Camping: The Kenyan Way

I love camping. So when Karen told me she was planning a weekend trip to go camping, I was thrilled. I got up early to get in a nice long run before leaving. Thinking I would be late, I rushed to eat breakfast and pack everything in time. I should have known. I wasn’t picked up for at least forty minutes after I was ready. I was greeted by our driver and the adventurous group for the weekend—Karen, David, Rafiell, Sam, Alex, Linda, and Claire. Having not planned the weekend myself, I was still unsure of what we were going to see and would be doing.

Our first stop on the journey was high in the hills we were driving through. I was told the road we were driving on was one of the most dangerous in Kenya. In Kenya, roads are usually only one way in each direction. Lots of vehicles, trucks in particular, are very slow on the road so vehicles will go into the lane of oncoming traffic to overtake the slow vehicles. I have seen many near accidents, as cars are inches away from being hit by oncoming traffic. When cars do this on the road in which we were driving, they usually end up falling down the side of the hills. There are no railings or bars on the side of this road making any such fall straight down. We stopped at a lookout point to see the magnificent Great Rift Valley below. The area was absolutely beautiful with plentiful greenery. We could spot a few animals in the distance. I am always amazed at the beauty I find in places where so many people are suffering. It doesn’t seem right.

Our next stop was a church. David said it was the first built in Africa. Rafiell said it was the smallest built in Africa. Karen said it may have been the first Catholic Church built in Kenya. Needless to say, why this church was so important is unknown. The church was built in 1942 so it definitely wasn’t the first built church. The outside architecture was nice with an obvious European influence. Our group was the only one inside at first so we took many pictures. When leaving I wanted to get a picture in front of the church. Two buses of tourists had just unloaded so such a task was almost impossible. People were constantly walking in front of the camera as Karen tried to take a shot. I guess the manners of tourists don’t change regardless of the country.

Traveling for many hours in the car leads to some great discussions about differences in cultures. Today, we talked a lot about the differences between marriages in the States and Kenya. Divorces are very uncommon in Kenya. I think this has to do with African cultural traditions. In the past, marriages were arranged. The culture is headed towards more westernized ways, but some cultural traditions still remain intact, especially in rural areas. We drove through Nakuru, a decently sized town, and stopped at the local grocery store, Nakumatt. I have decided these are my favorite grocery stores to shop at in Kenya as they have the widest variety. I picked up some peach frozen yogurt, a whole container of it. I was explaining to Karen before we left the importance of smores in any camping trip. She laughed at me, having never heard of any such thing. In one of the candy aisles of this Nakumatt I found some marshmallows. They were pink and white and by the packaging I questioned how they would taste, but these would just have to do. I also picked up a few bars of milk chocolate. Nakumatt didn’t offer any graham crackers so I settled for biscuits. (Biscuits in Kenya are like the American version of shortbread cookies. Here, though, they are a lot more common and eaten frequently.) With the necessary camping supplies in hand, we headed back to the car to continue our journey. The peach frozen yogurt tasted as if someone had literally put a container of yogurt into the freezer. It didn’t taste the best. With hunger getting the best of me, I ate a majority of the container anyways. I also had my first encounter with paying to go to the bathroom. Even after shopping in the store, a bathroom trip was not complimentary. For paying to use the restroom I thought they would at least replenish the paper towel stock. Nope, they were out of that too.

As part of our weekend road trip, we were planning on stopping at the school of David’s sister. Most students in Kenya go to boarding schools from grade six and up. The students are at school for three months and then come home for a month before repeating the process. These boarding schools are public schools and have certain weekends where family members can visit. The school was located in very rural Kenya. We ascended into the hills, stopping to pick up some food to bring David’s sister. At one point the driver pulled off the road saying the car was overheating. We were “at the end of the world” (as Karen put it) with a possibly broken down car. I was just praying the car would cool off soon. Thankfully, the car cooled off and we were able to continue our journey.

