (she has eight in total) and her grandson. The three boys were in school and her littlest one, an adorable two year old girl, stayed at home during the day. My mama's husband lives in Nairobi (in the slum of Kibera) and works for the Kenyan police, in order to support the family. Three of her eldest children work in Nairobi and two others live in neighboring villages. Unfortunately, one of her sons chose drugs and crime as his path. According to her, he's one of many idle young men in the village. Her estimate is that fifty percent of the young men are involved with serious crimes (including burglary and murder) due to idleness, lack of employment, weakness of local law enforcement, and easy access to opium. There is actually a registered gang in that area and my mama forbade me from going outside at night. Robbery is common and my mama's house was burned down last year. Due to security issues, if I needed the toilet at night, I had to use a bucket.

I was able to talk to many people during my week. In a twist of fate, I met an American missionary on one of my walks. Later, she and a Kenyan gospel singer found me playing guitar at my mama's house. They invited me to an event at the local primary school. I brought my guitar and ended up winging it. Later, I was able to talk to the singer, ask her questions about youth and music (my issue, as I know others partnered with an organization that helps youth turn music into a livelihood, so that they can improve their economic situation and stay away from temptations like drug abuse) and ultimately ended up with her contact information. My mother is right, I am Forrest Gump.

I also talked with students, a pastor, and my mama. Everyone mentioned the lack of youth opportunities. Think about this. About 70% of Kenya's population is under the age of 35. Unemployment is a serious problem. Many Kenyans may not have the choice to enter secondary school (due to cost) and those who may even make it to university find themselves without the necessary experience or connections to make it into a profession. They may not have access to credit. In addition, corruption is common and land/property rights are not always secure. So, you have these youth who have little opportunity and nothing to do. What results from this? Street gangs, like the ones in my mama's village. Terrorist organizations, like the Mungiki near the area I work in. Robbery. Drug addiction. Remember too, these young people have easy access to tools like machetes.

It really struck me because I learned about this through my interfaith work. Terrorist organizations like Al Quaeda work in the same way. Those parts of the world also have a booming youth population, as well as high rates of unemployment and poverty. How do you think those terrorists recruit? By promising glory, money, a living, meaning in their lives, attention. All the things young people need and crave! Yet, politicians and leaders are so quick to dismiss us, no matter what country we live in. It's easy to treat us at best as if we know nothing and at worst as if we're nothing but troublemakers, smartasses and criminals. It's easier for media to focus on issues such as teen pregnancy in the U.S. and young suicide bombers elsewhere, while they ignore the stories of young people who fight to the death for their rights and work to give something to their communities.

Young people are not always angels. They may still choose to forsake education, regardless of how accessible it is. They may choose to break the law, regardless of how good law enforcement is. At the same time, they need the opportunities to make a true choice about their lives and future. Should they choose to still follow a destructive path, every effort must be made to help them get back on track and prevent them from contributing negatively to society. I'm not saying that they should be coddled and that we should expect all to swim. At the same time, they need an equal chance to start life with.

The old adage "Children are the future" is no mere cliche. Youth will inherit their nations as they grow older. However, the choices they make and the opportunities they have while young are what determine the destiny of that nation. Would you like to see your nation bask in the sun's glory? Or would you rather it go up in flames? How a nation provides for its youth will determine the answer to that question. I hope Kenya chooses to shine.

Why Nairobi? Why not Paris or Rome?

I feel like people have asked me these questions quite a bit before I left. I told people I was studying in Nairobi for my semester abroad and they would ask, "Why? I get Europe, it's much more academic. What will you do in Africa?" Before pointing out that Africa is a vast and diverse continent (trust me, DRC is EXTREMELY different from Kenya, in terms of culture, former colonial powers, geography and national security), I would say that my reasons were unique to Kenya. I wanted what I could not find anywhere in Europe.

First, let's look at my passions. From my academics, resume, and conversations, poverty eradication comes up quite a bit. From a common sense perspective, it really doesn't make a whole lot of sense to study in Western Europe. Yes, the Western powers have their own issues (see it every day in DC), but you don't go to Europe to study poverty eradication. Nairobi, it's almost a business (sadly, there are several unscrupulous NGO's who make money off of Kenyans' misery and Westerners' checkbooks). Development comes after tourism. Whether people are employees or beneficiaries, everyone wants a piece of it. Quite simply, it makes much more sense to study these issues in a place where you face them head on, rather than study them in class at AU and go to Europe, where most of these are irrelevant (not bashing my friends who took the Europe/ID route in SIS, they have their own reasons. These are just my thoughts).

