Six months ago (nearly to the day), I was with a group of dear friends, about to ring in the new year in New York City. I had a wonderful time, sipping sangria and tasting tapas with these amazing people, at a Spanish restaurant on 10th Avenue. We spent the night at one of their houses and went back into the city the next morning. During the drive back, everyone was talking about their trips to Africa (they all did the program I am doing and two ended up returning to the continent). I commented that I was the only one in our group who had not been and had no plans to be there any time soon.
Ha. Ha. HA! Yes, that was God laughing. What was it? Man plans, God laughs?
I did not expect to be planning a trip to Kenya a mere three weeks later.
To be perfectly honest, Kenya tugged at my heart for six months before I truly began to listen. However, I didn't because it didn't fit with The Plan. I planned to be done with school by this coming December. I planned to go to Mexico for the summer, to take advanced Spanish classes and immerse myself in Mexican culture. My academic career had not even included Africa. I had taken classes on Latin America, Europe, Spanish, and Italian. The closest class I had taken was a class on Islam (which is like taking a class on Catholicism to count for studying the Philippines). I also had finances to consider. After all, in addition to keeping me in school for a semester longer, I had program fees, a plane ticket, expensive shots and medications, and food to consider.
Yet, when I started school again, Kenya became more insistent. It just kept coming up, in classes, in conversations, in readings, in prayer, and in thoughts. I felt pursued, captured, sucked in, as if I had seen a beautiful person and needed to find why they captivated me so. Three weeks later, in a conversation with a fellow student, she mentioned how she intended to study in Nairobi. She was the one who gave me the final push (not to be confused with Sachs' Big Push, for all the ID geeks reading this ;-)), the push to not only acknowledge my burning desire, but to do something about it. A conversation with my mother encouraged me to take the plunge.
Throughout this process, I've learned to embrace the unexpected. I never thought I'd have the opportunity to go to Africa before I finished college. At the same time, I never expected to find such determination inside of myself, the willingness to sacrifice so much for an adventure. I also never expected to have so many people support me, for no other reason than they truly wanted me to go. I never thought I'd be standing, on the brink of womanhood, on the edge of my academic career, with an adventure in Africa to look forward to. Nor did I expect to be as humbled as I am already, with so many turning out, ready to help me make this a possibility.
To be quite frank, I have no clue what to expect in Kenya. Yes, I know what classes I'll be taking. I know the basic facts, thanks to State Department, the CIA and the CDC. I've heard countless stories, from these same friends and others. I know people from Kenya who give their own encouragement and stories. I know what my program offers. At the same time, I really don't know anything. I don't know how this experience will change me. I don't know how my perceptions of Kenya will change. I don't know how my path will change, how my thoughts on my field work will change. I don't know how my relationships with other people (including these three) will change. I don't know how my thoughts on my own culture, country and national/ethnic identities will change. I don't know how my faith will change.
At the same time, I see this as a chance to plunge into the unknown, to tear down my ego and need for control so that I can enjoy the spontaneous adventures. I see this as the opportunity to allow my brain to learn something new and be receptive to loving people in a different way. I see this as the path that leads me to new paths, to new ways of life and new forms of thought. I see this as the chance to truly grow in ways only an African adventure can allow you to grow. Finally, I see this as the chance for my soul to finally breathe.
Life's challenges are about embracing the unexpected. This entire process has helped me to do just that.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Ethnic Identity
Another issue that's been coming up in my Kenya studies is ethnic identity. Funny, we've embraced the idea of the "nation-state" (the idea that a governing, geopolitical boundary (the state) encompasses one single people with a common heritage, history, and destiny (the nation)) so much, we've made assumptions about the people. The truth is, Kenya is a State that houses many nations. With forty different groups, languages, and ways of life, as well as the outside influence of colonialism and global society, there is no one way to be Kenyan. What's interesting is that we can say the same about America.
I've been finding this to be true for me. Ethnic and cultural studies have always fascinated me because, in some ways, I'm searching for my own culture. I've identified as Italian-American since I knew I had Italian ancestry, but I had no idea what that meant at the age of eight. All I knew was that A) my paternal grandfather was a Florentine and B) I liked pizza. Unlike most of my Italian-American friends, I didn't grow up with it. Like my Catholicism, it was something I grew up around but chose to identify with as an adult, especially when I moved away for school and felt the need to figure out who I was, outside of my old neighborhood. I've gotten some strange reactions because I'm not full blooded Italian, not even half blooded. I'm a quarter and, while that may be enough for the Sons of Italy, it's had people raise eyebrows. I've also gotten the, "Well, you're American! No need to hyphenate!" and, "Why does searching for your roots matter so much?"