When arriving at the school, we made quite the entrance. We were really late, there was a herd of us coming in this large van, and we honked the horn for people to move as we drove in. David’s sister immediately jumped in the car with us, so happy to see her brother. All of the attention wasn’t drawn to us until I stepped out. Being in such a rural place, many of the students attending the school had never seen a mzungu before. I greeted David’s sister (she looked surprised I was with them) and sat down on our makeshift blanket for the lunch. As I was sitting there, a little boy, maybe three or four years of age, approached me. He looked mesmerized by my white skin. I smiled at him. Still with a bewildered look on his face he moved closer. I finally stuck out my hand to shake his and greeted him with, “Sasa.” Even after my greeting there was still no response. After another minute of looking at me, the boy reached out and touched the skin of my arm, wondering if I was real or something. By this time the entire group was laughing. I was trying to contain my laughter as well. The boys’ parents called for him to return. I’ve never experienced anything quite like that before.

I asked David many questions about the boarding school. He explained how his parents wanted his sister to go to a private school closer to home, but she really liked the school here. Part of the reason was her role as a prefect. Prefects are leaders in their classes and help to discipline other students. I am surprised a fellow peer can help discipline. At the school, I realized how happy I am that public schools in the States are not boarding. I don’t think I would like to spend so much time away from my family or even be divided by gender. Boarding schools also limit the activities students can be involved in. There aren’t any clubs or sporting teams to participate. This takes me back to how thankful I am to be living in the States. Some of David’s sister’s friends came up to meet me as well. I felt like the local celebrity. While leaving, we put up the roof as if we were going on a game drive. Visiting hours were over and the students gathered at the flag pole. The group encouraged me to wave at all the students. Unsure, I made sure they participated in it too. As I stood up and waved, I saw a flood of waves back. I couldn’t help but laugh. Who knew a mzungu visiting a boarding school would attract so much attention?

Back on the road, the journey continued. I felt as if I had spent the majority of my day in the car. Night was slowly approaching. A rain in the distance cast a rainbow near where we were driving. Soon we hit the rainy spots. Karen started talking about all the food and supplies the men had forgotten to purchase. A lesson was learned of never putting men in charge of things. The camping trip was turning comical—rain, no food supplies, and darkness falling. We reached the gates to the national park and started on a bumpy road to the campsite. We were told that the campsite was about thirty minutes away. Along the way I could see pools of pink in Lake Bogoria. These pink patches were flamingoes. Making sure I got a picture with them, we stopped to car. In the rain, I stood outside as Alex tried to photograph. With improper lighting and weather conditions, the photographs didn’t turn out great. I would have my photo if the flamingoes were to disappear overnight. Lake Bogoria is known for their hot springs. We stopped at one of the locations. In the dark, all I could really see was steam rising from the ground. We would have to stop again in the morning.

Finally, after a long day of travel (almost ten hours), we arrived at the campsite. I thought the guys had been to this one before, but apparently not. This campsite was by far the sketchiest one I had ever stayed at. There was no electricity. The toilets were holes in the ground. I was better off just using the bush. Camping the Kenyan way, meant goat slaughtering. David insisted this event was something I couldn’t miss. I reluctantly went, experiencing Kenyan culture to the maximum. I will spare you all the details, but the event was sad. I know animals are where meat comes from, but watching the animal die so we could eat it was a culture shock. Karen ended up taking my camera for pictures as I hid behind her, not wanting to witness the suffering animal. Watching the slaughtering gave me that much more dedication to being a vegetarian. Slaughtering animals is common for Kenyans, however. Often times they buy live chickens off the street to slaughter in their kitchens. Our cultures are so different.

The men being in charge of the food, meant they forgot a vegetarian option for me. Karen made her tomato, avocado, and onion salad, and I consumed that for the night. The way Karen and Sam were able to cut vegetables in the pitch darkness was amazing. They obviously had experience doing so at home. The salad I ate was consumed by my hands and I couldn’t even see what I was putting in my mouth. I wouldn’t be surprised if I had consumed a few spiders or other critters. As a tradeoff to watching the goat slaughtering, I encouraged everyone to try the smores I made. We now entered territory I was familiar with. I think most people enjoyed them, as we went through a full bag of marshmallows. I thoroughly enjoyed the familiarity of the sweet tastes. Before I went to bed I couldn’t resist but doing the typical Parent Trap mountain lion call with two sticks to scare them all away. It was a joke, even though there were wild animals roaming all around. The remoteness and unfamiliarity of my location made me slightly scared to fall asleep that night. The tents we slept in were set up by the campsite and consisted of a mattress with some sheets. After a while of restless tossing, I was out.

