On the Road to Jinja and White Water Rafting

On December 10^th, SIT Kenya officially turned us loose. We had finished our presentations, left the coast, returned to Nairobi, and packed our bags. Most of the twenty-six students boarded the Jazz Quartet one last time on a mass exodus to the airport. But some of us stayed.

I went with three other girls to Jinja, Uganda, for our final days in Africa. After saying goodbye to the rest of our group, we headed to the route 111 matatu stage to travel to downtown Nairobi.

This is a matatu:

These minibuses fit fourteen passengers, the driver, and the matatu manager. They are the primary and quickest form of transportation in Nairobi. If you were dying and desperately need to get to a hospital, forget ambulances, take a matatu. The drivers make up their own rules for the road, usually creating a third lane if traffic is bad. This elusive third lane can be found between the other lanes of traffic or on the side walk. Matatus also don’t have seat belts. Mostly what keeps you stable is the limited amount of room between you and the person seated next to you. Remember the matatu description; it will be important later on the road to Jinja.

The day before we had discovered that the EasyCoach bus to the Kenya/Uganda border town of Busia was completely full. Luckily, two of the other girls had lived in Kisumu, a city in western Kenya, for their ISP month and knew how to get to Busia from there. This is why we were headed downtown, to catch the 2:30 shuttle to Kisumu. However, we didn’t take the holiday season rate into account and ended up paying double what we had planned. It didn’t matter though, we were on our way.

The shuttle from Nairobi to Kisumu takes approximately seven hours, which seemed fine to me. I was thinking of the roomy airport shuttles or the shuttle buses Gettysburg runs for breaks (you think I would have learned by now). Instead, a matatu with the word “shuttle” painted on it pulls up. You see, the road to Kisumu is bumpy and has more potholes than actual road. Matatus nicely accentuate these road blimps as they do not have shocks. I’m assuming at one point they did, put have probably since fallen off or have been sold as scraps.

To make our matutu even more exciting, it seems we had break issues. Often times while driving up the mountain roads we would have to stop for construction or traffic of some kind. By “stop” I mean we rolled back down the hill until the driver decided to gun it. Three of us were lucky enough to be sitting in the back, giving us a great view of the rapidly approaching stopped cars behind us.

And then the tire popped.

Actually, this was nice. We got to get out of the matatu and walk around. We had pulled over on what looked like a cliff, and there was nothing around. It was quiet, the stars were pretty, and we could stand out in the middle of the road without worried about getting hit by another matatu.

Once the tired was replaced, we continued to Kisumu. We only rolled backwards once more and managed to get to the New Victoria, our hotel for the night, by 11:30. Only nine hours later.

Tuk Tuks- Kind of like a motorized rickshaw 

The next morning we woke up for another fun filled day of travel. On a tip from a tuk-tuk driver, we found the Acacia bus company, guaranteed to be a far more comfortable two hours to Busia than a matatu. Luckily, we snagged the last four tickets in the back of the bus. To my left was a man on the way to Uganda with his chicken. The chicken was on a leash and was probably that night’s dinner. Once the bus started moving, the chicken retreated to under my seat, where it remained for the rest of the ride.

An hour and a half into the trip, the bus broke down. Of course, the passengers didn’t need to know that. The driver just got off the bus and walked away. The four of us got off the bus twenty minutes later to look for the driver. We found her under a tree chewing sugar cane and she promised the repair piece would be there in a half hour.

Piki piki- you sit on the back

So for the next hour we talked to a piki piki driver about N*sync, Boys to Men, The Spice Girls, and Gadafi’s death. Once the bus was fixed, we hopped back on (accidentally kicking the chicken) and finally made it to Busia three and a half hours later.

From the bus stop, we sat on the backs of these cushioned bikes and rode to the boarder. Once across the border, we got on another matatu destined for Jinja. We waited an hour for it to be stuffed to capacity and took off for yet another four hour bumpy drive.

Then that matutu broke down.

But it was only for a moment. They just pushed it until the engine caught.

Once in Jinja, we took piki pikis to the camp site. This is easily my favorite from of transportation in Kenya. As you saw above, a piki piki is just a motorbike, known as a boda in Uganda. When ride one, you sit on the back, except we didn’t know that “proper ladies” sit sideways. How the proper ladies don’t fall off is beyond me.

