So when my family was here Jillian left me a few Cosmos (thanks Hun!) with lots of tips that would be super useful for any girl not living in the bush; so I thought I might make a list of tips for a bush beauty regimen.
Lets start with the basics…
1) Never skip the simple things like brushing your teeth and washing your face. Although sometimes you are exhausted and the idea of heating up water and walking outside into the cold to brush your teeth sound incredibly hard the momentary relief is not worth the gross feeling that will stick with you.
2) Wash your face AT LEAST twice a day. The wind buries the dust into your skin and causes a grimy layer on your face. Not cute. So I suggest exfoliating in the morning and a cleanser at night (of course you will have to buy those things in Nairobi)
3) Never ever ever ever ever ever ever skip on sunscreen. Particularly on your face. Even if it does make you break out. Just but a special face sunscreen and be happy your face isn’t red and splotchy. And painful. Again.
4) Wash your hair every other day and use plenty of shampoo. As much as you want you hair to be soft and shiny you want it to be clean more. So lather it up.
5) Remember the hair products are meant for a thicker hair then yours (unless you have horse hair like mine) so use less of the conditioner. If you have thick hair prepare to be amazed. I bought this thing called “nourishing hair food” and now my mane is soft and always smells like coconuts. Also use a shampoo and then a leave in conditioner. That way you use less water.
6) Everyone else has them, so you might as well. I know you’re a white girl but go ahead and rock the braids. It’s nice not to have to brush your hair. Can’t handle the ridiculousness? Keep in a French braid and forget about it.
7) If you want your hair to have nice curls here is a trick I learned at a salon- mix some salt in with some hot water. Tie your hair up in a few knots and then dip it into the almost boiling water. Let sit for a few and you end up with some nice curls.
8) Don’t bother painting your fingernails. They will chip and look gross. Just keep them clean and get the dirt out from under them
9) Always keep your toes painted though. For some reason that is super important here. You can even get a pedicure for 300 shillings in some places. Soooooo nice.
10) Never sleep without a mosquito net. They will bite you on the face just to spite you. You will feel gross, your face will be covered in bloody bites and everyone will have the oh so helpful comment of “whats wrong with your face?”
11) Use make-up sparingly. It will all melt off. Maybe some cover up if you want. A little bit around the eyes.
12) Whatever go ahead and do a full face if you feel like it. Just know you have to make that make-up last awhile and to check it around 1 o’clock to avoid that face melted off look
13) Remember the air is against you here. It wants to dry you out. Moisturize EVERYTHING. Everyday. And always use a lather when you shave or else the dry skin will make you want to kill yourself.
14) Exfoliate once a week but just make sure you have an extra bucket of water so that you don’t have the sand floating in the bucket of water your going to pour over yourself when you want to wash your hair.
15) Take extra good care of your clothing. Fix rips and holes immediately. Wash often. And remember these are the only clothes you have.
16) Give up the battle. You are going to gain weight. Just enjoy the carbs, know people think big is beautiful here, and try to get some yoga or a run in. if you don’t it’s ok. Your awesome anyway.
17) Seriously you are going to gain weight. Just be okay with it.
A couple make up tips
1) don’t have a mirror? Use a semi-dirty window or some water and put on only light make-up. You can apply your blush and lip stain or whatever with your fingers and feel your way around but don’t try to do your eyes without a mirror.
2) Subtly is key. You will look CRAZY around here if your make-up is super noticeable. Stick to browns and light pinks.
3) DENY DENY DENY you are wearing make-up. Otherwise others will want to borrow it.
And when it comes to getting dressed
1) Africans like you more when your in a skirt. Why? I have no idea. They just do. So have a few nice skirts all at least knee length and use them when you want something
2) Remember to think conservative
3) Those sexy clothes you have just incase? Save them for Nairobi and revel in the feeling of people’s jaws dropping when they see you.
Oh and with the cosmo man tips…..
Never give out your number. You will get some CRAZY text messages and be forced to change your number.
If you challenge the men here they usually get confused and leave you alone
Guy won’t leave you alone? Casually mention you will never clean up after a man or have kids. They will assume something is wrong with you in the brain and leave you alone. Unless they are the weird super determined ones.
The weird determined ones? Avoid. At all costs.
Creepy guy wink at you? Don’t put on your disgusted face (even if you can’t believe he did that weird stick his tongue out thing) laugh to yourself and turn around. That usually embarrasses them enough to leave you alone.
If you give in to one guy everyone will know. Everyone. So don’t.
And a couple last minute tips-
Looking good is really important here. So always try to look your best.
A few pieces of jewelry always make you feel put together
Always bring a jacket or a shawl because the weather is unpredictable
And finally
Pencil skirts and motorcycles don’t mix. Nothing will be left to the imagination when you get on. Go with a-line skirts.
I mean that last one. It’s pretty awkward.
Love you guys!
Aliya
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
Leonardo Said it Best...
Hey guys
So today was another study in how lucky I am to have gone to an American school.
One of the girls here had a seizure today and as far as I could tell a pretty severe one.
Now about a week ago I taught a first aid class, nothing big just something on cuts and scrapes and burns, and I talked about the need for everyone to have this knowledge. People asked me why and I said because a medical emergency can happen at any time to anyone and we should all be prepared. Then it was decided I should do a class for the teachers at a later date. Oh the irony.
Anyway this morning I was sitting in my office when another teacher came in and gently knocked on my door. I invited her in and asked her what seemed to be upsetting her.
“Well” she quietly informed me “one of the girls has passed out or something like that. Can you help?”
Now as much as I wanted to slap the teacher for having wasted time and gone through pleasantries well a child was passed out I couldn’t waste that time and immediately took off running. After having to have explain to the teacher that “just there” isn’t telling me where something is I finally found the girl in the state of a rigid seizure.
No anyone with first aid knowledge knows there is nothing to be done for a seizure but try to keep the victim safe and treat for shock, so this is what I started doing. The problem is the other teachers couldn’t seem to understand that and seemed to think I could somehow make her stop.
For some reason I’ll never understand I had to argue for about 10 minutes- thus totaling the girls rigid seizure time to 40 minutes at their estimation (proving this was not a regular seizure and that we needed to get to the hospital faster)- for us to get her into a car and to the nearest hospital.
So we loaded her into the school’s vehicle (which just so happens to be an ambulance as it fits the most people) and at a speeding 125 kilometers per hour- which is FLYING when the roads aren’t paved- we were off.
In the car on the way she came out of her rigid state but remained unconscious with a few complications (such as not breathing)
Let me just take a moment to thank my father for having me take the class, Mr. Schauble for teaching the class, and Stevenson high school for providing the class, that made this next sentence possible.
I had to perform rescue breathing.
Once she started again her breathe seemed to be even and eventually we arrived at the hospital and were given the very comforting diagnosis of “I dunno”.
This incident has caused me to reflect on a few differences between here and the states in this kind of situation.
1) I would not have been the only person on the mission to know any sort of first aid had this happened in the U.S.A. State side we are lucky enough to have first aid courses available to everyone. If you’re reading this and haven’t taken a first aid course please go sign up for one now.
2) Within minutes of someone seizing in the USA an ambulance, one with EMTs not the school’s old used ambulance, would have been called. There would not have been a wait.
3) If she had stopped breathing in the USA I would have had the correct equipment to deal with the situation and the rescue breathing would have been preformed with a barrier rather then good ole’ fashioned pinch the nose mouth on mouth.
But on the other hand
1) People might not have given their jackets to keep her warm when I treated for shock.
2) Someone might not have been there to comfort her mother and pray with her the entire time
3) She might not have been surrounded by people who loved her
No matter what it is quite the story, eh? The definition of “ditch” medicine as my dad calls it.
I’m kind of exhausted form the whole experience and I’m not sure what to write for now. I just thought some of you might enjoy the mental image of me in the back of an old beat up ambulance performing rescue breathing on an eleven year old girl with women praying in the background and the car flying over rocks and bumps due to unpaved road.