Another Day in Kenya

The morning began with a nice run. For the first time in coming to Kenya, I ran in the rain. For as much as it rains here, I am surprised this was the first time I had to encounter it while running. The drops were cold and with the slight morning briskness, my run was a bit chilly. I always have to laugh as I run by the guards in shorts and a t-shirt and they are wearing winter coats. The weather now is about as cold as it every gets in Kenya, a mere 50 degrees Fahrenheit.

My day in the office was spent working on my report. Realizing it was Friday the 13^th I mentioned this to Karen. She simply responded, “It’s just another day in Kenya.” In the office, people drink hot coffees and teas throughout the morning. Karen and Sarah know I don’t really care for these and often prepare me “drinking chocolate” as they call it. (It’s really just hot chocolate.) To make this they put a few spoonfuls of sugar with regular chocolate. The result isn’t as strong as our hot chocolate, but it doesn’t taste bad. We spent our morning hard at work and broke slightly early for lunch. In Kenya, an early lunch is one o’clock.

After lunch, Lindar wanted to take some measurements for the skirt I am having made. Without a tape measure, we were left walking around the campus looking for one. We went to the construction department. Lindar and I looked quite out of place in their workshop, but finally found a tape measure to use. I bet the men working in there thought we were crazy. I also attended a seminar on stress this afternoon. The seminar was hosted by the insurance company that supplies icipe employees with insurance. I didn’t learn anything new, most of what was covered seemed like common sense. The speaker was entertaining, though, covering information about living healthy and being more fit to relieve stress. Tea time was served immediately after. The samosas and biscuits served were delicious.

When walking back to my room after work, I say avocados fall from a tree. Catching my attention I looked to see what was going on. A man had climbed the avocado tree at the Guest House and was picking the avocados, throwing them down for people to eat and to be served at the Guest House. I was given a few to take back to my room. Although they aren’t ripe yet, when they become ripe they will taste delicious.

Little Prince Primary School: A Sparkle of Hope

Earlier this week, I talked with Vivian about visiting her husband’s school, the one in which I attended the benefit dinner for. With numerous contacts to people there, this morning I rode with Tomaso, the Italian guy living at icipe who works for the NGO supporting the school, to work. We ended up at a building and being under the impression I was going to the school later in the day I followed Tomaso in. I was immediately greeted by Mazu who was enthusiastic to have me visiting. Talking quickly, as he always seems to do, I caught about fifty percent of what he said through his thick Italian accent. I just smiled and nodded; I think the others in the room knew I literally had no idea what was going on. Mazu sent me to another office where I learned from someone else about the NGO they run. The NGO is part of the Association of Volunteers in International Service (AVSI) and is called Our Valuable Children (OVC). The man explaining the organization to me told me the same thing I had observed in Huruma. NGOs go into slums and often work there for three years on a project, feeding the people and giving them what they need. After those three years are up, the people don’t have anyone to rely on as they haven’t learned the skills to sustain themselves. AVSI works to give those living in the slums guidance if they seek it. Most training programs in slum areas pay people to attend. Needing the money, people attend not to apply the skills they learn but to put food on the table for their families. AVSI is working to give people applicable skills they want to have and apply. Most of the members of AVSI have children attending Little Prince, a private primary school funded by outside donors. The children at Little Prince are supported by OVC, which sends social workers to work on issues of abuse and with other family members, making sure each child has the appropriate home life. After hearing about the organization, Mazu was on the phone running down the stairs. I called after him, utterly confused at where I was supposed to go and who I was supposed to follow. He quickly explained the order the of the day’s events to me before sending me in the car with another Italian women visiting. This lady, however, didn’t speak English. I was at a total loss as to what was going on.