Second, after living here for nearly two months, I don't think I would have gotten as much out of Europe. Yes, European languages and cultures are different but not on the same drastic level. Americans still experience similarities. Kenyans not only have a completely different understanding of life and much different realities, it's a place where you have to prove yourself. I had to make my bones with Nairobi. If you remember posts from the beginning, I was very frustrated: at being ripped off, hit on, groped, begged for money, stared at, etc, just because I was white. I had to learn not to take it personally, but to learn from it. Since then, I've learned to put on a neutral face, made friends with Kenyans, learned more Kiswahili/Sheng/cultural idioms/Kenyan English, and developed more of a sense of humor. I don't seem as much like a clueless tourist who doesn't know what she's doing. Rather, I have more confidence in myself than I ever did in my entire life and I've started to see beauty in the culture and the people. I've also humbled quite a bit, realizing that I'm going to make mistakes, handle things wrongly, and accidentally offend people. It's up to me to learn from it, apologize when needed, laugh at myself, and move on.

Nairobi has a certain raw beauty to it. I liken it to Bruce's "Thunder Road," when he croons, "You ain't a beauty but hey you're all right!" No, his girl isn't the beauty you find in magazines or on billboards, just like Nairobi isn't Rome. At the same time, Bruce compares Mary to a vision as her dress sways. Likewise, Nairobi has a quality and charm to it you can't find in Europe. Whether it's the purple jacarandas and green palms alongside dirt roads and big buildings, people walking in their suits and high heels as matatu touts are screaming, "Mbao! Mbao! Mbao! Kariobangi!" (Mbao is Sheng for 20 shillings, comes from the British pound and Kariobangi is a slum in Nairobi, near where I work), the mix of Swahili, English and Sheng and the smell of smoke, samosas and sausages, it's got something. No, Kenya is not Italy. It's not France. I wouldn't want it to be. It's Kenya. It's different, it's beautiful, and it's special.

I hope poverty and politics improve here and that these determined people I know can find solutions to their situations. At the same time, there are some things I wouldn't have any other way. I feel like I've been through a lot. I wouldn't change a thing. People think I've gone to teach people. No. They've all taught me more than I could ever hope to learn in a lifetime. For this, I am filled with gratitude.

Asante sana, Kenya :)

Poverty Isn't Romantic

I don't understand how so many people in International Development (myself included for awhile) have come away with the idea that poverty is so romantic. Every discussion I heard was, "Well Americans (especially along either coast) have the money but these people (in developing countries) are so happy and value life so much more! Their lives are so uncomplicated!" Um, really?

First of all, most Kenyans I have spoken with lament that they have not the money to come to the U.S. I've spoken with teachers, secondary school students, leaders of youth groups, and others, many of whom are wonderful, joyous, lovely people. At the same time, they want the opportunities the U.S. has. From my conversations with coworkers at a restaurant back in the States, even a dishwasher making less than minimum wage can make more money in a day than they'll see in a month in their home countries. This is money they can send to families, save for a house (hey, the ones I know are extremely frugal and there are those who have done it, even on low wages), send for loved ones, etc. They can send their kids to school for free and not have to buy uniforms or books. They'll have more access to things such as running water, a functioning toilet, electricity, food. They know that Americans have a relatively stable political system. Yes, they want it too.

There's nothing romantic about extreme poverty. Nothing romantic about having your child die in your arms because you can't afford the hospital. There's nothing romantic about having your parents oust you and completion of your education denied to you because you found out you were pregnant at thirteen. There's nothing romantic about having to drop out of school because your family can no longer afford school fees. There's nothing romantic about living in your own muck because there's no sanitation. There's nothing romantic about having to live in illegal housing because you can't afford to live anywhere else. There's nothing romantic about having to take care of relatives with serious maladies because the water's dirty.

You know something? As lovely as many of the Kenyans I know are, their lives are not uncomplicated. "Value of life" is a relative term and I've seen fiercer levels of competition here than in the U.S. (considering that 66% of Nairobi lives on less than $1 a day, that's not highly inaccurate to believe). While we should not believe money is everything, it does help. It helps if you can gain steady employment to support yourself and your family. It helps if you can get sturdy housing with a functioning bathroom. It helps if you can afford nutritious food and feed your family. It helps if you can gain access to medical care and education. Having money, the basics, and some nice things does not make you a good or bad person. However, while man does not live on bread alone, man cannot live without bread. As much as these same people say they want to help, their attitudes about poverty give little incentive to end it.