Searching for your roots matters because there's no more ancient identification than the bloodline. In Somalia, children know theirs by heart, tracing back through generations of their paternal lines. That was what told you (and those around you) what kind of family you came from, what traditions you practiced, what trades, talents, and personalities you were known for. Yet, sadly, for many of us in America, many of those stories and traditions were lost, whether due to colonization, assimilation, "sea changes" or other factors. Even today, we struggle with culture, as evidenced by the insistence of Anglo ways over Latino ways, the "necessity" for immigrants to "become American" by forgetting their traditions and choosing the dominant culture. From the Native Americans, to the Africans brought over as slaves, to the Southern and Eastern Europeans who came for opportunity, this expectation has remained. At the same time, there are countless people searching through genealogies, resurrecting stories/rituals/recipes, reclaiming old family names, wondering, "What does this mean to me?" "What is it, to be Irish-American/Lakota/African-American/Chinese-American?" "Which do I keep and which do I lose?"
What does it mean to be Kenyan? What does it mean to be Kenyan and Kikuyu? Luo? Masai? Luyha? Do they deal with these same issues? How do they resolve ethnic tensions? How is there situation different? How is it similar? How does it impact daily life? Finally, how does it impact the way we, as humans, as family members, and as participants in culture, see ourselves and each other?
I search for my roots as I go the continent that houses the roots of humanity............
I've been finding this to be true for me. Ethnic and cultural studies have always fascinated me because, in some ways, I'm searching for my own culture. I've identified as Italian-American since I knew I had Italian ancestry, but I had no idea what that meant at the age of eight. All I knew was that A) my paternal grandfather was a Florentine and B) I liked pizza. Unlike most of my Italian-American friends, I didn't grow up with it. Like my Catholicism, it was something I grew up around but chose to identify with as an adult, especially when I moved away for school and felt the need to figure out who I was, outside of my old neighborhood. I've gotten some strange reactions because I'm not full blooded Italian, not even half blooded. I'm a quarter and, while that may be enough for the Sons of Italy, it's had people raise eyebrows. I've also gotten the, "Well, you're American! No need to hyphenate!" and, "Why does searching for your roots matter so much?"
Searching for your roots matters because there's no more ancient identification than the bloodline. In Somalia, children know theirs by heart, tracing back through generations of their paternal lines. That was what told you (and those around you) what kind of family you came from, what traditions you practiced, what trades, talents, and personalities you were known for. Yet, sadly, for many of us in America, many of those stories and traditions were lost, whether due to colonization, assimilation, "sea changes" or other factors. Even today, we struggle with culture, as evidenced by the insistence of Anglo ways over Latino ways, the "necessity" for immigrants to "become American" by forgetting their traditions and choosing the dominant culture. From the Native Americans, to the Africans brought over as slaves, to the Southern and Eastern Europeans who came for opportunity, this expectation has remained. At the same time, there are countless people searching through genealogies, resurrecting stories/rituals/recipes, reclaiming old family names, wondering, "What does this mean to me?" "What is it, to be Irish-American/Lakota/African-American/Chinese-American?" "Which do I keep and which do I lose?"
What does it mean to be Kenyan? What does it mean to be Kenyan and Kikuyu? Luo? Masai? Luyha? Do they deal with these same issues? How do they resolve ethnic tensions? How is there situation different? How is it similar? How does it impact daily life? Finally, how does it impact the way we, as humans, as family members, and as participants in culture, see ourselves and each other?
I search for my roots as I go the continent that houses the roots of humanity............
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Music in Kenya
My friends will say that I am a musical person. I remember being three and able to identify the Chili Peppers on the radio. Or seven and being entranced by "Thunder Road" and turning on the radio late at night, just so I could listen to the Eagles (I want Hotel California, Hell Freezes Over edition, at my wedding reception. Just sayin'). When I was old enough for music lessons, I was always playing something. From sixth grade to college, I sang in my school chorus, church choirs, and, for my last two years of high school, I took voice lessons. In addition, I'm always listening to something and, when a song comes on the radio, I try and match rhythm with the correct time signature (is it 4/4 or 6/8?). My computer, cheekbones, wrists, and hips have all served as drums and metronomes and I can identify my favorite songs within the first bar.
