Hands

I have become amazed and fascinated by hands.  They are vital to the culture and life in this community – more so than back at home. An average day at home involved driving, typing on a keyboard, using utensils to cut and prepare food, and greeting people without touching.

Eating here is done with your right hand.  You form balls of Ugali and scoop up meat and vegetables, trying to land everything in your mouth without dumping it on your shirt. Sylvia and Emmanuel make this look easy - I end up with a hand and face covered in food as if I've just participated in a giant food fight.  The meal always starts and ends with water being poured over both your hands as you wash them. 

You greet and say goodbye to people by shaking hands. There is also a form of high-five that turns into a handshake that people use if you’ve made a joke, or are great friends. It’s rude to leave without shaking someone’s hand and saying goodbye.  Princene, Sylvia and Emmanuel’s 2 and a half year old daughter, is still very afraid of me, but will place her hand in mine and quickly remove it.

People can tell I don’t work in the field by grasping my hand in theirs.  They show me their callouses and laugh at my soft pads.  Today I helped clean and rearrange Sylvia’s clinic, and someone walking by said they were surprised a Mzungu knew how to sweep.

Yesterday I shucked many ears of corn so Sylvia could cut the stalks down. They were placed in a big bucket and carried on top of the head of a small child back to the dining hall.  We removed the kernals with our thumbs, and I was given the softest ears – because my unseasoned hands could not remove the tough kernals from their homes.  I watched as all the small kids finished two ears to my one.  Sylvia told me to stop, worried that my thumbs would become blistered and sore, but I continued popping the pale yellow corn into the bucket.

When preparing food here, you place whatever you are cutting in the palm of your hand and cut away from it.  I attempted to make cole slaw last night, and cut cabbage as Sylvia instructed me.  The cutting and cole slaw (made with lime juice instead of vinegar) was a bit of a disaster, and Sylvia just laughed as she removed the cabbage from my hand and continued cutting.  I explained to her people used cutting boards and placed the item on the counter back home, she said they were trained to not cut themselves here (as slicing a tomato effortlessly).

The grandmother’s in this community have hands that are similar to my grandfathers’. They are gnarled and wrinkled, with years of work molding them into a bent position. I clasp their frail hands in both of mine when I say hello, and they smile toothless grins at me.

The students at ABBA study my hands, tracing the light blue veins that are visible through my skin and compare it with theirs.  They outline my nails, my ring, and point to the mole on my middle finger.  Some even touch my hand to their face, curious if it feels different than theirs.

Emmanuel took my hand after dinner one night and asked me to look at the difference my olive color and his deep coffee one, questioning if it was science or something God had done.  My scientific brain told him I was sure there was some scientific answer, but it also seemed like something unexplainable that had been done by God. He nodded in agreement.

Why has our generation divorced our life from our hands? What do your hands tell you about your life, your culture, you?

A rat scuttled across the floor today as I showed Eileen, Emmanuel and Sylvia's oldest 10 year old daughter, my facebook account.  We both looked at it in horror as it ran into my room.  We laughed and tried to find it under my bed with a flashlight, but could not see where it was hiding. The internet is very slow to load, and showing her pictures on my facebook turned out to be a patience test of the century for me. 

As I write this, the wind outside is blowing quite hard and you can hear claps of thunder in the distance.  I have just finished my lunch - one that consisted of an entire fish - yes head, skin, and fins placed on my plate.  Unsure of how to proceed and afraid to offend, I dug right in, and found juicy, tasty white meat under the skin.  I am certain that I have gained at least 10 pounds here.  I keep explaining that we don't eat this much in the United States, but Sylvia just keeps piling the potatoes, ugali (paste of maize and water), and other meat onto my plate. 

All the schools in the area have a two week break now.  Eileen is home from boarding school, but ABBA is quieter because the 350 students are at home with their parents.  Twenty-seven orphans who are housed here full time remain, and I played with bubbles and my camera with them yesterday, as I held a very small baby in my arms. Some of the kids are still afraid of me, but most will come right up and ask for all the jewelry on my arms and to take pictures with my camera.  They are fascinated with my hair, and dig through it to see if they can spot my scalp.

There are Dutch people here working at the organic farm, and Berend's parents are here visiting for three weeks, so they came to ABBA yesterday to meet Sylvia and Emmanuel.  The language barrier is vast and hilarious - Berend's parents speak English but not quite fluently, and you can see how badly everyone wants to be able to converse on their faces, if only our brains and mouths would catch up! We toured fish ponds by Lake Victoria that Sylvia and Emmanuel have as income generating activities - catfish and tilapia that will be harvested in November and sold at the market.  There are hot springs that are about a 30 minute drive away and we went and felt the boiling, hot, slimy water as we were followed by many curious children.