The driver dropped us off with Porzia, a lady I had met at the benefit dinner. We then took an hour drive and arrived at Little Prince Primary School on the outskirts of Kibera slum, one of the largest in Africa. The school was well kept for African schools I had seen. The classrooms seemed clean and the furniture supplied didn’t seem overused. Upon arriving, we walked into a nursery level classroom. The youngest student in this class was three. The children were so excited to see visitors. When the other Italian lady took out her camera, they posed in cute and funny ways, trying to grab as much camera time as possible. I took my camera out as well and began taking pictures. I asked a small girl to read to me what she had written. Her words weren’t fully formed, but she had the sounds of the letters down solidly. We continued into more classrooms where we took pictures and asked the students questions about their work. Most of the students spoke minimal English so communication was hard. The greatest lesson I have learned living in Kenya is despite language barriers, a smile can literally tell it all.

We toured the school, walking around and peeking into classrooms. Eventually it was recess time and we interacted and witnessed the children’s games. The older kids played hula hoop and basketball. The younger students played circle games, similar to the ones I participated in at the Children’s Home. I took more pictures of the children. Often times they would hold up the peace sign or put up their hands in the pictures. I wonder where this influence comes from. When I went to be in a picture with the children, they literally attacked me. A girl sat right on my knee, as if I was a teacher she had known for years. Other students touched my hair, mesmerized by the differences. Some even grabbed my hands and examined by pale skin. One of the smallest girls had her eyes glued to me. She would often get shoved out of the way as the older kids tried to attach to me. There was something about that little girl, maybe the look in her eyes or the slight smile barely visible on her face that was beautiful. All of the Italian people I have been around like to describe the school and the children as beautiful. I had never used beautiful in such a context before. What I witnessed today truly was beautiful.

A social worker came to take us on a few home visits around Kibera. As we were walking, the social worker explained to us how so many parents applied to have their children attend Little Prince because of the success rate. Sadly, many children were turned away due to the space limitations. We continued walking, passing many kids along the dirt road that should have been in school. We crossed a small, filthy stream—the water source for the thousands living in the slum. The water was over contaminated with everyone washing their laundry and dumping the dirty water back in. Trash piles were in any open space—there are no trash services in Kibera so people are left to burn it or just leave it in piles. The stench that wafted through the air was retched, and these are the winter months. I cannot imagine what the slum must smell like in the summer. The question of government aid came up and the social worker sadly explained there was none. Most, if not all, government officials did not even know where the slum existed. The only time the government officials visit is to buy people’s votes. Those running renew hope in the people, but always let them down. The strange thing is that a majority of the votes come from the slums.

Our first home visit was a few feet from a rail way. We were told that shack was built in an illegal spot and could be torn down at any time. I had never been inside the corrugated aluminum “housing” units. I always assumed people living in them slept on the floor or were living very primitive. The shacks didn’t have lights, but were packed with furniture and anything used for cooking. A mattress was thrown in an area separated by a curtain where the parents slept. The children slept on the furniture. Food was cooked around a small fire built on the floor. The first lady we visited had a business of making food for the local construction workers. With the money she made she fed her children. Ducks and chickens roamed outside, which she would sometimes sell for profit as well. The second home was even smaller than the first. I was able to squeeze into a seat in the first home. The second, there weren’t any seats available. In this home the child who normally attended the school was home sick. With no money, doctors aren’t an option for the people living in Kibera. All they can do is pray. Unlike the first home which housed four people, this home housed eight. The room was half the size of where I am living alone now. I can’t imagine. By the third home I was almost to tears. The lady we met there was the grandmother of one of the students. She ran a business of cooking food for people in the slum as well. The women who opened their homes to us were so welcoming. Most didn’t speak English, but from the sights I saw I was silenced anyways. The social worker explained how recently, the government had given an area of the slum a two week warning to move out as a road was being constructed where they currently resided; this was the current problem she was working with. As we headed back, children along the road greeted me with a smile or wave. The occasional, “Muzungu, how are you?” could be heard from behind.