Yet I never really allowed myself to become good at it. Every instrument I played, I never played longer than two years. At church, people always tell me I have such a beautiful voice and, when going to weddings and first communions at other parishes, someone will try and recruit me for their choir (luckily, my own parish won me over in that regard). At the same time, I've always let my fear get the best of me and thus never made Regionals or anything like that. I've also been very inconsistent with practice, something necessary. It wasn't until I inherited my brother's small guitar and went to a music room to find that I forgot every vocal warm up I'd ever learned that I realized I needed to change. So I signed myself up for music lessons this semester, as elective credits.
OK, Katie, you're addicted to music. What the hell does any of this have to do with Kenya?
It's through exploring my love for music, both creating and appreciating, that I've realized how universal music is. Every culture has their own musical tradition, their songs, their dances, their instruments, their musical structure, their chants and their rhythms. People relate to it and bond over it. Like any other work of beauty, it's something that channels through the soul and helps people overcome boundaries (yet can also be used to create them). Music evokes emotions, tells stories, and allows the expression of ideas in ways that words cannot begin to suffice. Most teens will tell you it is their companion, even when it feels like no one else is.
Music can also be used in IR. A friend of mine, studying in Cairo, is a music major with an interest in the Middle East and peace and conflict. I can see her hosting a music camp for Israeli and Palestinian children, teaching them how to work together to create something beautiful. U2 uses their music to make others aware of social injustices. In The Sex Lives of Cannibals, the author talks about how his girlfriend taught women in Kiribati environmentally friendly agriculture techniques via their own song and dance. Encouraging musicians from different cultures and styles to share their creations could be a way to draw in tourism, educate others, bolster economies, and enable groups to preserve their traditions.
I want to learn of the music in Kenya. I want to learn not only who's popular, what instruments are used, what songs, but how it's used, what kinds for which times, how it's composed. I want to learn what the Kenyans have to teach me about music, how we're united by it, even as we're divided by it. Finally, I want to learn how to channel this medium, this hobby, this gift of mine, in a practical way to fulfilling my duty to this planet.
Yet I never really allowed myself to become good at it. Every instrument I played, I never played longer than two years. At church, people always tell me I have such a beautiful voice and, when going to weddings and first communions at other parishes, someone will try and recruit me for their choir (luckily, my own parish won me over in that regard). At the same time, I've always let my fear get the best of me and thus never made Regionals or anything like that. I've also been very inconsistent with practice, something necessary. It wasn't until I inherited my brother's small guitar and went to a music room to find that I forgot every vocal warm up I'd ever learned that I realized I needed to change. So I signed myself up for music lessons this semester, as elective credits.
OK, Katie, you're addicted to music. What the hell does any of this have to do with Kenya?
It's through exploring my love for music, both creating and appreciating, that I've realized how universal music is. Every culture has their own musical tradition, their songs, their dances, their instruments, their musical structure, their chants and their rhythms. People relate to it and bond over it. Like any other work of beauty, it's something that channels through the soul and helps people overcome boundaries (yet can also be used to create them). Music evokes emotions, tells stories, and allows the expression of ideas in ways that words cannot begin to suffice. Most teens will tell you it is their companion, even when it feels like no one else is.
Music can also be used in IR. A friend of mine, studying in Cairo, is a music major with an interest in the Middle East and peace and conflict. I can see her hosting a music camp for Israeli and Palestinian children, teaching them how to work together to create something beautiful. U2 uses their music to make others aware of social injustices. In The Sex Lives of Cannibals, the author talks about how his girlfriend taught women in Kiribati environmentally friendly agriculture techniques via their own song and dance. Encouraging musicians from different cultures and styles to share their creations could be a way to draw in tourism, educate others, bolster economies, and enable groups to preserve their traditions.
I want to learn of the music in Kenya. I want to learn not only who's popular, what instruments are used, what songs, but how it's used, what kinds for which times, how it's composed. I want to learn what the Kenyans have to teach me about music, how we're united by it, even as we're divided by it. Finally, I want to learn how to channel this medium, this hobby, this gift of mine, in a practical way to fulfilling my duty to this planet.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Fundraising-Humility?
In addition to applying for (and receiving) a scholarship, cooking paella and sending letters requesting donations, I've also made a Facebook event, mentioning my time frame (hoping to have money at least for vaccines and airfare by the first of July), my address and facts about my semester. I'll admit, I don't always pay attention to the groups on Facebook or the mass emails people typically send. At the same time, I figured that it was worth a shot. I know that I need to reach everyone possible. I really want to go. I need money. I need to do all I can (morally) in order to raise it.