And then we got to the camp site. It had little dorms overlooking the Nile and was crazy pretty. And, oddly enough, the guy from New Zealand who was at the last hostel I stayed at (see last post) was there too. AND THEN we found the SIT Uganda kids, which included Emily, the girl I interned at DC Central Kitchens with over the summer. Small world.

The next day we left at 8:30 to raft the Nile. No biggie.

Actually, it was terrifying. Or at least the first time we flipped in a rapid it was. Four million things race through your mind, some of which include crocodiles, rocks, never breaking the surface, wondering where your paddle went, hoping you don’t end up under the boat, how much water is going up your nose, and the whole life flashing before your eyes thing. After the first flip, it’s a lot of fun. Though I drank way more Nile water than anyone really needs to.      

The following day was two days before in reverse. We piki pikied back to the matatu stage and matatued back to Busia. This time the matatu didn’t break down, but we did lose a window on the way. It just fell off.

From Busia we actually got to get on the EasyCoach bus this time. Only it wasn’t much better than a matatu. It had more space to stretch out, but still didn’t sleep.

And now I am writing to you from the Nairobi airport, going on 36 hours with no sleep. If I don’t sleep on my flight from here to Amsterdam, I can beat jetlag. But that won’t happen.

Though seeing, swimming in, and drinking the Nile made the entire trip and lack of sleep soooooo worth it.

This is not my last post. One more to come. Stay tuned to find out what leaving Kenya is like.

ISP is a small prison ~ Mama Mary

MY ISP IS FINISHED! Except for the final presentations, but really, it’s not like “real” work. We are doing are final presentations at a beach resort on the coast of Kenya. See, not real. But after 40 pages of writing in a week with the power going out every other paragraph, I’m ready for it.

Two days ago we moved out of our apartment. I could have been sad, but it wasn’t. We hadn’t had running water since the day before Thanksgiving. Yet we managed to cook Thanksgiving dinner and do the dished with a few gallons of water. The maintenance guys were nice enough to give us about a jug of water a day, but that still meant no real showers (back to bucket showers) and no easy dish washing. Also, the massive amount of rain we have been having (funny how when we lose water, it rains the most it has since we got to Kenya) caused black outs multiple times a day. Most night were spent sitting in darkness around my roommate’s head lamp panicking about our ISPs.   

After moving out, I had one night of unorganized housing. I spent the night at the Wildebeest Camp, a small hostel not far from our apartment. Honestly, I don’t know why people don’t like hostels. I mean, if you have personal space issues I understand, but I meet such interesting people. On girl from Australia was traveling the world. She worked in hospitality, so basically anywhere she went she could find a job. The guy in the bunk below her was from New Zealand and had just moved to Kenya after working in a gold mine. Another guy was born and raised in India, went to Stanford, and now works for Google. And that’s just some of the people there. Everyone had a story.

The next day I went to the Nairobi National Park with two other girls from my program. It was 100% touristy, but it was fun. We did a safari walk, which was basically just a zoo of African animals, and visited the animal orphanage. By the way, baby cheetahs are the cutest thing since Care Bears. If I can steal some photos from one of the girls I’ll post them, but for now you’ll just have to settle for this block of text.

I cannot believe it is December. Where did the last three months go? As much as I miss home, I don’t want to leave. I mean, sure, there are things I won’t miss, like boiling my drinking water and never having mud-free legs, shoes, or feet. I won’t miss the spontaneous marriage proposals on the street (I don’t care how many goats you think I’m worth, I said I wanted camels) or not being allowed out after dark. But I am going to miss Kenya. The people, the weather, the atmosphere, I will miss it.  

But every Kenyan I have told that I am leaving soon has simply shaken their heads and said “You’ll be back.” Maybe they’re right. ;-)

Researching...

It’s been a while. Sorry about that. Also, you should know that my camera is officially dead. Not like battery, just-charge-it-for-miraculous-resurrection- dead. It is actually no longer working. So I can no longer post pictures I took. Sorry for that too. Take it up with Sony.