This is Africa.
I love it anyway.
See you all in 2 months!
Aliya
P.S. Incase you are wondering about the title it refers to Leonardo diCaprio in "Blood Diamond" when he said TIA
So today was another study in how lucky I am to have gone to an American school.
One of the girls here had a seizure today and as far as I could tell a pretty severe one.
Now about a week ago I taught a first aid class, nothing big just something on cuts and scrapes and burns, and I talked about the need for everyone to have this knowledge. People asked me why and I said because a medical emergency can happen at any time to anyone and we should all be prepared. Then it was decided I should do a class for the teachers at a later date. Oh the irony.
Anyway this morning I was sitting in my office when another teacher came in and gently knocked on my door. I invited her in and asked her what seemed to be upsetting her.
“Well” she quietly informed me “one of the girls has passed out or something like that. Can you help?”
Now as much as I wanted to slap the teacher for having wasted time and gone through pleasantries well a child was passed out I couldn’t waste that time and immediately took off running. After having to have explain to the teacher that “just there” isn’t telling me where something is I finally found the girl in the state of a rigid seizure.
No anyone with first aid knowledge knows there is nothing to be done for a seizure but try to keep the victim safe and treat for shock, so this is what I started doing. The problem is the other teachers couldn’t seem to understand that and seemed to think I could somehow make her stop.
For some reason I’ll never understand I had to argue for about 10 minutes- thus totaling the girls rigid seizure time to 40 minutes at their estimation (proving this was not a regular seizure and that we needed to get to the hospital faster)- for us to get her into a car and to the nearest hospital.
So we loaded her into the school’s vehicle (which just so happens to be an ambulance as it fits the most people) and at a speeding 125 kilometers per hour- which is FLYING when the roads aren’t paved- we were off.
In the car on the way she came out of her rigid state but remained unconscious with a few complications (such as not breathing)
Let me just take a moment to thank my father for having me take the class, Mr. Schauble for teaching the class, and Stevenson high school for providing the class, that made this next sentence possible.
I had to perform rescue breathing.
Once she started again her breathe seemed to be even and eventually we arrived at the hospital and were given the very comforting diagnosis of “I dunno”.
This incident has caused me to reflect on a few differences between here and the states in this kind of situation.
1) I would not have been the only person on the mission to know any sort of first aid had this happened in the U.S.A. State side we are lucky enough to have first aid courses available to everyone. If you’re reading this and haven’t taken a first aid course please go sign up for one now.
2) Within minutes of someone seizing in the USA an ambulance, one with EMTs not the school’s old used ambulance, would have been called. There would not have been a wait.
3) If she had stopped breathing in the USA I would have had the correct equipment to deal with the situation and the rescue breathing would have been preformed with a barrier rather then good ole’ fashioned pinch the nose mouth on mouth.
But on the other hand
1) People might not have given their jackets to keep her warm when I treated for shock.
2) Someone might not have been there to comfort her mother and pray with her the entire time
3) She might not have been surrounded by people who loved her
No matter what it is quite the story, eh? The definition of “ditch” medicine as my dad calls it.
I’m kind of exhausted form the whole experience and I’m not sure what to write for now. I just thought some of you might enjoy the mental image of me in the back of an old beat up ambulance performing rescue breathing on an eleven year old girl with women praying in the background and the car flying over rocks and bumps due to unpaved road.
This is Africa.
I love it anyway.
See you all in 2 months!
Aliya
P.S. Incase you are wondering about the title it refers to Leonardo diCaprio in "Blood Diamond" when he said TIA
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Brush Your Shoulders Off
So I don’t know if any of you are thinking of ever coming to Kenya but let me give you a piece of advice if you do. Don’t pass out in public.
A few days ago in Nairobi I was at a stage called railways to catch a matatu (those mini buses) home. Apparently I stepped of the matatu I was on, told Wilson (the person I was with) that I was feeling kind of busy and then hit the floor. I don’t remember anything after that, probably due to the whole unconscious thing, but I’ve been told it was pretty much general upheaval after that and panic. When I came to in some stranger’s car that was about to leave for the hospital my first thought was that Wilson was hurt from the look on his face.
Before I continue let me tell everyone I’m fine. I promise.
Anyway after arguing with people for about a half hour I convinced everyone I did not need to go to the hospital. That’s when the tirade of calls began.
First Wilson called father Patrick to tell him what happened and I had to argue with father that I did not need to go to the hospital but it was too late. The phone tree had been activated.
Within 10 minutes I was receiving calls from Madame Grace, Mama Michelle, Lucy Ann (a woman who travelled with us to Loita and took us to the wedding), Some (pronounced som-a father Patrick’s brother who once let me spend a night at his house on my way to lotoiktoik) well trying to assure Wilson and his friend Vicky, who had apparently come running, that I really was fine.
After much argument on my part it was decided I would stay in Nairobi another night and leave tomorrow. Once we made our way back to the apartment I had spent the night in before a girl was nice enough to let me borrow some clothes of her as mine were dirty.
Anyway I may as well have gone to the hospital when Wilson wanted as within a few hours Lucy Ann had showed up and announced we WERE in fact going to the hospital and both Some and Father Patrick would meet us there.
After many hours at the hospital and a severely unpleasant CT scan the doctors confirmed what I had told everyone- dehydration. (Please spare me any lectures on drinking water. I got one from the doctor and my father and have had water poured into me ever since).
So in the end I am fine with nothing but a bruised ego and a dread of going back to railways and being remembered as that white girl that passed out (please don’t say fainted- it sounds so girly) and a realization of how loved I am here.
It makes it so hard to think about going home because it makes me feel the same way I felt leaving Chicago. Like I’m ripping myself away from my family.
I don’t think I’ve ever been in a place where I have felt so overwhelmed by love from people who seemingly have no business loving me. There is also the feeling of how much I love everyone here.
I want to write a blog about how easy it is to love here and how people become so important to you so fast but all I can be is sad as I think about coming home. Not to mention the terror I feel that has become a common theme in my life.
I usually feel like I haven’t done anything to earn the love an affection I get here. You guys want to know something? My hospital bill was almost 18,000 KSH. Do you know who paid that? Not me. Father Patrick did automatically and with no complaint. What have I ever done to make me worth 18,000 of anything to him? To anyone? When I take a cold look at myself I see a girl who runs away from the bush and to Nairobi at every chance she gets, costs the mission money and is getting people’s hopes up while unable to actually deliver. At all. I have received an immense amount of love and affection here and have had more fun here then I have ever had in my life but what have I done to deserve any of it? Maybe my nature is just neurotic and I will never feel good enough but most of the time I feel disappointed in myself and at worst disgusted with myself because I’m either not doing enough (or anything at all) or I’m not doing it the way a major corporation like the peace-corp. would do things. (I know I’m breaking every rule they ever laid out for their members) I just feel like I’m doing everything wrong sometimes.
Sometimes I wish I had just gone to college and never learned all of these things about the world.
And then it’s time to get up brush myself off and stop feeling sorry for myself. I have to remind myself that what is going on is just the African version of my irrational tendencies and it’s time to be rational.
I will feel much better if we can get some goddamned water here, though.
Anyway I’m kind of out of steam so I will update again soon. I miss you all and will see you soon.
Aliya
A few days ago in Nairobi I was at a stage called railways to catch a matatu (those mini buses) home. Apparently I stepped of the matatu I was on, told Wilson (the person I was with) that I was feeling kind of busy and then hit the floor. I don’t remember anything after that, probably due to the whole unconscious thing, but I’ve been told it was pretty much general upheaval after that and panic. When I came to in some stranger’s car that was about to leave for the hospital my first thought was that Wilson was hurt from the look on his face.
Before I continue let me tell everyone I’m fine. I promise.