I'll admit, I've had issues asking for money. I don't want to seem like I'm bumming off people, mooching their support. I don't want to be the kind who asks for money, especially considering that I have a job and I should be grateful for the money I do make, given this economy. I don't want to ask for one more sacrifice from people who may already be struggling, whether to cut extras or to keep a roof over their heads.
At the same time, I realize that it is an act of humility. In essence, I'm telling people, "I can't do this without you. I need your support. Whether it's financial or emotional, it doesn't matter! Just let me know you're on my side, one way or another!" Of course, this includes thanking them, not just by words, but by action, and using the money they do send responsibly, carefully earmarking it for Kenya. This includes making the most of this experience, knowing that this is an investment. Finally, it means accepting that we were meant to help each other, that, as much as we are obligated to help, we must enable others to help us and give them a chance to do something good (of course, this does not mean taking advantage of them).
We were put on this earth to aid each other, to make our own unique contributions and aid others in making theirs. Funny how a business-oriented act can become so philosophical.
I'll admit, I've had issues asking for money. I don't want to seem like I'm bumming off people, mooching their support. I don't want to be the kind who asks for money, especially considering that I have a job and I should be grateful for the money I do make, given this economy. I don't want to ask for one more sacrifice from people who may already be struggling, whether to cut extras or to keep a roof over their heads.
At the same time, I realize that it is an act of humility. In essence, I'm telling people, "I can't do this without you. I need your support. Whether it's financial or emotional, it doesn't matter! Just let me know you're on my side, one way or another!" Of course, this includes thanking them, not just by words, but by action, and using the money they do send responsibly, carefully earmarking it for Kenya. This includes making the most of this experience, knowing that this is an investment. Finally, it means accepting that we were meant to help each other, that, as much as we are obligated to help, we must enable others to help us and give them a chance to do something good (of course, this does not mean taking advantage of them).
We were put on this earth to aid each other, to make our own unique contributions and aid others in making theirs. Funny how a business-oriented act can become so philosophical.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
The Class......
Funny, I never mentioned the class that spurred me to go. Truly, I have wanted to go to Kenya since I was little and had been seriously considering it since last summer (first vocalizing it in a conversation with a dear family friend). Yet, a couple things were standing in my way. Money was one (and my resulting desire to graduate a semester early). The second was my belief that, because I had taken Spanish, I should go somewhere in Latin America or Europe. I kept these things in mind until I took International Environmental Politics.
I credit this as the class that changed my life. All of my beliefs and passions in food security, human rights, female/indigenous rights, corporate responsibility, good governance, fiscal and consumer responsibility, fertility awareness and consistent pro-life ethics seemed to be rooted in care and concern for the planet. In addition to indicting me on my unsustainable habits, this class also provided a semester long country case study. Before I knew it, I signed up for Kenya.
The two girls I studied with are amazing, compassionate, intelligent women committed to making a difference. As it turned out, one of them mentioned that she would be studying in Nairobi this fall. I finally realized that I needed to go. I said that I had a year left and I really wanted to make the most of it. She said to me, "Girl, if it's what you want, do it!" I had no idea how I would make this work but, from that point on, I was committed.
As we learned of Kenya's environmental issues, many symptomatic of an unscrupulous government and desperate poverty, leaving people with little options, I felt the need to get my hands dirty. What does lack of sanitation look like? What is it like to have to either purify my own water (carelessness being fatal) or having to buy bottled (knowing some issues with privatized water, in addition to possibly not having the option to recycle)? What does the wilderness in Kenya look like and how is it being impacted? How are the lifestyles of Americans affecting the lifestyles of Kenyans, for good or for ill? Finally, knowing that Kenya is a strategic security point and anti-terrorist ally, how does our foreign policy contribute to either problems or solutions to Kenya's development?
How can we all, rich and poor, black and white, Global North and Global South, come together to truly make this world a better place? How can we learn to put agendas aside and learn to help each other, to help this planet? This is what I'm hoping to learn this fall.
I credit this as the class that changed my life. All of my beliefs and passions in food security, human rights, female/indigenous rights, corporate responsibility, good governance, fiscal and consumer responsibility, fertility awareness and consistent pro-life ethics seemed to be rooted in care and concern for the planet. In addition to indicting me on my unsustainable habits, this class also provided a semester long country case study. Before I knew it, I signed up for Kenya.
