Death and Ugali

There was a fuel fire in a Nairobi slum yesterday. It was on the complete other side of the city from where I am. The oil flowed into the Nairobi River. Last I had heard they had recovered 86 bodies, many too charred to recognize. The pipe from which the spill started was 30 years past its replacement date. The government blame the people for not heading their warning to move, while the people blame the government for not caring enough to replace the pipe or providing an option other than the slum.

This isn’t so unheard of here. My family explained that whenever there is a spill, people run to collect the fuel. Some use it to heat their homes, some use it for cooking, and some sell it for profit. Regardless, it is a tragic event. Without knowing about the spill, my homestay sister Maggie had applied for a job helping to clean the Nairobi River. She is going to have her hands full the next few weeks. If you want a local paper to read about the spill, go to Daily Nation, Kenya. http://www.nation.co.ke/

The news has been depressing as of late. Last night they reported that 11 people had died from poisoned changaa, a type of alcohol. Changaa is made from maize, but dealers buy it and add water and chemicals like formaldehyde to thin it out but keep it potent.  Just sad really.

In less worldly news, my mom gave me a Luo name. I’m Akini, because I was born in the morning. Lots of students get names, but I like mine. Luo is my family’s tribe. They told me Luos invented ugali, and I’ll believe it just based on how easily my mom stirs the sticky flour and water mixture. She also eats ugali at every meal.

Ugali. Looks like potatoes. 

On Sunday I took my little sister and her friend to Luna Park in the Westlands of Nairobi. It is the only amusement park I have been to that has both rides and a prayer room. It was 50 shillings per ride, about 50 cents. The banana ride was the destiantion. Basically, it’s a car shaped like a banana that swings upside down. You can sit for hours and watch people lose their phones, hijabs, wallets, and composure as it does 4 full rotations. Forget those straps that go over your head though. All there is is a bar that goes across your lap, so you leave with bruises on your legs, but escape with your life. It was awesome.

We’re going to Carolina for Kibera on Friday, which I am so excited about. For those who have read “On the Way to War”, you know why. Then that night we leave for the Shirazi village for ten days. I’ll write about when I get back. Expect pictures. 

Kibera School for Girls

Peace is a cowboy

Ok, so correction. We went to an NGO called AMREF yesterday. TODAY we went to the Kibera School for Girls.

This is Kibera

Kibera is the largest slum in Africa. It is basically what you imagine when you think of a slum. If you've seen Slumdog Millionaire, it looks a bit like that, only with Kenyans. And no one wins a game show or dances bollywood in the end. 

Basically every house is made of tin or dirt. The streets are lined with families making food and sleeping dogs. And there are chickens everywhere. 

Chickens

The school was amazing. It was co-founded by a former SIT student. All the girls sang us their school song when we got there. And they were all adorable. The oldest girls there right now are about 7 or 8. The school is planning to expand as the students get old, eventually reaching their 500 student capacity.

This was easily the best lecture we've heard so far. On the way back, I saw a little boy with a camera. it looked old and probably didn't work, but he was pretending to take our picture anyway. So when I tried to get his picture...

...this happened.

They all wanted their picture taken. Watoto wa Kibera.

What if your grandma hates tomatoes?

It’s hard to believe I have only been here a week. I’m already catching some of what my family says to each other in Kiswahili, mostly among the siblings. Since I last posted, Winny left for boarding school. Edwin leaves tomorrow, which is disappointing because I have only really talked to him once. Sure, I had to bribe him with the gift of a Costco sized bag of Hershey kisses, but it was a start. Giving my family the bag of Hershey kisses as a homestay gift was a great idea. All the kids kept stealing the bag and hiding it. Stacy, who is the smartest little girl I have probably ever met, hid them under my pillow because she knew Edwin wouldn’t go into my room. That was surprising when I went to lie down.

Even better, I have found something I am useful for in my home. Maggie does the cooking and Winny did the dishes. Now that Winny is gone, my Mama Betty let me do the dishes, but reluctantly. However, while I was cleaning the rice pot, I heard her scream and run away from the back door. Sitting in the threshold was an itty bitty slug, but as far as Mama Betty was concerned it was worse than a snake. For a whole two minutes I was a hero as I swept the little slug out of the doorway and down the alleyway. So that is now my job at home. Slug remover extraordinaire. Everyone has to have a calling.

Baba Andrew has also come home. He was not here this past week due to a hip replacement.  I met him last night. He’s on bed rest for the next two weeks so I’ll definitely see him a lot. I know when my grandma got her hip replaced Shikira’s “Hips Don’t Lie” was the theme of her recovery period. I don’t think it will be as culturally acceptable here… “Nyanya” is the word for “grandma” in Kiswahili. It also means “tomato”.

Tomorrow we’re visiting an NGO in Kibara, Kenya’s largest slum. More to come. 

"Jambo" means "I'm a white tourist"

It’s been awhile. I am sitting in the SIT office right now after having my second Swahili lesson and lecture. Yesterday I moved in with my family. Right now, it is my mother, Betty, and my five siblings. Four girls and one boy. I felt bad for  the boy until he introduced himself. He told me his name was Patrick. It’s not. His name is Edwin. Because I’m not confused enough. The second oldest girl went off to the university the day I got there. The oldest sister, Maggie, studies at the University of Nairobi and lives at home. The third oldest is Edwin/Patrick and he is leaving for the university on Wednesday. The fourth is 17 and her name is Winny. She’ll be leaving for boarding school tomorrow. Basically, I’ll be hanging out with the youngest daughter, Stacy. She’s 12 and might be home from school for a while due to the Nairobi teacher’s strike. We both started today, so when I go home I’ll find out more.

This is Stacy

The last two days have been a whirl wind of Kiswahili and life in Nairobi. First, let’s dispel some myths:

1.       Not everyone in Africa is starving. The people here eat 5 meals a day, not three. Breakfast, tea, lunch, afternoon tea, and dinner. My family thinks I’m weird because I eat small portions and like my tea black. They don’t believe you if you claim to be still full from lunch at afternoon tea.

2.       People are not dying in the streets. That’s pretty straight forward.

3.       Not everyone here runs. Stacy is the fastest in her grade, but she is the only Kenyan I have talked to about running since I have gotten here.

Things that are true:

1.       There was a monkey on top of a house. Near where I live. Apparently they sometimes raid the trash.

2.       I noticed my host family sometimes clicks when talking

3.       The sidewalks turn to mud when it rains

Everywhere I walk, people stare, for no other reason than me being white. People want to talk to me…because I’m white. People will ask me for money… because I’m white. Sometime they will even shout “mzungu”, which means white. I never really think about my color. I’m tan enough to not burn in the sun but light enough that I can write notes on my hands. I’m tanner than my “white” friends, but here I’m just mzungu. Stacy also likes to brush my hair because it is not “hard” like hers. Her hair is in beautiful braids and her skin glows. Why she would ever want my bushy hair or pasty skin is beyond me.

My mother asked me if I liked to dance. I said yes, so she put in a video (they have TV. And lights. And hot water. It’s like the US) teaching me how to traditionally dance and did it with me. They laughed at least.

I’m short on time. There’s so much more I meant to say and forgot. There will be much more to come!