Sylvia is a nurse and worked at a hospital before moving back to Emmanuel's home village of Kochia. I asked her why she left, and she explained how horrible it was when AIDS came.  She said people would literally die standing up. It is very common for people here to have HIV, and ARVs are available, but she said people have a hard time remembering to take the pills.  They will take them for a while, but then forget for a bit and get sick. She specializes in tooth extractions, and usually has at least 4 people a day that come to have their teeth pulled without anesthia. THere are no toothbrushes here, and many people have rotting teeth with holes in them because of it. It is one of the most painful things I have ever seen done, and the only person to cry was a tiny baby.

We take strolls every evening as the sun goes down. 'Mzungu how are you' rings from every direction as the sky turns a deep pink. Sylvia reminds me to put on long sleeves and pants because the mosqitoes are quite bad at night.  They introduce me to everyone, and tell them I am staying with them but am a visitor to the whole community.  Everyone here can ask me how I am and reply they're fine in English.  I'm afraid to report I can barely say that much in Luo. We return to the house once the sun has completely gone down and everything is dark.  Sometimes we sit on the curb part of the outside of the house. Last night Sylvia asked me if it sounded the same at night in the U.S. and I told her no - everyone is in their houses with tv's and radios turned on, so the crying of neighbors and barking/crowing of animals is rarely heard.

We have dinner around 8 or 9 in the evening and then talk until around ten at night.  They ask me about the United States and tell me about their lives, how they met and were married. It's interesting hearing what they think home is like - glittering and shiny with money around for everyone.  I tried to explain that it is certainly not this way for everyone, but articulating that to people who are raising 27 kids who are orphaned from HIV is strange and challenging.

I am not used to not having things to do.  I have no medical skills to offer, and it's hard to go and sit in a clinic because they let you watch everything - even things that I don't believe I should have the right to see.  People ask me why I'm here and I explain that I'm interested in community health, and they cock their heads, so I continue and say I want to learn about the people and the culture.  I keep telling myself to relax and try to be patient - that things will develop as time moves forward, but it's already been a week here and I have no plan or schedule for what I will do here.  The type A personality Rachel desperately wants to go for a long run and cross things off a long check list, but attempting either of these things makes Sylvia and Emmanuel go out of their way and disrupts them from their extremely busy daily tasks. We shall see how this next week unfolds!

Kochia and a new life

I can't even begin to describe the past few days of my life. I have met more incredible, and loving people than I have experienced in my past 21 years of life. I arrived at the Kisumu airport and was picked up by Tim, director of the service learning center at Western, and Emmanuel, who I would be living with. In Kenya, you greet people by shaking their hands and touching either side of their cheek with your cheek.

We headed to a large, Fred Meyer-like grocery store to collect water for me and some other supplies. Tim had brought the bus that was taking the Western students around, and we rode on this to the village of Kochia where I am staying. The ride was bumpy - the roads are mostly dirt with large potholes. Out my window I was seeing people whizzing by on piki-pikis (motorcycles) and many people pointing at the bus and yelling Mzungu - white person.

The ride to Kochia was about an hour or so, and when we turned into our final destination there was a group of singing students that were there to greet us. There are 130 students in grades 1-5 in this school, which Emmanuel and Sylvia started. Sylvia greeted me and told me Welcome Home, as I was introduced to many other people. They took me to my new home, which is beautiful and very comfortable. They had the walls re-painted with animals and I have my own room with a bunk bed and shelves for my things. I was told by Tim and Liz (sociology professor at Western) that they had done many things to the house to get it ready for me - like build a very solid outdoor latrine and shower
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The people in this village are absolutely incredible. I am greeted everywhere I go, and it is not uncommon to have many small children grab my hands and play with my jewelry as I walk by. They all are fascinated with my tattoo, and people have attempted to rub it off my arm. I have never felt more welcomed, or loved anywhere in the world.

There was a going away/welcoming party at the ABBA school the day that I arrived.  I headed there after a short nap.  Live music and the yells from small children greeted me.  I instantly had two kids grab my hands.  We danced and laughed, and when I was tired I sat on a small bench with a tiny girl sitting on my lap. I met the Western students who had been here for a month, and they all told me how jealous they were that I got to stay here. The dancing and partying lasted until it was dark, and I headed up to where the Western students were staying for dinner. 

The first night in Kenya was magical.  Sylvia tucked the mosquito netting around me while I craweld into the bottom bunk.  Chickens, dogs, and cricket sounds filled the night air, as I sweated under my blankets.  I was a bit restless, but finally was able to fall into a deep and dream filled sleep.

On Thursday I got to meet the girls at the Ombogo school.  This is a different, private school than ABBA and the Western students have spent a lot of time here.  It's equivalent to our high school, and is a boarding school.  I was introduced and instantly had many new friends.  The girls all played with my hair and we sat arm in arm as I asked them what they were studying and what they would like to be.  They had an assembly to say goodbye to the Western students, and there were many tears.  I hope to spend a lot of time here, because the girls are absolutely incredible and close to my age.

