Word of Advice

If you go to an equatorial country (unless you're in the mountains), you may have the impression that it's always hot.

Not always. First, at least in my experience, our short rainy season means it can be quite chilly. Second, nights are cold, especially because there's no heater. Third, it may be hot during the day, but cold during the early morning, when you're leaving.

Advice? Bring a sweatshirt for nights, when you're in the house. Buy some cute shawls for during the day. That way, you can wear shorter sleeves but still keep yourself warm in the morning. This also works for modesty, as it is unacceptable to show your knees and shoulders most places (even in places where it may be acceptable, you may attract double attention if you're white). Also, you'll have something cute from Kenya.

Everybody's Got a Hungry Heart

Of course I'm referencing Bruce, when do I not? Though U2 is my favorite, I grew up with Bruce. He was my first inspiration and I find myself playing with his style in terms of music (started by inverting the rhythm and chords of "Atlantic City"). He's what I revert to when I need to feel adventurous, like I did riding in my dad's car at seven years old, going fast, listening to "Thunder Road." I also relate to him quite a bit, particularly with this particular line, "Everybody's got a hungry heart." Because you know something? I have one. Like my stomach, my heart likes being full. The problem? Mine feels like it's never full enough.

I never am satisfied. Not with easy answers, not with a stable, comfortable, never-changing life, not with papal documents, and not with myself. I always feel I'm pursuing something. I just can't put my finger on what it is. Once I go after one adventure, I'm already after another one. You tell me to run a mile, I'll run ten. "You give it all and I want more."

Kenya is making me realize this in some big ways. I am busy during the week. Busy as in, a four hour commute each day (two each way) to either USIU on Thika Road or to Alta'awon in Korogocho). Most of my week is tied up with commuting, class, homework, internship work (which is fun, but I can't be as involved as I want to be) and then the weekends, I've been trying to go out and do things, then catch up on sleep and school work. Right now, I have a grant proposal draft due Wednesday, a project due in less than a month, a short paper and a quiz coming up, two term papers, the final grant proposal, then all of my finals. And then, I'm trying to plan some final trips (like one more to the Maasai Mara, since a friend of mine hasn't been yet and also to see some friends I made while up there). Then, we have a final trip to Mombasa and we're gone!!!

I feel like my time in Kenya is too brief and I've rarely had a break to consider what all of it means. Working with the kids and youth of Korogocho is rewarding but, at the same time, I'm sad that I can't get to know them better or get more involved with the really cool youth groups in the area (by the way, check out Blue Cross and Miss Koch on Facebook). I wish I could consider going to Uganda, like a bunch of my classmates did this weekend. I wish I could hang out with my Kenyan friends more but we're all so busy. I wish I wasn't limited by time.

I need to remember that I have had some truly amazing experiences. I've done things I didn't expect to do before 30, much less before graduating from college. I've hung out at the UN complex, smoking a cigarette with a dear friend of mine. I've spoken with UN evaluators on various projects. I visited a school run by a Maasai Catholic priest for nomadic children and learned a bit about the Maasai culture. I went to a Hindu celebration. I lived in rural Kenya for a week, met a Gospel singer who lives in Nairobi, talked with an American missionary, and peed in the bushes. I spent the night in Huruma, another slum, with a friend and her family. I went to a site where the most ancient human fossils were found. I went to a music lounge to celebrate Heroes' Day and learned to dance like a Kenyan (albeit, I still can't). I met people from the German Foundation for World Population. I rode motorcycles to school, got hit by moving vehicles, met religious leaders, learned about Kenyan primary education, and played my guitar in random events. I questioned my faith and politics more than I thought I would and I made amazing friends.

Still, I want to do more, see more, and act more. I want to come back. I want to do more work with children and youth. I want to do more with music, not only as a musician but as someone fascinated from a cultural, economic, and social perspective. I want to do more with Africa, to learn more about the history and diverse cultures and nations that reside on this continent. I want to do more with economics and business, to figure out how to work with the market forces and give people access, so that they can improve their livelihoods. I want to learn how I can contribute to the world.

Kenya didn't quench my thirst. It put salt on my lips. I want more.

I know they need jobs, but........

I don't like having a housekeeper. Cleaning gives me a measure of sanity (something about cleaning kitchens is calming). Also, it's really awkward to be sitting in your PJ's at the computer when someone just comes in and starts cleaning.............Like what's going on right now.

I know these women need jobs. I know that unemployment is high in Kenya. I know some of them have been through horrible things and need a respectable way to earn a livelihood. Or they have babies to feed. At the same time, I don't know about giving someone that access to my life.

It could also be that the culture's different. Even though people have maids in America, it's usually for the very rich. While I am considered one of the "very rich" here, I'm certainly not in the U.S., so that's an aspect that takes getting used to. In America, we tend to grow up with our mothers telling us, "This isn't a restaurant," or, "I'm not the maid," to encourage us to be responsible for our messes. In addition, I tend to be EXTREMELY independent, so I take pride in cleaning my own house, taking care of myself, getting myself to where I need to be (which is why I find it a huge turnoff when a guy calls me Cinderella and tries to romance me by playing a hero. Dude, I'm my own hero. Shut up). I guess the housekeeper thing is another aspect of my own personality. To me, having a maid makes me feel spoiled in a bad way. Like, I need to be coddled with kids' gloves. As a white person, as a female, people always treat me like that and it's one aspect that I will never really like.