Once we returned to Little Prince, we witnessed one of the Women’s Groups AVSI was sponsoring. Today the group was learning how to screen print t-shirts with paint. We also watched the children eat their lunch of beans and a tangerine. Most of the children were eager to eat, as a lunch is what brings some of them to even attend school. Sadly, a lunch may be their only meal of the day.

Porzia prepared a lunch for me and the other visitor. We ate tomatoes, bread, and tuna. Since Porzia is from Italy also, she and the visitor spoke in Italian the majority of the lunch so I didn’t have a clue what was being said. Porzia showed us all of the costumes the students used to put on their plays. I could tell that is where her passion in helping the students resides. After waving and saying goodbye, I headed back to icipe.

This evening I went on another run with the group. The run gave me time to think and reflect on the sights and lessons of the day. When Rafiell asked me how Kibera was there was only one word to describe it—depressing. I thought about this for a while. How hard it is for me to see poverty on the streets. And today I think I saw the most impoverished people I’ve ever encountered. I feel defeated, as even with any effort my abilities to help are limited. It comes as a good reminder to why I am here, to stop food insecurities around the world—one of the leading causes of poverty. In the midst of all of the heart wrenching sights, the school provides a beacon of hope and light for the future. The children I interacted with today were so incredibly happy. They laughed and smiled, if not the same amount even more, than the children I interact with in the States. I look at these children and many have a tenth, if that, of what those students in the States have. Each child literally sparkles with hope for the future.

Nairobi at Rush Hour

There’s a stray cat that lives at icipe. At least, I think it’s stray. Last night in the middle of my meal I got up to get a glass of water. When I came back, a nice surprise of a cat eating off my plate was left for me. Needless to say, I was then done with my meal. Pets are nonexistent in Kenya, or else existent to a very small degree. I see dogs roaming around the streets, and the only animals people seem to keep are domesticated ones for food. I would attribute this to the large family size and low income levels. If families can barely afford to put food on the table for all of their children, they definitely can’t be spending money on feeding animals too.

This morning I continued with my final lesson of GIS. Macharia helped me put everything I had learned together in a practical and applicable way, making a map. I explained to Macharia that it would be really awesome to be able to make and include a map in my report to apply and use all of the skills I have learned the past three days. After discussing what I envisioned, he helped me to find the correct free downloads of layers to include. The only problem with free downloads is their inaccuracy and lack of detail. Spending a while looking for what I would need, Macharia told me he would get back to me with the downloads I need to create my map. Macharia has a strong interest in the United States. He never fails to ask me questions about the culture and differences. Macharia continued his questioning on football today, asking me to explain the basics of the game to him. Being not the greatest football expert myself, I attempted at the basics. I hope I understood enough correctly and didn’t teach him wrong. I also inquired about high school in Kenya. Most students go to a unisex boarding school for those four years. Macharia made the experience sound monotonous with the same daily schedule. I am so grateful for the opportunities and fantastic public education I have.

Lindar had wanted to take me into Nairobi to see some of the shops she liked to go to. Needing to go to the bank, we left a little early so I could make it there before closing. We went to the bank inside the Hilton hotel. Obviously most tourists stay there as just about every culture from around the world was represented in the lobby. I gave the bank teller my credit card and asked to withdraw some money. She asked for my passport and I handed over a copy. There was no way I would carry around my real passport in the streets of Nairobi. Pick pocketing is a large problem, and as much as I love Kenya, I do want to make it back to my own country. The teller told me that a copy would not suffice. I had no choice but to try an ATM once again. I had tried one in Kakamega but it didn’t seem to work there. Thankfully, I was able to withdraw some much needed cash. From there, Lindar and I headed to her local salon. Lindar had been convincing me to get my hair braided as all women do in Kenya. I had been considering it, so we went to see if the ladies that braid her hair would charge the same price for mine. Turns out, they would charge me the same price, but they warned me that a lot of my hair would fall out without using fake extensions. I politely said I would consider, when really thinking absolutely not. I want to submerge myself into the African culture. There’s a limit, however.