Anyway after arguing with people for about a half hour I convinced everyone I did not need to go to the hospital. That’s when the tirade of calls began.
First Wilson called father Patrick to tell him what happened and I had to argue with father that I did not need to go to the hospital but it was too late. The phone tree had been activated.
Within 10 minutes I was receiving calls from Madame Grace, Mama Michelle, Lucy Ann (a woman who travelled with us to Loita and took us to the wedding), Some (pronounced som-a father Patrick’s brother who once let me spend a night at his house on my way to lotoiktoik) well trying to assure Wilson and his friend Vicky, who had apparently come running, that I really was fine.
After much argument on my part it was decided I would stay in Nairobi another night and leave tomorrow. Once we made our way back to the apartment I had spent the night in before a girl was nice enough to let me borrow some clothes of her as mine were dirty.
Anyway I may as well have gone to the hospital when Wilson wanted as within a few hours Lucy Ann had showed up and announced we WERE in fact going to the hospital and both Some and Father Patrick would meet us there.
After many hours at the hospital and a severely unpleasant CT scan the doctors confirmed what I had told everyone- dehydration. (Please spare me any lectures on drinking water. I got one from the doctor and my father and have had water poured into me ever since).
So in the end I am fine with nothing but a bruised ego and a dread of going back to railways and being remembered as that white girl that passed out (please don’t say fainted- it sounds so girly) and a realization of how loved I am here.
It makes it so hard to think about going home because it makes me feel the same way I felt leaving Chicago. Like I’m ripping myself away from my family.
I don’t think I’ve ever been in a place where I have felt so overwhelmed by love from people who seemingly have no business loving me. There is also the feeling of how much I love everyone here.
I want to write a blog about how easy it is to love here and how people become so important to you so fast but all I can be is sad as I think about coming home. Not to mention the terror I feel that has become a common theme in my life.
I usually feel like I haven’t done anything to earn the love an affection I get here. You guys want to know something? My hospital bill was almost 18,000 KSH. Do you know who paid that? Not me. Father Patrick did automatically and with no complaint. What have I ever done to make me worth 18,000 of anything to him? To anyone? When I take a cold look at myself I see a girl who runs away from the bush and to Nairobi at every chance she gets, costs the mission money and is getting people’s hopes up while unable to actually deliver. At all. I have received an immense amount of love and affection here and have had more fun here then I have ever had in my life but what have I done to deserve any of it? Maybe my nature is just neurotic and I will never feel good enough but most of the time I feel disappointed in myself and at worst disgusted with myself because I’m either not doing enough (or anything at all) or I’m not doing it the way a major corporation like the peace-corp. would do things. (I know I’m breaking every rule they ever laid out for their members) I just feel like I’m doing everything wrong sometimes.
Sometimes I wish I had just gone to college and never learned all of these things about the world.
And then it’s time to get up brush myself off and stop feeling sorry for myself. I have to remind myself that what is going on is just the African version of my irrational tendencies and it’s time to be rational.
I will feel much better if we can get some goddamned water here, though.
Anyway I’m kind of out of steam so I will update again soon. I miss you all and will see you soon.
Aliya
Friday, August 20, 2010
Jaded Hopefull Thoughts.
Ok
SO let’s write a blog.
So I have been here for a little over three months at this point but still tend to feel like I haven’t done much. I think it’s because most of what I have done has focused on the individual rather then things that are big picture. This is partly because big picture stuff is harder to get done and costs far more money so these projects, such as the water project and anything that has to do with the secondary school (which keeps me up at night), come to fruition much later. The water project probably won’t make any real steps forward until I leave. Sometimes I feel like I haven’t done anything really good or helpful because few have felt the impact. I almost always feel like I’m doing nothing and wasting my time here. I also have seemed to have developed a nasty habit of collecting kids and bringing them to the mission.
For those of you who don’t know my family came to visit me here and we spent a few days in VERY interior Kenya so we could go to a traditional Maasai wedding (which was BEAUTIFUL and also very confusing). When we arrived on the mission there was a small boy named Peter. To give you a little back round on Peter, he is 13 years old and lived about 50 kilometers from the mission. His mother is supposedly a sweet woman but his father is MIA which may be better for the family by the sound of it. Peter wants to be a priest when he grows up and thus WALKS 50 km through jungle and mountains, if you want to check it out go look up Loita Plains on a map of Kenya, to get to the mission. He is painfully thin, the oldest of seven and wanted to have as he called it a very serious and private talk.
So on our second day in Loita Peter took me aside and told me that he wanted to go to school in Mulot. Now you think by now I’d be used to this request and wouldn’t be so upset by it but I am afraid this is not true. My blood immediately began to pound behind my eyes well months worth of math figures and accounts began to swim in front.
“it’s not that easy Peter” I tried to say gently but what came out what a painful gurgle because as well as developing a habit of collecting kids I seem to have acquired some sort of horrific allergy to disappointing them. Luckily Peter took pity on me and left. I spent the rest of the morning going over facts and assured myself it was impossible. Beyond impossible. And with that assurance I went on with my day which was spent happily staring at Maasai warriors well they stared back and tugged at my hair.
It was later that night I made the mistake of telling my father about Peter’s request. It started as me lamenting that we could not bring him back to Mulot. I should have known much better.
Before I knew what was happening my father was convincing me about how it was not only possible but probable to bring peter back to Mulot. After 15 minutes of arguing in the back of a pick-up truck we had accidently driven into Tanzania Dad asked if we should talk to Father Patrick.
“Why did we ever pretend we weren’t going to?” I sighed.
Apparently Father Patrick and my father use some sort of different magical math full of good will and fairy dust rather then my terrible angry oppressive math because Peter was packed into the car the next day and brought to Mulot. Really is anyone surprised?
Anyway a little back round on Loita is needed at this point. Loita is the place where the world ends. There is literally nothing there. And when I say nothing I mean nothing. There are no lights, no roads, no cars, no stores, no towns, not even a donkey. The only things there are mountains and Tik Tik which are basically deer in miniature.
This might by why when the car arrived in Narok, a place I always thought of as pretty in the bush, Peter had to stand up out of his car seat so he could press against a window. This was a child who had never seen a car before we arrived let alone the hundreds in Narok. We went into a Naiva’s (Think of it like an Aldys or a Wallgreen’s) and it looked as if Peter might pass out in fear and excitement. I wish I had asked him more about how he was feeling but I was nursing a head injury brought on by the road, or lack there of, and could barely remember the day of the week.
The next day I slept and wore sunglasses inside well Peter wandered the mission. The entire time he was followed around by Ian (another student someone who shall remain nameless brought out of a public school *ahem*) and for probably the first time in his life interacted with 60 kids his own age as well as the rest of the school. It was also probably the first time he wore shoes that covered his feet entirely.
Later that night I was well enough to have my ass handed to me in a game of flowers (It’s the Kenyan poker. I’ll teach it to you when I get back) and peter came to the rectory where he saw Jillian on her laptop.
Please keep in mind here Peter had never seen anything remotely like a computer before. At all. Ever.
I did not pay much attention to what he was doing as I was concentrating on keeping from Brother Moses from winning his 3rd game of Flowers in a row but I did here Peter whisper wow in awe as Jillian giggled and showed him something. About a half hour later peter walked over with my computer (which I had opened up for them as it had more battery) and was shown this note.
“most kind Aliya thank you for bringing me to school and it is great and I will work hard forever to do well in school and be good and be greatful”
First off this note is pretty amazing for a publicly schooled child in class 6.
Secondly this note made me think that maybe the individual projects are just as important. Who is to say that the next president of Kenya didn’t just write that note? Who is to say what children are worth more or less and who deserves an education? Why shouldn’t I be just as over the moon about Peter being in school as I will be if I ever find the money to get water into this place? I mean there are of course some things that make the water project more important ( like the fact it would save lives and wipe out disease in the community as well as provide jobs and according to the water commissioner turn Mulot into a booming town of industry) but isn’t peter just as important?