Yesterday I rode my first piki piki out with Sylvia to another CBO that they are partnering with. It is a much easier way to travel because you can avoid the pot holes better than cars can.  It felt amazing to have the wind blowing past me, because it is significantly hotter over here! There is a Dutch man who has started an NGO and is helping them with organic farming. They're growing pineapple, pomegranites, and many other fruits. I took many pictures here, but my internet connection is a bit slow and I'm afraid I will be unable to upload them. I will keep trying, because I cannot put into words what this place looks like.  They are all very interested in meeting my parents and hearing about the organic farming they do. It is truly the most beautiful place I have ever been, and riding on the back of a piki piki is so fun!

There is too much for me to tell all of you, and I'm sure slowly by slowly it will be told. If you ever, ever have the chance to visit this place, you must.

Hello from Amsterdam!

After a very long nine hour flight I am writing from Amsterdam.  The plane was not full at all, and I was seated in the middle row on an aisle seat with no one next to me. The man sitting one seat away from me put his red Delta blanket over his head and slept the whole flight.  I kept wondering how he was not waking up completely disoriented, but after hearing his light snores the whole flight, I am considering it for my next eight hour trek.  I watched three movies, and faded in and out of sleep with the sun going down and the sky a deep purple and woke up with the sun rising shortly after.  My feet barely fit into my sandals, because they're so swollen, and I am fighting back drowsiness while a voice overhead reminds me in eight different languages to pay close attention to my bags. There are tulips lining stretches of walkway, with green hills in the background.

This airport is teeming with people speaking many different languages and dressed in all sorts of outfits. When I first arrived I sat and people watched for a while, and was joined by an old woman wearing a complete magenta track suit with matching lipstick.  She had fantastic large gold jewelry on, and painted nails.  I desperately wanted to know where she was going and where she had been - she only carried one small white purse, which is much less than everyone else here.

 I have walked around quite a bit here, and there's numerous fine chocolate shops and even an airport library where you can learn all about Danish culture. The airport is significantly quieter than when I first arrived, and the only people around are the KLM employees who are always dressed in the same royal blue outfits. They are extremely helpful, and must be able to speak four or five languages, and switch between them constantly.

I started reading the book The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks in the airport and this quote was at the beginning 'We must not see any person as an abstraction. Instead, we must see in every person a universe with its own secrets, with its own treasures, with its own sources of anguish, and with some measure of triumph,' by Elie Wiesel.  It sums up exactly how I feel about people, and the stories I hope to collect on this trip. On a side note - if you're looking for a great book, definitely pick this one up.  I've had a hard time putting it down, which is saying something because I'm running on about 5 hours of sleep!

I am pretty nervous for this next part of the trip.  I have two hours in the Nairobi airport to get a visa, shillings, and possibly re-check my bags to the correct airline.  Nightmares on my first flight about denied visas and missed flights fill my head, and I'm hoping these don't turn into realities! I have about two more hours before I can board, and am about to take a couple more laps because the chairs are too comfortable and causing my neck to snap down to sleep. Think lots of positive travel thoughts for me!

It Begins...

I'm approximately seven hours away from climbing onto a plane headed for Amsterdam, with a final destination in Kisumu, Kenya.  I sit writing this on my living room couch, in my most comfortable travel outfit with a brick of apprehension and nerves parked in the pit of my stomach.

I have been out of school for about six weeks.  I was lucky enough to spend 10 days with my best friend in New York City, where I fell in love with Central Park and the millions of people bustling through that amazing place.  I have spent the rest of my time at my parents' house, where I was lulled to sleep by the sound of sprinklers against the garage door and fed home grown vegetables for dinner. I caught up with some old friends, and enjoyed multiple happy hours with my two incredible parents.  The six week break was finished wonderfully with a going away party full of friends where we talked, laughed, ate and drank inside while the lovely Washington rain beat against the windows.

I've never kept a blog before.  As most of you know, I'm a bit of a chatterbox, and the processing and reflecting that I do usually happens out loud, and when I'm lucky with a listening ear.  This will be a new experience for me - one of many! and I hope that you will be able to enjoy and understand the journey I am embarking on and will have.

I have spent the last weeks driving my noble steed (my red Saturn Mario) all over Olympia and Tumwater picking up supplies and materials for this trip.  I have watched the shocked expression on the Fred Meyer pharmacist's face when I came in to collect my 24 bottles of insulin and 760 needles, received a box of children's' toothbrushes from my dentist, and spent countless hours at REI listening to the salesperson explain just how many different items I would need to survive.  It has been a wild ride, and I can confidently tell you I will not miss the orange-fruitloop smelling dressing rooms of Target, or waking up in the middle of the night wondering if I have the correct number of T-shirts and shorts.  The year of planning is about to be put to the test, and my one hope is that my trusty (and stuffed) 60 Litre backpack will make it to the other side of the world with me!

The first leg of my journey is from Seattle to Amsterdam, which is a ten hour flight.  I will have an eight hour layover in that airport, so I will certainly be adding to this post when I arrive there.  Think good flying thoughts for me, and fingers crossed that I sit next to someone interesting on the plane!