Yesterday marked three months that I have been in Kochia, and I have no idea where the time has flown to. The maize that was planted about the time that I came stands above my head, and makes rustling sounds when the wind blows through it from the Lake. In my original proposal, I had pitched that I would stay in three different places for about three months each, but I can tell you now that I have no solid plans of leaving Kochia any time soon. The longer I stay here, the more I learn about people, myself, and life, and packing and leaving could not be further from my mind at this point.
I have always found long car rides the best for reflection and insight, and my last trip to Kisumu on Saturday was no different. I’m not sure what is so soothing to me about journeys, but here, it’s one of the only places that I am that I can escape for hours into my own thoughts without being disturbed by other people. The scenery for this drive is my favorite in all of Kenya – the trees are massive and the Lake is close. As I sat with my legs jammed against the heater with an elderly man who couldn’t see resting on one of my thighs, I couldn’t help smiling and having one of those – I cannot believe that I’m actually here, now, in Kenya epiphanies. Gratitude rushed through my entire body, making the hairs on my arm stand on end as I thought about the Grant, and the journey I had taken that landed me in that whizzing Matatu. I had an intense comfort that everything would work out, and that despite my endless and constant questioning about what I’m doing here – I was exactly where I needed to be.
There was a big irrigation meeting here on Monday and Tuesday. Silivia brought me some actors she knew that were helping do awareness campaigns at the meeting, and we told them that we would come. She led me about five minutes from the house, to the shade of a large tree, where close to fifty people were seated in blue and white plastic chairs. The wind blew gently, dropping small yellow seeds on everyone’s head. Silivia translated the meeting for me, while I people watched in the lapses. Little kids entertained themselves on or near their mother’s laps, with one girl drawing on her mother’s face in blue ballpoint pen, and another girl shaking her sandals in a plastic bag she had found. They spoke about irrigation as if the heavens were opening up. It would be an end to poverty, and lift everyone who participated to richness and wealth. We drank warm soda and ate white bread for lunch. I caught many people dozing after. The meeting lasted until almost five, when we returned back to Abba to see what the kids were up to.
It was interesting discussing the meeting afterwards with Silivia and Emmanuel. They told me about another irrigation project that had killed many of the people living in the community. It brought in extra money - and with that came HIV, water borne illnesses, and many accidents. THe community still curses the people that brought it. We all wondered and dreamt what this project would bring to Kochia.
I watched the Matron butcher a chicken with a blunt knife for dinner. She placed the entire bird in boiling hot water as I sat on the stoop of the kitchen watching. We removed the feathers from the whole chicken, which came out surprisingly easy, and she began to cut it into pieces. She instructed me to hold one side, as she sawed through bone and fat with her knife. The intestines and other organs were removed and placed in water. I said a silent prayer that I wouldn’t have to eat any of the intestines later as she squeezed their contents out onto the ground for the dogs to eat. Silivia then fried each piece in grease and made kuku choma (fried chicken). We ate it with salted tomatoes and ugali – one of the most delicious meals I have had here, and happily no intestines!
Today, an old man carrying a paddle hobbled through the side gate calling, ‘Omerra’ (equivalent of dude or brother) to Silivia while she was washing clothes. He came closer to us and held out his hand, which had a huge gash between his finger and thumb. His pants were rolled up almost to his knees, and his feet looked swollen from work. The beard on his chin was white and scraggily, and he wore a dirty brown cab driving hat. He smiled a toothless grin at me, explaining he had cut his hand while grabbing on to an iron sheet after stumbling. I watched Silivia weave nine blue stiches into his worked and calloused hand. Silivia placed a bandaid with cartoon characters over it, and sent him on his way. He left explaining to me that he had a canoe at the lake, and that he would bring me Okoko (fish) soon.
My days here are punctuated by incredible conversations and moments. I'm not sure if it's that I am in no hurry to get to places, or that I don't have anything that I actually need to get done that is allowing me to fully witness these moments - but I'm quite happy with whatever it is. I find myself wishing that I had taken more time in my past 21 years of life to enjoy who and what was happening around me - but I guess it's good that it's happening now instead of never. What moments do you enjoy the most during your day?
No comments:
Post a Comment