No matter what I think now or have thought or will think in the moment I read that note Peter was just as important.
My only regret is that I wasted water by crying after I read the note.
So here is the count
Orphans at the school originally: 11
That debt: 157,000 Kenyan Shilling
Orphans Added: 2
Kids pulled from public school due to being first in class: 2
Amount of debt added by them: 1600 US dollars
Total amount of debt annually added by taking on scholar shipping all of these kids: at least 6,000 US per year for the next three years baring more orphans. (Which we shouldn’t)
Number of nights spent without sleep: Hundreds.
Numbers of lives affected: uncountable.
I feel like this would be a good place to end the blog but I am so full of fear and frustration and hope and emotions I don’t understand that I am going to keep writing partly to sort myself out. I could not post this stuff but I promised myself that this blog would be honest all the time and really let people into my life here so I’m going to keep writing. So go get something to eat and a glass of water, maybe turn off your computer for a bit and come back. That way it can feel like two blogs and not one obscenely long post. Sawa Sawa? (Okay?)
As happy as some of these numbers make me, and as happy as the money that has been raised thus far makes me it also terrifies me. My worst fear is that I will get these kids in school for a year, maybe two, and then the money will stop. $6,000 per year is a lot of money to raise and I don’t know if I’m strong enough or smart enough to raise it. A part of me wants to leave and run away and abandon the kids now because I am so sure of my failure but I know I can’t.
I have also just become so jaded and sure that people won’t help me. I have gone to so many people, so many club and sent out countless e-mails to ask for help. I sent our at least 50 e-mails to catholic churches and convents in the USA to ask for help scholar shipping the students and got no answer. Not one. And the only answer I ever received from a rotary club (clubs meant to bring clean water to places around the world) was a woman offering to charge us only half her usual fee to consult on the project to find money. I mean really?
If everyone at Stevenson high school (my old high school for those of you who aren’t alumnus) gave $12 the entire water project would be paid for. If everyone gave just $6 then we could pay for enough to get the water to the public school and surrounding town. I don’t think half the kids at Stevenson will give half that.
I have started to lose faith in the people back home. I feel like unless I fight on daily basis and argue and beg no one wants to help. I can’t understand how so many don’t want to help and how they make excuses and how they seem to just not care.
Don’t get me wrong some people are amazing. Some people are beyond helpful. Some people are beautiful and wonderful and I love them with all my heart for how much they have given ( That means you Angie and David and Donna and Marti) but so many other give me such paper thin excuses and let me down.
I guess some naïve part of me believed that people want to help and will given the opportunity. I thought that because I am here and all the money goes to the kids and because the need was so obvious and because the kids here are just as thirsty and in need (and end up just as dead) as the kids in Haiti or Pakistan people would be willing to give just a few dollars. It seems that I was wrong. The back of my mind has become jaded and bitter.
On the plus side this jaded sense of being has steeled me to fight harder for this then I have ever fought in my life. Nothing is more important to me then getting this water project done and I will stop at nothing to get this money. And believe you me I will lay down in the street before I let any of these kids be sent home because of tuition fees. I don’t know what will be asked of me in the future to get the money for these kids- who I will have to beg, flatter, fight and the paper work I will have to fill out on a mind numbing basis- but I do know with a clarity of which I know few things that I will do it.
I am also reflecting on the fact that I have to go home in about 2.5 months and that scares me for many reasons. Partly it’s because once I go back to the USA I have to start sorting out college and what I want to do with my life, I am so scared I have forgotten how to learn and be in an academic environment, but also because I’m scared I won’t be able to get things done here from the states.
Also as much as I love the people back home and can’t wait to see you all again I feel more often then not that Kenya is my home and I am just going back to the USA for an extended visit.
I really have a home and a family and a life here that I do not want to leave. From what I’ve read and who I have talked to that is a common reaction to Africa. It’s like once that red dirt gets into your system you can’t get it out. No matter what.
Some times I imagine staying here in a permanent manner. I wonder if maybe I could go to the University of Nairobi and stay here in Kenya. Other times that sounds insane but still. I don’t want to leave.
It’s what I tell my friend Wilson whenever he asks me what I am doing or why I’m disappearing all the time.
I really have no idea what I’m doing.
Anyway I think I should stop here as this has gotten obscenely long and you probably have things to do. I promise to update more often guys.
Love and miss you!
Aliya
SO let’s write a blog.
So I have been here for a little over three months at this point but still tend to feel like I haven’t done much. I think it’s because most of what I have done has focused on the individual rather then things that are big picture. This is partly because big picture stuff is harder to get done and costs far more money so these projects, such as the water project and anything that has to do with the secondary school (which keeps me up at night), come to fruition much later. The water project probably won’t make any real steps forward until I leave. Sometimes I feel like I haven’t done anything really good or helpful because few have felt the impact. I almost always feel like I’m doing nothing and wasting my time here. I also have seemed to have developed a nasty habit of collecting kids and bringing them to the mission.
For those of you who don’t know my family came to visit me here and we spent a few days in VERY interior Kenya so we could go to a traditional Maasai wedding (which was BEAUTIFUL and also very confusing). When we arrived on the mission there was a small boy named Peter. To give you a little back round on Peter, he is 13 years old and lived about 50 kilometers from the mission. His mother is supposedly a sweet woman but his father is MIA which may be better for the family by the sound of it. Peter wants to be a priest when he grows up and thus WALKS 50 km through jungle and mountains, if you want to check it out go look up Loita Plains on a map of Kenya, to get to the mission. He is painfully thin, the oldest of seven and wanted to have as he called it a very serious and private talk.
So on our second day in Loita Peter took me aside and told me that he wanted to go to school in Mulot. Now you think by now I’d be used to this request and wouldn’t be so upset by it but I am afraid this is not true. My blood immediately began to pound behind my eyes well months worth of math figures and accounts began to swim in front.
“it’s not that easy Peter” I tried to say gently but what came out what a painful gurgle because as well as developing a habit of collecting kids I seem to have acquired some sort of horrific allergy to disappointing them. Luckily Peter took pity on me and left. I spent the rest of the morning going over facts and assured myself it was impossible. Beyond impossible. And with that assurance I went on with my day which was spent happily staring at Maasai warriors well they stared back and tugged at my hair.
It was later that night I made the mistake of telling my father about Peter’s request. It started as me lamenting that we could not bring him back to Mulot. I should have known much better.
Before I knew what was happening my father was convincing me about how it was not only possible but probable to bring peter back to Mulot. After 15 minutes of arguing in the back of a pick-up truck we had accidently driven into Tanzania Dad asked if we should talk to Father Patrick.
“Why did we ever pretend we weren’t going to?” I sighed.
Apparently Father Patrick and my father use some sort of different magical math full of good will and fairy dust rather then my terrible angry oppressive math because Peter was packed into the car the next day and brought to Mulot. Really is anyone surprised?
Anyway a little back round on Loita is needed at this point. Loita is the place where the world ends. There is literally nothing there. And when I say nothing I mean nothing. There are no lights, no roads, no cars, no stores, no towns, not even a donkey. The only things there are mountains and Tik Tik which are basically deer in miniature.
This might by why when the car arrived in Narok, a place I always thought of as pretty in the bush, Peter had to stand up out of his car seat so he could press against a window. This was a child who had never seen a car before we arrived let alone the hundreds in Narok. We went into a Naiva’s (Think of it like an Aldys or a Wallgreen’s) and it looked as if Peter might pass out in fear and excitement. I wish I had asked him more about how he was feeling but I was nursing a head injury brought on by the road, or lack there of, and could barely remember the day of the week.