In Kakamega Lindar had watched me eat some granola bars I had brought from the States. She knows how much I miss that type of food, so she took me to the only shop selling granola bars in Nairobi. I was excited to replenish my stock as I have been rationing the two boxes I carried with me. Turns out the granola bars were almost $5 each. I miss granola bars, but not enough to pay $5 for one. We moved on. Lindar needed some money as well so we stopped at a local grocery store for her to get some. The whole credit/debit card idea has yet to catch on in Kenya. The cell phone companies took advantage of this and have a system where people can withdraw money through them. I’m not exactly sure how it works, but it’s a good idea for the cell phone companies. The banks aren’t very happy about it, though.

Being a former model, Lindar knew all the local designers in town. She wanted to take me to one of her favorites to have a dress made. I was unsure on buying a dress, but wanted to see the ladies designs so went. The dresses the designer made were nice. I didn’t want to spend 3,500 shillings on another article of clothing I probably wouldn’t wear very often so passed on ordering the dress. Lindar liked one enough to get it custom made. I have found that a lot of people have their clothes custom made in Kenya. There really aren’t many clothing stores—most clothes are sold by illegal vendors on the street. One Friday, as Sarah was looking at a top, the vendor ripped the top out of her hand and ran—the police were coming. When exiting the designers shop Lindar told me to watch my stuff. Lots of people steal on the street we were crossing. I held on tightly to my purse. The streets of Nairobi are unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. People walk shoulder to shoulder and cars are bumper to bumper. That’s Nairobi at rush hour for you.

Lindar took me to her favorite cake place, The Mug. This coffee shop was fairly modern and had a relaxing feeling to it. I ordered banana cake with a mango milk shake. The cake, like others I’ve tried in Kenya, was dry, but still tasty. The milk shake was refreshing. Unlike American milkshakes, the texture was not as thick. I tried Lindar’s red velvet cake which was tasty as well. Next stop were some more souvenir shops. I bought a few small things, scurrying to get souvenirs for everyone back home, trying not to forget anyone. I bought a fabric I really liked hoping I can get the material made into a skirt. We will see if that happens before I leave—doubtful with the speed of Kenyan life. For dinner, we stopped by Pizza Inn to grab some pizzas to go. Lindar was happy to not have to cook for her fiancé tonight. I asked if it was always the women’s role to cook. Lindar explained very few families did it differently—the women do approximately 90 percent of the work in a Kenyan household. Pizza in hand we headed back, passing by a meat market on the way. Fresh cows hung in the windows. The smell was horrible, making me want to walk faster. The small children lurking on the corners always beg for money. Lindar, with the sensitive heart she has, was frustrated when one she gave money to last time asked for some more. She knows their mothers send them and the money probably isn’t used to help them, but her sensitivity seems to get the best of her.

The Pizza Inn pizza was better than Debonairs. Still, nothing compares to the pizza we have in the States. Once again, I ate a whole pizza, a medium this time. Pizza was the perfect ending to an evening in Nairobi.

Another Day of Learning

Today I continued with my GIS training. Each day, I seem to learn more and more about the power of technology and the various applications thereof. In my lessons today we focused on how to convert GPS readings into a compatible format to be used with GIS. Sometimes this consists of changing the minutes and seconds of the coordinates into a decimal of degrees. Other times, we have to convert the coordinates into a text file to be read by the GIS software. All the programs on the computer seem to work together in a way I never realized was possible. We even took a look at the GPS readings on my camera and how to put those coordinates into a map. I think I’m finally getting the hang of GIS and how to input different layers and label certain points. Tomorrow, I will finish my lessons of the basics. Next, I have to figure out how I can apply what I’ve learned to my research.

I learned another thing today—fries for lunch probably aren’t a good idea before running with a group of Kenyans. Not only did I have fries for lunch, but it was a late lunch. Running on recently eaten fries doesn’t feel so good. The group was bigger today and actually included some girls besides me. We didn’t go quite as far as last time, but it felt incredibly far. I’ve learned my lesson. The next time I go running it will be on an empty or rice filled stomach.