I also wish to point out the hypocrisy of those who look down on "materialism." These same people are the ones who will gladly indulge on beautiful clothing and jewelry from Kenya, who love to have nice clothing back in the States, who would not care to live anywhere other than midtown Manhattan or near the Hill in Washington, who eat only at nice restaurants and look down on people who live in small towns and take their families to McDonald's. I'll admit, I do want to live in those places as well (though I'm content with living in the Bronx or in Northeast, if it was what I could afford)and I love me some good food and pretty clothes. But I'm a materialist and I can't pretend that I'm not. Yes, I want people in Kenya and in the U.S. to get jobs that enable them to support themselves and I believe their wage levels should be concurrent with their work. I want all children to be able to finish secondary school, without having to worry about school fees. I believe everyone should have access to health care and that insurance companies shouldn't act like oil companies. At the same time, there's nothing wrong with a little materialism. Not if it helps us improve our own lives and better the situation of others by providing them with employment and a market.

Ending poverty starts with the knowledge that poverty is not a good thing. If we keep acting like it is, many people will still experience social injustice every day. If we keep romanticizing the struggle, we will never help people pull themselves up by their bootstraps and end it. By contributing to this attitude, we're denying people their dignity and their right to do everything to improve their situation. We rely on the hand out when we should be giving a hand up. People need not just money but a sustainable way of earning it. Yes, this involves competition and hard work. Who said they had to be intrinsic evils?

Piki-Pikis and an ounce of courage

I've spoken of matatus as a crazy Kenyan adventure. However, I don't think I've mentioned piki-pikis, also known as boda-bodas. Why? Because piki-piki is a Kiswahili word for motorcycle and I was afraid of never hearing the end of my riding on a motorcycle on unpredictable roads. As you can see, I've since gotten over my fear of chastisement because I am too much in love with the feeling of freedom.

Piki-pikis are often used to shuttle people from one place to another. I have taken them from the matatu stage (stop) on my way to USIU, not because I'm running late, but because they're fun. Same with my work at Alta'awon. Sometimes, I just want to ride to work. Each time, I feel a rush of adrenaline so exhilarating, I wonder why my body hasn't yet sprouted wings. In that moment, I am free.

Riding piki-pikis have taught me that, while I should use common sense, I cannot prevent life from happening. There are speed bumps, oncoming cars and pedestrians, rocks, dirt, and sometimes horrific accidents. At the same time, there is the feeling of the wind on your cheeks, the rush that comes with the speed of the wheels and the hum of the engine. There is that split second when everything stops and you're flying.

Embrace life. Don't live recklessly but live as if it's your only shot. Embrace the crazy opportunities that come, no matter how scary they sound. I'm not afraid of these guys on motorbikes. If anything, I'd rather die in a motorcycle crash while experiencing Kenya rather than live a long life only to find that I haven't gone anywhere or done anything. I don't look for death, mind you. I just don't let it stop me.

"My best friend gave me the best advice. He said today's a gift and not a given right." Funny, a friend has tried for years to impart this to me. My friend, with many others, should know that I'm finally taking it.

On another note, my extreme apologies for the lack of pictures. My Internet's been shady. I will put some up in good time.

Stingy

I went to lunch at one of the teacher's houses today. She is a lovely woman and an amazing cook. She made pilau, a rice and meat delicacy that's become one of my favorites. Afterward, I went with a friend to a music event at a local Catholic church. The event was awesome, the music was great and I felt like I was really connecting with people. However, I realized something today. I am stingy.

A couple people kept asking to borrow my pen. I would lend it but always ask for it back........not so much because I thought people would steal but because I have a tendency to leave things behind (scatter-brained, absent minded person that I am) and I'm really paranoid about losing things. However, I realized the messages my reluctance conveyed: that I'm cheap, stingy, selfish and distrustful. In the end, I freely gave it, simply because I realized the mistake of my attitude.

It did make me think about something. Here in Kenya, yes, people do ask for money. Yes, we all have been ripped off at the market place. Yes, Nairobi has nicknames like Nairobbery. At the same time, that doesn't begin to convey the truth I have found here, in that most Kenyans I know are disarmingly generous. Children who had nothing and were trying to sell jewelry gave me one for free as a gift, without expecting me to purchase anything in return. A lady I work with cooked me the most delicious lunch and consistently shares everything she has with me. People here have given me time, food, gifts, and warm welcomes just for the fact that they are hospitable people. They trust me with everything, including their children (this one worries me a lot, actually. More later).

Who am I to hold back the smallest and most insignificant of my possessions?

I tend to keep up a wall when there's no reason for one. I hope this will always remind me that I don't need such heavy armor.