Earlier in the month, we went to Hell’s Gate. The gorge that Mufasa dies in in the Lion King is based on Hell’s Gate. Tomb Raider was also filmed there. Here are picture other people took:

Natural hot spring (taken by Anna)

(taken by Anna)

(taken by Anna)

(taken by Eric)

(taken by Eric)

We are about three weeks into the research month. My topic has switched more times than I can count due to lack of information and lack of response. I originally was going to look at cross-cultural counseling in Kenya. Since talk therapy is mostly practiced in “western” countries, I assumed that there were mostly “western” counselors practicing in Kenya, which could be a problem when it comes to dealing with cultural issues. Which, I found out, is all true. But the woman who told me this had actually done here thesis paper on this exact topic and showed me a copy during the interview. So much for an original idea.

So, now, I’m looking at HIV testing and counseling, which has a small aspect of talk therapy, but not really. While it’s not the topic I dreamed of, the NGO I am now working with is. Anyone remember Carolina for Kibera? (go back a few posts) That’s where I am. So far they have been extremely helpful and easily some of the friendliest people I’ve meet in Kenya. My roommate is also working with them to study the Paka Skippers (paka means cat), the jump rope team. These kids are incredible. They do flips and tricks that are hard to do when you’re not holding a rope in your hand.

In about two weeks we leave Nairobi to present our research. It will either be at the coast or Mt. Kenya. We all want to go to the coast, but we have to get the ok from the US embassy.

It’s really hard to believe I’ll be back in the US in less than a month. It’s also weird to think that this Thursday is Thanksgiving. It is still 70-80 degrees here most days. Winter back home is going to be a cruel reality.

Lions, goats, and Black Panthers

I’m back!

Sunday

Left Nairobi early to drive across the border into Tanzania. The place we stayed is called the United Africa Alliance Community Center (UAACC). Mzee Pete O’Neil owns and runs this little compound on the outskirts of Arusha. Mzee Pete used to live in Kansas City and was a Black Panther. He was exiled and left the US with his wife Charlotte. After moving around a bit, they settled in Tanzania. We watched A Panther in Africa, a documentary about Mzee. In the video they showed clips from when he was fully active in the Black Panther Party. He went from what he even agrees was a crazy radical to one of the most chill people ever. That’s what Africa does to you.

Monday

We didn't stay at UAACC for long. The next morning we drove out to a Maasai village in the middle of no where. You know the scene in the Lion King when Simba passes out and Timone and Pumba find him? That background landscape is as close to Maasai land as I can explain. It’s dry, sandy, and covered in Acacia trees and bushes, which are dry, stick like plant covered in thorns as long as your fingers. They poke through sneakers and the floors of tents and catch your skirt if you walk too close. When we got off the bus, we were each given a bag of maize flour to bring to the maasai women who had gathered to greet us. We were either going to be greeted with “Supai” and respond “ipa” or with “ta kwenya” and respond “iko”.

So, how to greet Maasai: Upon approaching one, assuming they are your elder, bow your head. They will place a hand on your head and say one of the greetings. The Maasai kids would do the same to us, only half the time we wouldn’t notice or forget. They wouldn’t leave until they go a head pat and would follow you, head bowed, if you walked away.

When we greeted the line of women, they had a ball quizzing us on the greetings, but I don’t think any of them said “Supai” or “ta kwenya”. If you responded incorrectly, they just held your head until you got it right. If you responded correctly, the mamas would cheer and clap.  

making a toothbrush

After that, we took a walk to see the trees and bushes used for medicines and such. For example, the toothbrush tree, also known as the ezilalei tree. The break off branches and split the ends using a machete. It actually words really well, minus the usually minty freshness. It tastes more like a stick. We also learned that some acacia thorns were poisonous and could be identified by their green color. After the nature walk, we visited two bomas, or Maasai villages. The houses were made from dirt and dried cow dung (didn’t smell inside). There were also goats EVERYWHERE. It is not an exaggeration to say that the goats far outnumbered the humans. The walk concluded with a cup of really bitter tea that we all shared, but it was so strong that no one wanted more than one sip.

That night there we collected firewood and had a campfire. The village elders came to speak with us and we were allowed to ask them questions. Things we learned: new warrior groups occur every 7 years and initiation typically occurs around the age of 14. The boys are taught how to care for cattle and are then circumcised (ow) to complete the ceremony. Marriages are arranged and the couple is usually under the age of 20. The Maasai had been in that area for a couple of hundred years by their math. The elders then asked us their own questions, “How long does it take to get to Tanzania from America by car?”, “Are your husbands paying for your education?” “Are marriages arranged in America?”