Questions on America

Lindar was back this morning so I was able to identify insects. Well, at least better than I had been doing in the past when alone. After a while of doing that, Fabian showed me the final step in his scoring process. He has designed a program where he can enter the names and numbers of that certain insect (copied from the excel document Lindar and I created) and give a numerical score to the water quality. This score is then compared to the rating scale which will tell us just how polluted the water is. He uses a system founded in South Africa since the insects seem to be similar between the two locations. We went through this process once with the insects I identified. Based on the system, the water in that sample was slightly modified. Fabian now uses the scores for his reports. He can look at rainfall and agricultural patterns in the area and try to correlate the two. Any graphs Fabian creates are given to the community. However, the graphs probably don’t mean a lot to the community without interpretation. Fabian explained to me he is still trying to figure out how to communicate with the community.

After lunch, Macharia (I’m not sure what is job is at icipe) began teaching me how to use the GIS program. A lot of what he taught was a review from what Sarah had originally taught me. The new stuff was fascinating. I can see so many practical ways to apply GIS. Technology is so advanced; often times I feel like I am not getting the full potential out of the technology I use. With tools such as GIS, capable of linking Google Maps with coordinates provided by countries, there are limitless possibilities. Once the lesson was finished for the day Macharia asked me many questions about living and growing up in the United States—questions about prom, football, and foods. People in Kenya seem to be fascinated by prom. There are constant questions asking if it’s just like in the movies and if people really spend so much money on their dresses. I tell people it’s pretty much a movie, but the event still only is one night of your life. People also always seem to know about the American obsession with football. Even after trying to describe it for a month, I still can’t seem to put into words the excitement that surrounds such a sport. The typical topic of foods always ends with me raving about how good and cheap their fresh fruits and vegetables are and the person I’m talking with complaining how expensive unhealthy foods are. As humans, we always seem to want what we don’t have. I find comfort and happiness in talking about my country and sharing with other people. There is familiarity in the subjects and familiarity is rare for me in Kenya but in a good way.

Fourteen Falls

This morning Karen picked me up nice and early for church. I was expecting another three hour service with fifty percent understanding, but to my surprise, an American was guest speaking. This didn't shorten the service in anyway, unfortunately. I could actually understand everything, though. I didn't feel myself having to concentrate on every word. It was really nice. The sermon was also very well done with a powerful message. I've noticed some of the songs sung in Karen's church are the same as those sung in contemporary services at my home church. This just shows the uniting power of religion throughout the world. After the service, I went to a cell meeting with Karen. A cell meeting is similar to a Bible study with people sharing their weekly experiences and where they see God in their life. One of the girls in the group was really excited to see an American at the church. Her excitement made me laugh.

Having wanted some sort of clothing resembling Africa, but still modern enough I can use it for everyday wear, Karen took me to a local seamstress to design me a top. The whole meeting took about five minutes. I picked out my fabric and the lady took my measurements. This customized top will cost me about $20. For a customized item of clothing, the price seems cheap. Karen and I were both running out of credit on our phones so we stopped at a local booth to buy some. Cell phones in Kenya do not run on the typical plans we have in the States. Instead, the program is more like "pay as you go". I thought I had spent 500 shillings the first time I bought credit, which had lasted me a month so I was going to buy 400 more. Karen gave me a funny look, telling me that seemed like an awful lot. I decided on just 200 shillings. Thankfully Karen had stopped me because I looked at my receipts and last time had only bought 100 shillings worth. I'm surprised it cost me only a little over $1 to operate a cell phone for a month.

We rushed back to icipe as David was coming to pick me up soon. I thought he was going to be there any minute so I scarfed down my spaghetti for lunch and changed quickly. For once the sun was shining so I waited outside for him. In over thirty minutes he still hadn't arrived. I was going to call him, but with the African sense of time I didn't want to seem impatient. Soon after I received a message from Karen saying he was in his office. We were still waiting for others, so at least I wasn't the hold up. When everyone arrived David asked why no one knew how to keep time. Then the finger pointing of whose fault it was began. Funny how they can all point fingers when literally no one here can ever keep time.