The two girls I studied with are amazing, compassionate, intelligent women committed to making a difference. As it turned out, one of them mentioned that she would be studying in Nairobi this fall. I finally realized that I needed to go. I said that I had a year left and I really wanted to make the most of it. She said to me, "Girl, if it's what you want, do it!" I had no idea how I would make this work but, from that point on, I was committed.
As we learned of Kenya's environmental issues, many symptomatic of an unscrupulous government and desperate poverty, leaving people with little options, I felt the need to get my hands dirty. What does lack of sanitation look like? What is it like to have to either purify my own water (carelessness being fatal) or having to buy bottled (knowing some issues with privatized water, in addition to possibly not having the option to recycle)? What does the wilderness in Kenya look like and how is it being impacted? How are the lifestyles of Americans affecting the lifestyles of Kenyans, for good or for ill? Finally, knowing that Kenya is a strategic security point and anti-terrorist ally, how does our foreign policy contribute to either problems or solutions to Kenya's development?
How can we all, rich and poor, black and white, Global North and Global South, come together to truly make this world a better place? How can we learn to put agendas aside and learn to help each other, to help this planet? This is what I'm hoping to learn this fall.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Pre-departure....
I'm not departing yet. AU makes us go to a meeting to learn basic logistics of the program. I promise, dear readers, I will not bore you too much with these details.
Bottom line: Yellow fever is my only legally required shot but, considering Kenya has horrible water, I should get a typhoid shot. AU has had to evacuate students who've contracted typhoid so I'm going to get the shot (in addition to bringing my boiling pot, a Brita filter, and my stainless steel water bottles). I am going to take malaria pills so that I can travel and not worry. I also may get a rabies shot, considering the dogs aren't friendly and people hawk kittens in the streets. I don't intend to touch any animals, but I just want to be careful, in case any decide to go renegade.
I do need medical evacuation insurance, as well as repatriation of remains insurance. This is only a precaution. Kenya is very safe, as long as you're smart about your health and personal security (really, that's anywhere, developed and developing). If there is any political strife, it doesn't affect Westerners too much (more to do with in-country ethnic issues and corruption). However, it was a grim reminder that, even with my youth, strength, and health (considering how much work I do, I have been blessed with strength and stamina), I am still mortal. Of course, as a Catholic, this has spiritual dimensions for me and reminded me that I will need to go to Confession before I get on the plane (I always go to Confession before a long trip, but that's just me).
I did find out that my program fee is $3000, not $5000 and I did receive $1000 in scholarship funds, in addition to my own savings and generous donations from friends and family. My mom says it means I truly am meant to go. Doors are opening.
I'm feeling so much all at once. I know this trip is going to change me. I can't believe I'm one step closer. I can't believe all I really need to do is register, send my resume to an internship organization, get my shots, my credit card, my ticket and go. It's the end of the semester. Summer is going to fly. Then, I shall spread my own wings.
So close.......
Bottom line: Yellow fever is my only legally required shot but, considering Kenya has horrible water, I should get a typhoid shot. AU has had to evacuate students who've contracted typhoid so I'm going to get the shot (in addition to bringing my boiling pot, a Brita filter, and my stainless steel water bottles). I am going to take malaria pills so that I can travel and not worry. I also may get a rabies shot, considering the dogs aren't friendly and people hawk kittens in the streets. I don't intend to touch any animals, but I just want to be careful, in case any decide to go renegade.
I do need medical evacuation insurance, as well as repatriation of remains insurance. This is only a precaution. Kenya is very safe, as long as you're smart about your health and personal security (really, that's anywhere, developed and developing). If there is any political strife, it doesn't affect Westerners too much (more to do with in-country ethnic issues and corruption). However, it was a grim reminder that, even with my youth, strength, and health (considering how much work I do, I have been blessed with strength and stamina), I am still mortal. Of course, as a Catholic, this has spiritual dimensions for me and reminded me that I will need to go to Confession before I get on the plane (I always go to Confession before a long trip, but that's just me).
I did find out that my program fee is $3000, not $5000 and I did receive $1000 in scholarship funds, in addition to my own savings and generous donations from friends and family. My mom says it means I truly am meant to go. Doors are opening.
I'm feeling so much all at once. I know this trip is going to change me. I can't believe I'm one step closer. I can't believe all I really need to do is register, send my resume to an internship organization, get my shots, my credit card, my ticket and go. It's the end of the semester. Summer is going to fly. Then, I shall spread my own wings.
So close.......
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)