A goat-themed Tuesday

We woke up at 5:30 to see the sunrise. It was awesome. 

Afterwards, we got to try to milk a goat. We entered the boma in single filed to be quizzed on greetings again by one of the mamas.

Milking a goat

There really must be a better spot to milk a goat from, but I wasn’t going to question the Maasai.

Right after milk a goat, we had a meeting to discuss the main event for the day: a goat sacrifice. Not my cup of tea, and still isn’t, but this is really the only time in my life I will probably live with the Maasai, and when in Maasai land, do as the Maasai do. I went with the group of students to collect the leaves for the goat’s sacrifice bed before heading to the sacrifice site.

I’ll spare you the details. Know that the goat had a good last meal of the leaves we had collected for its bed and was suffocated rather than slaughter. I don’t think it’s much better, but it seemed more peaceful. The Maasai then used every part of the goat. They made a stew with the organs, cooked the meat, and drank the blood.

Maasai?

Next was arts and crafts with the Maasai mamas. Much less gruesome. We made bracelets for each other. My mama laughed at the string of beads I tied around her wrist, but I didn’t see anything wrong with it. It was almost identical to the one she gave me. Sijui (I don’t know).

That night was our last night in the village. We trekked through the dark to the nearest boma. A little Maasai boy named Jeramia held my hand on the way so that I would run into acacia bushes. We were able to chat in Kiswahili since both of us had learned it in school and both of us are pretty bad at it. Once we were at the boma, the Maasai performed a traditional song and dance. It was so cool sounding. In the middle of the dance, the Maasai men would jump. It was meant to be a display of strength, and judging by how high they were able to get they must have been pretty strong. We could not get pictures as it was too dark, but here a cool depiction of it.

They tried to get out two guys on the trip to jump too. I think there’s some basketball movie that goes with their performance…

Wednesday

We left the Maasai village to go to our next site. We were visiting the last hunting and gathering group in Tanzania. It was about 5 hours away on a very dusty and bumpy road. Even with the windows closed, the dust still got in to the safari cars. The actual visit was a little strange. It was the first rural visit we had done that was actually geared to tourists, complete with tour guides. But we got to shoot a bow and arrow, so it was still kind of cool. Judging by my archery abilities, if I had to live as a hunter, I would probably die of starvation.

Three hours back to a new camp site on the same road. But we go a shower, so it was worth it.

Thursday

COOLEST DAY EVER. We drove to the Ngorongoro Crater for safari. While the day before we kind of touristy, this was a cool kind of touristy. The crater was beautiful and full of animals that just lived there. Pictures will work better here.

Back to UAACC for the night. We watch Inside Job, a documentary narrated by Matt Damon, just to update ourselves on what’s going on at home in the states.

Friday

We visited the International Criminal Tribunal  in Arusha, the building where the Rwanda genocide criminals are being tried. While it was cool, our tour was canceled and instead we we put in a board room to watch a video on the ICT. The day before I had just finished reading We Wish to Inform You that Tomorrow we Will be Killed with Our Familes, a book about the Rwandan genocide, so I was slightly disappointed in the ICT presentation. But life goes on.

The afternoon started out as a shopping trip in Arusha, but ended with a swim. About a half hour in the skies opened up and it became to pour. Hard. The streets became a river and shops had to bail water out using jugs. Despite the flood, we still needed to get back to our bus. So, three other students and I braved the knee-deep waters. The shop keepers and customers laughed and shouted motivational words to us as we waded, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Typically, we hate getting stared and shouted at here, but today we were the entertainment. And it was fun. We were wet and cold, but laughing.

Saturday

Today, I climbed Mount Kilimanjaro.

This is where we climbed to

Ok, not really. But we did hike up to the first recognized peek. And we did it in under the estimated three hours. Our guide was actually the man who hold the record for the fast climb and descent of the mountain, clocking in at 14 hours and 50 minutes. Usually, the entire mountain takes five days. Impressive. Sadly, the peek we climbed to had almost no view. Just have to come back and climb the whole thing then.