The next day I slept and wore sunglasses inside well Peter wandered the mission. The entire time he was followed around by Ian (another student someone who shall remain nameless brought out of a public school *ahem*) and for probably the first time in his life interacted with 60 kids his own age as well as the rest of the school. It was also probably the first time he wore shoes that covered his feet entirely.
Later that night I was well enough to have my ass handed to me in a game of flowers (It’s the Kenyan poker. I’ll teach it to you when I get back) and peter came to the rectory where he saw Jillian on her laptop.
Please keep in mind here Peter had never seen anything remotely like a computer before. At all. Ever.
I did not pay much attention to what he was doing as I was concentrating on keeping from Brother Moses from winning his 3rd game of Flowers in a row but I did here Peter whisper wow in awe as Jillian giggled and showed him something. About a half hour later peter walked over with my computer (which I had opened up for them as it had more battery) and was shown this note.
“most kind Aliya thank you for bringing me to school and it is great and I will work hard forever to do well in school and be good and be greatful”
First off this note is pretty amazing for a publicly schooled child in class 6.
Secondly this note made me think that maybe the individual projects are just as important. Who is to say that the next president of Kenya didn’t just write that note? Who is to say what children are worth more or less and who deserves an education? Why shouldn’t I be just as over the moon about Peter being in school as I will be if I ever find the money to get water into this place? I mean there are of course some things that make the water project more important ( like the fact it would save lives and wipe out disease in the community as well as provide jobs and according to the water commissioner turn Mulot into a booming town of industry) but isn’t peter just as important?
No matter what I think now or have thought or will think in the moment I read that note Peter was just as important.
My only regret is that I wasted water by crying after I read the note.
So here is the count
Orphans at the school originally: 11
That debt: 157,000 Kenyan Shilling
Orphans Added: 2
Kids pulled from public school due to being first in class: 2
Amount of debt added by them: 1600 US dollars
Total amount of debt annually added by taking on scholar shipping all of these kids: at least 6,000 US per year for the next three years baring more orphans. (Which we shouldn’t)
Number of nights spent without sleep: Hundreds.
Numbers of lives affected: uncountable.
I feel like this would be a good place to end the blog but I am so full of fear and frustration and hope and emotions I don’t understand that I am going to keep writing partly to sort myself out. I could not post this stuff but I promised myself that this blog would be honest all the time and really let people into my life here so I’m going to keep writing. So go get something to eat and a glass of water, maybe turn off your computer for a bit and come back. That way it can feel like two blogs and not one obscenely long post. Sawa Sawa? (Okay?)
As happy as some of these numbers make me, and as happy as the money that has been raised thus far makes me it also terrifies me. My worst fear is that I will get these kids in school for a year, maybe two, and then the money will stop. $6,000 per year is a lot of money to raise and I don’t know if I’m strong enough or smart enough to raise it. A part of me wants to leave and run away and abandon the kids now because I am so sure of my failure but I know I can’t.
I have also just become so jaded and sure that people won’t help me. I have gone to so many people, so many club and sent out countless e-mails to ask for help. I sent our at least 50 e-mails to catholic churches and convents in the USA to ask for help scholar shipping the students and got no answer. Not one. And the only answer I ever received from a rotary club (clubs meant to bring clean water to places around the world) was a woman offering to charge us only half her usual fee to consult on the project to find money. I mean really?
If everyone at Stevenson high school (my old high school for those of you who aren’t alumnus) gave $12 the entire water project would be paid for. If everyone gave just $6 then we could pay for enough to get the water to the public school and surrounding town. I don’t think half the kids at Stevenson will give half that.
I have started to lose faith in the people back home. I feel like unless I fight on daily basis and argue and beg no one wants to help. I can’t understand how so many don’t want to help and how they make excuses and how they seem to just not care.
Don’t get me wrong some people are amazing. Some people are beyond helpful. Some people are beautiful and wonderful and I love them with all my heart for how much they have given ( That means you Angie and David and Donna and Marti) but so many other give me such paper thin excuses and let me down.
I guess some naïve part of me believed that people want to help and will given the opportunity. I thought that because I am here and all the money goes to the kids and because the need was so obvious and because the kids here are just as thirsty and in need (and end up just as dead) as the kids in Haiti or Pakistan people would be willing to give just a few dollars. It seems that I was wrong. The back of my mind has become jaded and bitter.
On the plus side this jaded sense of being has steeled me to fight harder for this then I have ever fought in my life. Nothing is more important to me then getting this water project done and I will stop at nothing to get this money. And believe you me I will lay down in the street before I let any of these kids be sent home because of tuition fees. I don’t know what will be asked of me in the future to get the money for these kids- who I will have to beg, flatter, fight and the paper work I will have to fill out on a mind numbing basis- but I do know with a clarity of which I know few things that I will do it.
I am also reflecting on the fact that I have to go home in about 2.5 months and that scares me for many reasons. Partly it’s because once I go back to the USA I have to start sorting out college and what I want to do with my life, I am so scared I have forgotten how to learn and be in an academic environment, but also because I’m scared I won’t be able to get things done here from the states.
Also as much as I love the people back home and can’t wait to see you all again I feel more often then not that Kenya is my home and I am just going back to the USA for an extended visit.
I really have a home and a family and a life here that I do not want to leave. From what I’ve read and who I have talked to that is a common reaction to Africa. It’s like once that red dirt gets into your system you can’t get it out. No matter what.
Some times I imagine staying here in a permanent manner. I wonder if maybe I could go to the University of Nairobi and stay here in Kenya. Other times that sounds insane but still. I don’t want to leave.
It’s what I tell my friend Wilson whenever he asks me what I am doing or why I’m disappearing all the time.
I really have no idea what I’m doing.
Anyway I think I should stop here as this has gotten obscenely long and you probably have things to do. I promise to update more often guys.
Love and miss you!
Aliya
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Finally a Blog
Hey guys so I know it has been forever and I’m sorry, I’ve been going through my own personal stuff here that makes it harder for me to write. I promise I will do better.
So first off let me just tell you that Kenya has a new constitution! The referendum happened yesterday and it passed peacefully so in 14 days there will be a new law of the land. Considering the violence in 2008 the fact that this went so smooth is pretty amazing.
I think a huge part of it was that Kenyans are too exhausted for violence to occur.
It is really amazing to see a country being born and it makes me feel really honored and beyond lucky to have been witness to this. In 50 years I will be able to say I remember the day this country was born and I was there. I think that in the US we forget how beyond lucky and blessed we are to have a government that runs smoothly. The fact that no one my age can remember a riot or any sort of tyrannical government (depending on what party you are affiliated with) is pretty freakin’ amazing and we need to appreciate that. Hopefully 25 years from now Kenyan kids will be appreciating the same thing.
Anyway I am about halfway through my time here in Kenya so I’m thinking it’s time to take stock.
So what have I learned?
First off I have learned to make Ugali which is pretty legit. Be jealous. Also I have learned a lot of practical skills like how to wash my clothes by hand, how to do dishes without running water and how to generally doing things the ole fashioned way (of course I very often am not allowed to do it). On a deeper level I have learned a lot about myself, like how I really can persevere when challenged and I really can live in any conditions, but in all honesty what I have learned the most about it love. I have learned that there is no reason I cannot be love incarnate and not feel it for every human being. I have learned there is no reason to exhaust yourself with grudges or anger or being annoyed when you can be in love with the world. It sounds cliché but it’s so true. I wish I could explain how much lighter I feel without having to have the cool veneer of sarcasm and apathy and dislike that is so popular in the states. It’s a pretty amazing freeing feeling.
I have also learned that the world is a lot harder then it seems. It’s great you want to help but sometimes it feels like the world will never allow you. Whether it’s people making comments like “I’ll help locally” or “why not in the USA?” (Which makes no sense; people are people in need no matter the country. Also the people who say that never seem to be doing anything. Like at all). Also the world of charity and NGO work is bogged down in bureaucracy and hard to get through so more often then not we are all inert among paperwork. The road to hell is paved with good intentions and unlined office paper. I’ve also learned the amazing feeling one gets when one gets through the paper and actually does something that’s good or helpful.