David claimed being only the "driver" and didn't really know where we were going. We passed a place for Fourteen Falls Accommodations and Sam thought we should have turned there. After driving a little further we asked some of the people on the side of the road for directions. The man we asked looked like he had never even heard of Fourteen Falls. It was a bad idea to even listen to what he said, but we did and ended up going to the accommodation place. Sam was elated thinking he was correct all along. He was wrong. At the accommodation place we were told the falls were ten kilometers in the direction we had just come from. David set his odometer so we could measure it exactly. Poorly marked signs were barely visible. Luckily we caught slight glimpses of them and followed the dirt path. Along the path, people walked going about their daily chores. I saw a man carrying a freshly caught cat fish on a twig. The fish was still partly alive, flailing about.

After a half hour of getting lost and found again, we arrived at the falls. They were breathtakingly beautiful. Almost immediately after parking the car and getting out, two guides ran up to us asking if we wanted to go on an adventure. Of course we did! We slipped off our shoes to walk across the top of the falls. Everyone put their shoes in the car. I asked the guide if I could put mine there as well. He refused, saying my feet weren't as strong as Africans. What? I was slightly offended. (I ended up making it through the day without my shoes.) The water we walked through was freezing cold and went up to my knees, even higher in some places. Crossing was like a game of follow the leader. We all linked hands and our feet would be placed directly where the person in front of us was standing. A few times, I almost fell, with David and the guide catching me. I'm pretty sure Sam fell once. Sam and Sarah were unsure of the whole adventure. Both feared falling and Sam always seems to be afraid of crocodiles lurking in the corners. No crocodiles at the falls. David, one of the guides, and I broke ahead of the group. Some of the rocks we stepped on were slippery, others gagged. The current was strong. This water was also the water source for nearby communities. I could tell this by the litter catching on rocks around me. An occasional piece of trash would wrap around my leg, frightening me for a second. The views from the top of the falls were unbelievable. I did not count the falls, but I assume there were fourteen, all lined up in a row. We took many pictures having fun along the way. The crossing took us maybe an hour. We were having so much fun I lost track of time. On the final fall, we watched our guides jump off the top. Sam took a plunge also. The breeze swept the cool mist of the falls on our backs. We climbed to the bottom of the falls where we took more pictures, climbed through more rocks, and David bought some sugar cane. At first I wasn’t sure exactly what he was planning on doing with it. Vendors sell sugar cane for people to suck the sweet sugary water out of. David cut off a piece for me to try. The actual plant was very hard to chew and bite off of. All the work was worth it as the juices were sweet and refreshing. Our group took a boat ride near the bottom of the falls. The boat seemed a little unstable and filled with water easily. We road in a small circle and got off on the other side. When discussing how much to pay our “adventure guides” for the day, Rafiell said we should just pay them in appreciation. They didn’t seem to like this idea very much.

There were vendors along the top of the falls where I bought some small souvenirs. One lady even came chasing after me, since the girl selling her items didn’t want the price I had bargained for. On our way out, David bought a hardboiled egg from a vendor on the side of the road. Sometimes the sketchiness of what people do here surprises me.

As we road back to Nairobi, we passed through an area where police officers were checking public transport passing through. I asked why this was the case. David explained how the road we were driving on led to Somalia, and the police were checking for bombs—scary stuff. Along our way back we passed the largest pineapple plantation in Kenya and stopped along the side of the road to buy pineapples. Right as we stopped the car, a crowd flocked to try to sell their pineapples first. David rolled down my window and before long I had pineapples inches from my face. I couldn’t even talk I was in such shock. We ended up buying over eight pineapples for under $3. And the pineapples were some of the best I have ever tasted. One of the people selling them cut one up for us. I sat in the car holding the top of a quarter of pineapple taking huge bites with sweet juices dripping down my chin. I felt like a little kid experiencing their first popsicle. We continued having the man cut up pineapples. I think our car went through at least four in under ten minutes. The cores were also really soft and edible. When I arrived back at icipe, I had no idea what to do with the four pineapples David sent me with. I asked the man in charge of the Guest House to cut them up for me. Later that evening, he knocked on my door with a plate piled high with pineapple, dripping juices from it and all. What a fantastic midnight snack.