Back at UAACC, Mzee Pete organized a good-bye wine tasting. I have never been to a wine tasting, mostly because my trip to Kenya/ Tanzania is the first time I’m legal. The wine was made by a former SIT student and were interesting flavors like pineapple, plum, and raspberry. Of course, a wine tasting for a bunch of 20 and 21 year old Americans obviously ends up as a dance party. But dancing helped with the soreness from the hike, so it’s completely justified.

Sunday

Back to Kenya, with ISP starting the next day. I am currently writing to you from the apartment I’m living in during ISP. It’s pretty. 

Also, a large part of this post is in white. I'm not sure why, and I can't fix it. Sorry about that. 

Chapatti

Another cooking related post. Get ready.

My Nairobi mom, Betty, decided I should learn how to cook chapatti. What is a chapatti you ask?

That is a chapatti.

It's kind of a mix of a tortilla, naan, and a pancake. It probably uses enough cooking oil to make all three. Originally, chapattis are from India. Mama Betty says Kenya perfected it, like France with the croissant or New York with pizza. 

How to make chapatti:

Boil water. Add salt. Add to chapatti flour in a big bowl. My mom says its a mix of barely and wheat, but the bag just said wheat. So I think you can just use wheat. Someone try it and report back. 

Mix with a wooden spoon. Mom says this is crucial because you just added boiling water to the flour. Makes sense. Once the flour is cool, mix with your hands. Here, it's always a better options to use your hands. If the dough is too sticky, add more flour. If it's too crumbly, add more water. Mix until not sticky. 

You may have noticed by now that there are no measurements and no length of time in which to mix. Measuring when you cook is not important. 

When the dough is no longer sticky, make a small well in the dough ball. Fill with vegetable oil. Mix well with your hands. Then, roll it out.

Easily the happiest chapatti maker ever

Brush with cooking oil...



Then roll into a log. By trapping the oil in the dough, it makes the chapatti have layers, making it fun to eat and not like a pancake.










Cut the log into sections and fold the edges over, making smaller dough balls.

Aren't they cute?

Chapatti pan

Next, roll out the dough balls while heating your chapatti pan. You all have chapatti pans, right?

 

Christmas themed towel in the background

Place flat chapatti on the pan and wait till it puffs. Spin the chapatti. Then flip. Brush face-up side with more oil. Once that side puffs, flip, and repeat brushing. It will look like this

NOW YOU TRY!

In other news, we got an apartment. It's not too far from where we are now, which is nice. I visited my ISP site, which was also awesome and really helpful. Too helpful almost, most of my questions were answered. I have a month to do this project, but I'm now almost done...more sight-seeing I guess.

Sunday morning we are leaving for a week in Tanzania. Get ready for a much cooler post upon return. As exciting as chapatti is, it's really not. Thanks for reading anyway. :-)

Kitika Amerika, hizo inaitwa "man food"

Last weekend we left Nairobi (yay!!!) on a student-planned trip to Mt. Longonot. Mt. Longonot is a dormant volcano, or now just a giant crater. So, at 6:30 am on Saturday morning, a group of eleven students boarded the Jazz Quartet and drove two hours outside of Nairobi. One man on the way up said that up and around the top of the crater was about 12 km, or about 7 miles.

I went with the phonetic spelling of the mountain (taken by Alex)

The climb was steep, dusty, and awesome. About halfway up we could see wild giraffes off in the distance. If you look closely enough at the following picture, you can see them too.

bottom right corner. The things that look like trees, but aren't

                

<~~~giraffes






It was about an hour and a half climb up. Once we got there, the view was unreal. The “top” was truly the edge of a crater. The flat part, starting from where we walked up to the edge of a straight drop down into the bush-covered crater, was probably about 6 feet wide. These are the pictures I got…

facing away from the crater center

carter wall

…before my camera decided that then would be the perfect time to stop working. This is sad, as the view only got prettier. The rest of the crater rim consisted of higher peeks that were actually more narrow and steeper than the initial climb up. Some parts were about two feet across from edge to edge, both side with a fairly straight drop. It was single-file for most of the way, occasionally consisting of grabbing onto bush roots and hoping the sand wouldn’t give away. It was the perfect mix worry and awesome, with an incredible view the entire way. Please enjoy these pictures that other people took:

The group (taken by Kelsey)

(taken by Grace)

(taken by Arianna) 

(taken by Alex)

On the way, we encountered an exercise group who were running the mountain. There were some parts of the crater rim where it was (or so I thought) absolutely impossible to run without certain death, but they were doing it. One man who passed our group shouted “Get dirty and get fit!” We were defiantly dirty, but I don’t think I would run that mountain if you paid me. I like living too much.