But really what have I done? I more often then not feel overwhelmed and that I’ve done nothing; I feel as if I’ve sat around and been a waste of space. I’ve gotten a couple kids into school, bought a few balls, gotten some ARVs and yet it never feels like enough. I dream about a day when I will feel satisfied and as if I have really done something but I am beginning to doubt that day will actually come.
Even if I am somehow able to raise enough money for water infrastructure and install hot water at the school will I am able to clean myself up and slip into a deep sleep or will I lay awake and stare at the ceiling for another night. Wondering if I could have installed a swimming pool or something.
The truth is there will always be another orphan, another school, another person in need and that I will never be satisfied and I will probably never sleep a full night again.
In some ways I dread the rest of my life like this and in others I am proud. I’m glad to know that this is the kind of person I am but I am terrified of living my life in this state of never enough. I’m not sure what the solution here is.
Either way this is the path I have chosen, or was chosen for me, so I’m gonna walk it.
So I guess I might as well walk it in love.
I’ll update you guys again later this week with a more planned blog.
Home in three months!
Love and miss you all.
Aliya
So first off let me just tell you that Kenya has a new constitution! The referendum happened yesterday and it passed peacefully so in 14 days there will be a new law of the land. Considering the violence in 2008 the fact that this went so smooth is pretty amazing.
I think a huge part of it was that Kenyans are too exhausted for violence to occur.
It is really amazing to see a country being born and it makes me feel really honored and beyond lucky to have been witness to this. In 50 years I will be able to say I remember the day this country was born and I was there. I think that in the US we forget how beyond lucky and blessed we are to have a government that runs smoothly. The fact that no one my age can remember a riot or any sort of tyrannical government (depending on what party you are affiliated with) is pretty freakin’ amazing and we need to appreciate that. Hopefully 25 years from now Kenyan kids will be appreciating the same thing.
Anyway I am about halfway through my time here in Kenya so I’m thinking it’s time to take stock.
So what have I learned?
First off I have learned to make Ugali which is pretty legit. Be jealous. Also I have learned a lot of practical skills like how to wash my clothes by hand, how to do dishes without running water and how to generally doing things the ole fashioned way (of course I very often am not allowed to do it). On a deeper level I have learned a lot about myself, like how I really can persevere when challenged and I really can live in any conditions, but in all honesty what I have learned the most about it love. I have learned that there is no reason I cannot be love incarnate and not feel it for every human being. I have learned there is no reason to exhaust yourself with grudges or anger or being annoyed when you can be in love with the world. It sounds cliché but it’s so true. I wish I could explain how much lighter I feel without having to have the cool veneer of sarcasm and apathy and dislike that is so popular in the states. It’s a pretty amazing freeing feeling.
I have also learned that the world is a lot harder then it seems. It’s great you want to help but sometimes it feels like the world will never allow you. Whether it’s people making comments like “I’ll help locally” or “why not in the USA?” (Which makes no sense; people are people in need no matter the country. Also the people who say that never seem to be doing anything. Like at all). Also the world of charity and NGO work is bogged down in bureaucracy and hard to get through so more often then not we are all inert among paperwork. The road to hell is paved with good intentions and unlined office paper. I’ve also learned the amazing feeling one gets when one gets through the paper and actually does something that’s good or helpful.
But really what have I done? I more often then not feel overwhelmed and that I’ve done nothing; I feel as if I’ve sat around and been a waste of space. I’ve gotten a couple kids into school, bought a few balls, gotten some ARVs and yet it never feels like enough. I dream about a day when I will feel satisfied and as if I have really done something but I am beginning to doubt that day will actually come.
Even if I am somehow able to raise enough money for water infrastructure and install hot water at the school will I am able to clean myself up and slip into a deep sleep or will I lay awake and stare at the ceiling for another night. Wondering if I could have installed a swimming pool or something.
The truth is there will always be another orphan, another school, another person in need and that I will never be satisfied and I will probably never sleep a full night again.
In some ways I dread the rest of my life like this and in others I am proud. I’m glad to know that this is the kind of person I am but I am terrified of living my life in this state of never enough. I’m not sure what the solution here is.
Either way this is the path I have chosen, or was chosen for me, so I’m gonna walk it.
So I guess I might as well walk it in love.
I’ll update you guys again later this week with a more planned blog.
Home in three months!
Love and miss you all.
Aliya
Saturday, July 17, 2010
The Color Has Nothing To Do With The Flavor
Hey guys.
So let’s talk about basic need- water.
In the USA we, or at least I, think about lack of water- not clean water but ANY water- very little. My theory is that we can all understand being hungry and are willing to give food because we’ve been there; nobody likes having the munchies with no money or food.
But my guess is no one reading this has ever really had to live without water.
Now I thought we had it hard here on the mission when it came to water. Our system is always breaking down so more often then not we have to drag tanks around and fill them bucket by bucket from a reservoir. When it is running it runs only in the kitchen and father’s house so in our rooms we still have to fill buckets on one side of the mission and bring them back to the rooms. I might have to cross the mission three or four times to get a bucket of water to heat so I can bathe. I may have mentioned this being a HUGE pain in the ass.
Yesterday I visited the public school. I will never complain again.
Before I go into that visit, let me give you some background.
I am determined to put a running water system in the school so the kids can shower and use actual plumbing instead of pit latrines. I am also trying to raise money to put in solar panels so we can heat the water and lower the cases of sickness within the school from bathing in the mornings or at night with the FREEZING stagnant water.
The total cost of this is about $24,000. When going over these estimates father Patrick told me about the water problems in the surrounding area.
Mulot is well known across the country for being the place to visit if you are really keen on a case of typhoid with about 20 cases a month reported at our dispensary alone. (Please keep in mind that these are only the people who come to the mission for healthcare, this does not include the surrounding hospitals or people to afraid to come for healthcare due to cost).
Why is this number so high?
People are getting their water directly out of the Amala River or other stagnant ponds in the surrounding area. The mission is the only place in Kirusu or Mulot that isn’t forced to get their water from the dirty river- only because we were lucky enough to have water underground- and is defiantly the only place where there is even a thought of pipes or pumps.
So how does this bring us to the public school? Well hold on and I will explain.
For an extra $13,261 the school could afford a 100,000 liter tank. This tank would hole enough water for the mission to provide water to the public school and sell it to the surrounding area. This tank would instantly eradicate Typhoid and other water borne pathogens that plague the town.
So Father Patrick thought I would like to take a little stroll to the public school and see where this water would go.
How do I describe this place? Think of every commercial you’ve ever seen with starving children. Add your worst nightmares. Now throw in a dash of filth and disease that make you want to gag. Remove any shoes or well taken care of clothing. Serve on a platter of unimaginable poverty.
You have the recipe for a Kenyan public school.
Please don’t make the mistake of thinking I exaggerate. Pictures will follow soon once I gather my courage around me.
So upon visiting the school I was taken to the kitchen to see the water they cook with and drink. It was brown. Positively brown.
But perhaps it was just the container?
No, I took a cup of the water out and it stayed brown.
Brown not the color you want to drink? Well luckily there was a basin of green water also.
But the school is thankful for this water. The land the school is on is completely dry and they have no piping to get the water onto the campus.
So how do they get the water you ask?
The children are sent off during school hour’s everyday to fetch water in small five gallon containers. They are instructed to bring back whatever water is found.
So not only are the kids getting sick, but they had to miss school and be sent off to find the diseases.
Please don’t blame the school because what else could be done? They have no plumbing, no pipes, nothing that could bring the water to them and they need to it feed the children and keep the place “clean”.
But here is the real kicker. I hope you’re sitting down because this piece of information almost knocked the wind out of me.
They are going to start PAYING for this diseased water.