I like that people are willing to watch out for you. I just hate being babied. To me, it feels like people think I don't work, that I'm not strong, etc. It just makes me feel very impotent. Maybe it's selfish. But I think that's why I'm so adverse to having a housekeeper. I know they need it. I know all of what I've written probably has nothing to do with my initial statement. It's just what I feel and how I feel.

It's. A. Slum.

I love academia. At the same time, academics fight over useless shit. We can't say, "Third World" anymore, let's say "developing world" (though, in my opinion, the West is still "developing." We certainly don't have all the answers). We can't say "tribe", it's "ethnic group" (though I notice the people who want to ban the word most are rich white people?). Now, it's not a "slum", it's an "informal settlement" (bullshit, even the UN calls it a slum. I mean, c'mon!).

OK, guys. Can we get real? I'm all for not sounded racist or condescending but is fighting over a word going to save people? Is calling it an informal settlement going to erase the fact that there's shit everywhere you put your foot down? Or the fact that you can have eight people in one house with two rooms and typhoid-water, if there's water at all? Or the fact that they're at risk for cholera and they very likely will mourn the death of at least one child? Or the fact that people have no claim to their land and that their government does not give a rat's ass about securing their rights? Or that women will find themselves pregnant and desperate enough to OD on toxic chemicals or perforate their cervices because they have no way to feed themselves, let alone a baby? Or that, even for those fortunate enough to earn a university degree, their future may still lie in selling fruit on the road side because they lack political connections to get a good job? Or that, if something bad happens, you have no recourse to go to the police because you're pretty much an illegal resident? Or that corruption hurts them the most?

Why are we worried about how nice or PC the word sounds? Shouldn't we be more worried that people have to live in their own excrement and that their government treats them like the refuse that fills their neighborhoods?

I mean, get real.

Violence

In Kenya, we see intense poverty that just does not compare to the U.S. The government provides very little in terms of public services (lack of good roads, access to secondary education, sanitation, a justice system that's actually functional and ethical, I could go on). Moreover, due to corruption (a level that would make the Mafia blush), most private companies do not want to risk investing in Kenya. As a result, 66% of Nairobians live in slums and a good portion make less than a dollar a day. Unemployment is high, especially among young people. Guess what? Young people make up 70% of Kenya's population. In addition, the government uses ethnic tension to its advantage and even sponsors massacres on various populations. Yes, you guessed it. Kenya is actually pretty violent.

Before you worry about my safety, remember a few things. First, I am a mzungu, a white person, so people leave me out of various ethnic difficulties. Second, I live in Westlands, a wealthy and high security neighborhood in Nairobi, where all the diplomats, business people, and other expats live, so they have every reason to keep violence away from us. Third, my program has strict rules about us traveling at night and, if we want to leave the city or spend the night away from our apartment, we have to text our country director. Fourth, even though we work in slums, our program monitors the areas we're in. They'd never put us in Dandora, for example (Dandora being the most violent of the slums, with high rates of Mungiki activity, Mungiki being a local terrorist group). In addition, I live in a high crime city in the U.S. and have managed to stay away from most of it. So, I'm OK.

At the same time, Kenya has rates of violence that are extremely disturbing. Those who speak out on corruption or for the rights of the people have a rate of "disappearing", of being found dead in mysterious, yet brutal circumstances. In addition, the government will play a role in covering up the crime, in hosting investigations that are slow moving if at all, in inciting violence across ethnic lines, and in ensuring that memories are silenced from the national consciousness. Many acts of violence, such as ethnic massacres (due to protests over land rights, for example), usually take place upcountry, away from the city so that they can go virtually unnoticed. The corruption I mentioned earlier aids in the silence, as Kenyans know that the police are not to be trusted. Because of this, Kenyans will also deal with crime via mob justice. For example, if someone is caught stealing a cell phone, a mob will go after that person and beat him to death. Violence permeates much of the society.

It seems almost contradictory. Losing your temper in public is much more taboo than in the U.S. and Kenyans place a high value on greeting people, smiling, and showing politeness. Their ties to their families are strong and, if they love you, they give you everything-literally, everything-to convey this. Religious faith is perceived as strong and even students in public schools receive not only religious education but pastoral instruction (depending on which clergy they need) on how to be a moral and upright person. At the same time, there is intense competition for power, for money, for survival and, in some cases, life actually is not valued as much. Friends one week can instantly turn into foes, should something happen. Rather than secure the rights of the people, the government violates them, divides them, and uses their corpses as pawns for political gain. It's disgusting.

Now, we have a population of youth who are idle, unemployed, and have a government that completely screws them over and runs on ruthless ambition. Many are educated and have the potential to turn the tide. However, if things continue as they are, I fear that one strike of a match could send this country up in flames.

"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.