I can’t really do Mt. Longonot justice in this post. It was easily one of the coolest things I have ever done.

Sunday I finally cooked for my family. I offered to do lunch since I was going to another student’s birthday dinner that night. The menu: sloppy joes and butternut squash mash. In the morning I went to Nakumatt, a giant super-store in Kenya that sells almost everything, to get the ingredients.

Shopping list (thanks mom)

Ground meat

Brown sugar

Ketchup

Mustard

Garlic powder

Buns

Onion

Salt

Pepper

Squash

I knew I could get the squash and onion the way home at one of the vegetable kiosks for a better price, so that was easy. For those of you up to date on American veggie prices, you’ll know that a butternut squash goes for about $1+ per pound. At a Nairobi vegetable kiosk, you can get a HUGE squash for 100 ksh, or a dollar. Fun facts.

At Nakumatt, the first place I went was the sugar isle. Right now, there is a sugar shortage, which is strange since sugar is typically a pretty productive crop in Kenya. According to my parents, it is due to corruption. The politicians can afford to import their sugar, so proper funding wasn’t given to the sugar farmers within the country. My parents said that some farmers were even paid to not grow sugar in order to promote the international sugar market, which obviously didn’t work out so well since normal people cann’t afford imported sugar. Due to this, the sugar isles in all the grocery stores are empty, and the one or two bags that are there are now double the price they were a few months ago. Customers are limited to one bag per shopping trip, but they are lucky to even get that. Luckily for me, brown sugar is not as popular, and there were about 10 bags still on the shelves. 1kg was about 250 ksh, or $2.40.

Ketchup is not a condiment here, or at least not as we know it. Heinz is available for about 300 ksh extra, or you can just get tomato sauce for 50 ksh. Tomato sauce is not pasta sauce, but instead some liquid-y tomato goo pretending to be ketchup. I figured this pseudo-ketchup and a small pack of tomato paste for 20 ksh would suffice.  Mustard is also crazy expensive, but ground mustard seed is not. Everything else was pretty easy.

I got home and my mom did something I never expected- she left me alone in the kitchen. This was good though, since I probably looked like a complete spazz trying to peel the squash with a kitchen knife (no peelers). Cooked that with a little salt and brown sugar, easy enough. Cooking the sloppy joe filling was also not a problem.

When I went to serve, I discovered my mom had invited two of her friends to try my food. Pressure. I served my host-dad first. My host-mom had also informed me that if dad likes something, he won’t say anything. For example, my mom got her hair done, and dad didn’t say anything. I didn’t tell her that that probably just means he didn’t notice, but instead used this information to gauge whether or not he like the food. I handed him his plate with a scoop of squash and a sandwich and explain that, in America, sloppy joes are “man food”. Maybe I confused it with the Manwich, but I was promoting it any way I could.

The rest of the family and friends were served, but I wanted to know dad’s opinion. Clearly he was going to be the toughest critic, so I watched him. Bite one- didn’t say anything. Bite two- nothing. Bite three, fo…NOOOOOOO he’s speaking! It was in Swahili, and to my brother Edwin/ Patrick (he was home for the weekend). “Edwin, kitika Amerika, hizo inaitwa ‘man food’”.

Translation: Edwin, in America, this is called man food. So wait, is that a good thing or bad thing? I tried the sandwich. I’m not a beef fan, but it wasn’t bad. Actually, considering I made it, it was pretty good. The squash mash was also good. And... WHOAMYGOD DAD TOOK SECONDS. On everything. SUCCESS. The rest of the family shouted their approval from across the room. My mom even asked for both recipes and then let me do the dishes. Never happens. I’m usually not allowed to touch anything in the kitchen. She did say that she though the food would have gone well with ugali, but I expected that. 

Overall, a successful weekend.

The last week has been spent typing up my independent study proposal. More on that when I actually get approved. This afternoon a few of us are apartment hunting in Nairobi. Also more on that when we find one.