And who are they going to pay?
Why the government!
The school is actually going to pay the government to bring in the dirty untreated water if we cannot get this extra tank.
SO
The money the school should be using to fix the buildings that are literally falling apart to a point you can see through the walls, to buy desks instead of the three pieces of wood stapled together with 4 kids crammed in, and to pay more then 14 teachers for the 700 students will actually be going to be used to pay so that they can get ill.
It’s a cute trick, eh?
So as unequivocally important as it is to get warm running water here, it is just as important to get this tank for the public school and surrounding area.
Incase your curious as to what it’s like to catch one of these nasty water bugs let me tell you from my own first hand experience.
It begins with stomach cramps that make you want to die. It feels as if a claw has grabbed onto your intestines and squeezed hard enough to puncture your lower GI tract. The pain can be only just tolerated if you don’t move for six hours. Of course this is impossible because your system is emptying itself of all waste (which makes you feel like you were shitting a knife). The running back and forth and complete loss of fluids exhausted me to the point where I spent an hour trying to convince myself it would be perfectly acceptable for me to shit myself because moving sounded like the most difficult task in the world. The hot flashes make you want to dunk yourself in water unless you can hold out for the cold shivering flashes. As you can imagine it’s pretty hard to think straight throughout this episode so it’s damn near impossible to force yourself to due anything that would make you comfortable. Particularly as the cramps travel up through out your whole backed up system into a pain that develops into your ribs.
By the way, this entire time you are running across the fields to get to latrines so you can shit in a whole. This is the cherry on top because you get to hang out with thousands, and I mean literally thousands, of flies in what passes for a hygienic bathroom here.
Of course this was just me having a small bug. Not typhoid.
Just to drive the point home I want to remind you these are small children dealing with this pain and disease.
So yes I am asking for donations. If we can raise enough to pay for these water systems we can literally save people’s lives.
I can’t even continue this blog anymore, it is really painful to remember that water and picture the kids drinking it.
Go have a hearty glass of water. Appreciate the hell out of it. Then donate so someone else can have that same experience without fear of sickness or even death for the first time in their entire life.
So let’s talk about basic need- water.
In the USA we, or at least I, think about lack of water- not clean water but ANY water- very little. My theory is that we can all understand being hungry and are willing to give food because we’ve been there; nobody likes having the munchies with no money or food.
But my guess is no one reading this has ever really had to live without water.
Now I thought we had it hard here on the mission when it came to water. Our system is always breaking down so more often then not we have to drag tanks around and fill them bucket by bucket from a reservoir. When it is running it runs only in the kitchen and father’s house so in our rooms we still have to fill buckets on one side of the mission and bring them back to the rooms. I might have to cross the mission three or four times to get a bucket of water to heat so I can bathe. I may have mentioned this being a HUGE pain in the ass.
Yesterday I visited the public school. I will never complain again.
Before I go into that visit, let me give you some background.
I am determined to put a running water system in the school so the kids can shower and use actual plumbing instead of pit latrines. I am also trying to raise money to put in solar panels so we can heat the water and lower the cases of sickness within the school from bathing in the mornings or at night with the FREEZING stagnant water.
The total cost of this is about $24,000. When going over these estimates father Patrick told me about the water problems in the surrounding area.
Mulot is well known across the country for being the place to visit if you are really keen on a case of typhoid with about 20 cases a month reported at our dispensary alone. (Please keep in mind that these are only the people who come to the mission for healthcare, this does not include the surrounding hospitals or people to afraid to come for healthcare due to cost).
Why is this number so high?
People are getting their water directly out of the Amala River or other stagnant ponds in the surrounding area. The mission is the only place in Kirusu or Mulot that isn’t forced to get their water from the dirty river- only because we were lucky enough to have water underground- and is defiantly the only place where there is even a thought of pipes or pumps.
So how does this bring us to the public school? Well hold on and I will explain.
For an extra $13,261 the school could afford a 100,000 liter tank. This tank would hole enough water for the mission to provide water to the public school and sell it to the surrounding area. This tank would instantly eradicate Typhoid and other water borne pathogens that plague the town.
So Father Patrick thought I would like to take a little stroll to the public school and see where this water would go.
How do I describe this place? Think of every commercial you’ve ever seen with starving children. Add your worst nightmares. Now throw in a dash of filth and disease that make you want to gag. Remove any shoes or well taken care of clothing. Serve on a platter of unimaginable poverty.
You have the recipe for a Kenyan public school.
Please don’t make the mistake of thinking I exaggerate. Pictures will follow soon once I gather my courage around me.
So upon visiting the school I was taken to the kitchen to see the water they cook with and drink. It was brown. Positively brown.
But perhaps it was just the container?
No, I took a cup of the water out and it stayed brown.
Brown not the color you want to drink? Well luckily there was a basin of green water also.
But the school is thankful for this water. The land the school is on is completely dry and they have no piping to get the water onto the campus.
So how do they get the water you ask?
The children are sent off during school hour’s everyday to fetch water in small five gallon containers. They are instructed to bring back whatever water is found.
So not only are the kids getting sick, but they had to miss school and be sent off to find the diseases.
Please don’t blame the school because what else could be done? They have no plumbing, no pipes, nothing that could bring the water to them and they need to it feed the children and keep the place “clean”.
But here is the real kicker. I hope you’re sitting down because this piece of information almost knocked the wind out of me.
They are going to start PAYING for this diseased water.
And who are they going to pay?
Why the government!
The school is actually going to pay the government to bring in the dirty untreated water if we cannot get this extra tank.
SO
The money the school should be using to fix the buildings that are literally falling apart to a point you can see through the walls, to buy desks instead of the three pieces of wood stapled together with 4 kids crammed in, and to pay more then 14 teachers for the 700 students will actually be going to be used to pay so that they can get ill.
It’s a cute trick, eh?
So as unequivocally important as it is to get warm running water here, it is just as important to get this tank for the public school and surrounding area.
Incase your curious as to what it’s like to catch one of these nasty water bugs let me tell you from my own first hand experience.
It begins with stomach cramps that make you want to die. It feels as if a claw has grabbed onto your intestines and squeezed hard enough to puncture your lower GI tract. The pain can be only just tolerated if you don’t move for six hours. Of course this is impossible because your system is emptying itself of all waste (which makes you feel like you were shitting a knife). The running back and forth and complete loss of fluids exhausted me to the point where I spent an hour trying to convince myself it would be perfectly acceptable for me to shit myself because moving sounded like the most difficult task in the world. The hot flashes make you want to dunk yourself in water unless you can hold out for the cold shivering flashes. As you can imagine it’s pretty hard to think straight throughout this episode so it’s damn near impossible to force yourself to due anything that would make you comfortable. Particularly as the cramps travel up through out your whole backed up system into a pain that develops into your ribs.
By the way, this entire time you are running across the fields to get to latrines so you can shit in a whole. This is the cherry on top because you get to hang out with thousands, and I mean literally thousands, of flies in what passes for a hygienic bathroom here.
Of course this was just me having a small bug. Not typhoid.
Just to drive the point home I want to remind you these are small children dealing with this pain and disease.
So yes I am asking for donations. If we can raise enough to pay for these water systems we can literally save people’s lives.
I can’t even continue this blog anymore, it is really painful to remember that water and picture the kids drinking it.
Go have a hearty glass of water. Appreciate the hell out of it. Then donate so someone else can have that same experience without fear of sickness or even death for the first time in their entire life.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Crossing Alone
Mambo readers?
(you say poa)
So I am finally back in Mulot after fighting for almost a week to get back. The thing about Kenyans is they love having visitors. They don’t care if they are busy; they want you to stay as long as possible and in an effort to be helpful will often impede you when you try to leave.
For example
I wanted to leave Laiktoktok last Friday. The seminarians convinced me I should stay until at least Sunday to celebrate the fourth (which consisted of them asking me how long we’ve been independent and then being told we should move the fourth of july so it wouldn’t be on a Sunday). On Sunday I was asked to stay until Monday so I could find a matatu (mini-bus) easier. Monday morning one of the priests suggests I stay until Tuesday to get a ride from his friend driving to Nairobi. So what happens next? You guessed it Tuesday rolls around and his friend is still in Tanzania forcing me to wait until Wednesday where at breakfast I had to put my foot down and announce I was leaving if I had to walk back to Mulot (which almost became the case).
As obnoxious as this sounds when I read it back to myself I do have to say I wasn’t really complaining. I really enjoyed my time there and it is nice to feel so wanted.
It was also nice to see Christy- an American ex-peace corps member)- and talk to someone who lives mere hours away from Chicago. Everyday I tried to leave she laughed with me while I made another futile plan. She says she always has the same experience.
The issue is around here you get so close to people so fast that it becomes hard to leave, even when you want to and you know you should. I feel just as close to the people in laiktoktok as I do to many of the people here and I feel closer to some of the people here then I do with people back home I’ve known for years.
So I was sad to leave.
Of course I had to forget about that sadness as I boarded my Matatu home because getting across Kenya by myself became quite the adventure.
It began at 8 am when I got onto my matatu. I sat in the front seat with the driver and another passenger who happened to be in traditional Masai clothing.
To paint a clearer picture for you I need to explain that there was really only enough room for two people in the front of the matatu but they always cram three so we were elbow to elbow with both the driver and I being poked and prodded by the masai man’s jewelry.
The driver only spoke Swahili, the man kimasai and I only English. Usually this would lead to a silent trip but not in Kenya- a language barrier is no reason not to make friends!
So we pantomimed conversation all of us exhausting what little we knew of each other’s languages well the masai man tried to sell me his jewelry.
Eventually we arrived in Nairobi in a completely unfamiliar part. The driver was nice enough to walk me across the city with my bags to the Narok stage (where the buses to Narok wait) but I had to think quick when he asked for my phone number- gotta love the I have no credit excuse.
Eventually I get on the bus and am on my way to Narok where I assume Father Patrick will be waiting to pick me up as the plan was explained to me. But it became clear to me father Patrick would not be picking me up when I sent him a text telling him I was on the way and he answered “safe journey” which is Kenyan for “your on your own kid”.
Alright no problem I’ll just find a bus to Mulot from Narok; I’ve done that before even though never alone but how hard can it be?
Well it suddenly became much harder when the bus broke down halfway to Narok. After sitting on the side of the highway for about a half hour all the passengers got behind the bus and pushed until it started. This is when I noticed that there was only about an hour left until the matatus stopped running.
So because I was under a time crunch I of course got lost in Narok. The bus dropped us off in an unfamiliar area due to the breakdown and left us to walk to wherever we needed to go. luckily I was only lost for 15 minutes and was able to hop on the last matatu in the park. Unluckily I had to sit with a small child in my lap the whole ride.
Now you can imagine after all this plus an hour of a small child kicking and screaming in my lap I was rather frustrated. So I was really not in the mood for the matatu driver’s vulgarity when I reached Mulot.
This is probably why when one of the drivers called out mzungu and made an obscene gesture with his tongue I exploded and proceeded to loudly explain to the driver where he could go, what he could do there, and what kind of animal he was (in case you are wondering the animal I called him was vernacular for Feline. Don’t get it? Just think about it for a bit. It will come to you)
But in the end alls well as I am back on the mission safe and happy except for the fact I accidently grew thin in laiktoktok and now must double my food intake. Which really means the animals here are going to double their food intake as I tend to hide the food outside and pretend I ate it.
Anyway I love and miss you all back home. sorry this one wasn’t too deep but I thought you all might enjoy the story.
Aliya
(you say poa)
So I am finally back in Mulot after fighting for almost a week to get back. The thing about Kenyans is they love having visitors. They don’t care if they are busy; they want you to stay as long as possible and in an effort to be helpful will often impede you when you try to leave.
For example
I wanted to leave Laiktoktok last Friday. The seminarians convinced me I should stay until at least Sunday to celebrate the fourth (which consisted of them asking me how long we’ve been independent and then being told we should move the fourth of july so it wouldn’t be on a Sunday). On Sunday I was asked to stay until Monday so I could find a matatu (mini-bus) easier. Monday morning one of the priests suggests I stay until Tuesday to get a ride from his friend driving to Nairobi. So what happens next? You guessed it Tuesday rolls around and his friend is still in Tanzania forcing me to wait until Wednesday where at breakfast I had to put my foot down and announce I was leaving if I had to walk back to Mulot (which almost became the case).
As obnoxious as this sounds when I read it back to myself I do have to say I wasn’t really complaining. I really enjoyed my time there and it is nice to feel so wanted.
It was also nice to see Christy- an American ex-peace corps member)- and talk to someone who lives mere hours away from Chicago. Everyday I tried to leave she laughed with me while I made another futile plan. She says she always has the same experience.
The issue is around here you get so close to people so fast that it becomes hard to leave, even when you want to and you know you should. I feel just as close to the people in laiktoktok as I do to many of the people here and I feel closer to some of the people here then I do with people back home I’ve known for years.
So I was sad to leave.
Of course I had to forget about that sadness as I boarded my Matatu home because getting across Kenya by myself became quite the adventure.
It began at 8 am when I got onto my matatu. I sat in the front seat with the driver and another passenger who happened to be in traditional Masai clothing.
To paint a clearer picture for you I need to explain that there was really only enough room for two people in the front of the matatu but they always cram three so we were elbow to elbow with both the driver and I being poked and prodded by the masai man’s jewelry.
The driver only spoke Swahili, the man kimasai and I only English. Usually this would lead to a silent trip but not in Kenya- a language barrier is no reason not to make friends!
So we pantomimed conversation all of us exhausting what little we knew of each other’s languages well the masai man tried to sell me his jewelry.
Eventually we arrived in Nairobi in a completely unfamiliar part. The driver was nice enough to walk me across the city with my bags to the Narok stage (where the buses to Narok wait) but I had to think quick when he asked for my phone number- gotta love the I have no credit excuse.
Eventually I get on the bus and am on my way to Narok where I assume Father Patrick will be waiting to pick me up as the plan was explained to me. But it became clear to me father Patrick would not be picking me up when I sent him a text telling him I was on the way and he answered “safe journey” which is Kenyan for “your on your own kid”.
Alright no problem I’ll just find a bus to Mulot from Narok; I’ve done that before even though never alone but how hard can it be?
Well it suddenly became much harder when the bus broke down halfway to Narok. After sitting on the side of the highway for about a half hour all the passengers got behind the bus and pushed until it started. This is when I noticed that there was only about an hour left until the matatus stopped running.
So because I was under a time crunch I of course got lost in Narok. The bus dropped us off in an unfamiliar area due to the breakdown and left us to walk to wherever we needed to go. luckily I was only lost for 15 minutes and was able to hop on the last matatu in the park. Unluckily I had to sit with a small child in my lap the whole ride.
Now you can imagine after all this plus an hour of a small child kicking and screaming in my lap I was rather frustrated. So I was really not in the mood for the matatu driver’s vulgarity when I reached Mulot.
This is probably why when one of the drivers called out mzungu and made an obscene gesture with his tongue I exploded and proceeded to loudly explain to the driver where he could go, what he could do there, and what kind of animal he was (in case you are wondering the animal I called him was vernacular for Feline. Don’t get it? Just think about it for a bit. It will come to you)
But in the end alls well as I am back on the mission safe and happy except for the fact I accidently grew thin in laiktoktok and now must double my food intake. Which really means the animals here are going to double their food intake as I tend to hide the food outside and pretend I ate it.
Anyway I love and miss you all back home. sorry this one wasn’t too deep but I thought you all might enjoy the story.
Aliya
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