What My Mother Doesn't Know

We all know that mothers worry about their children.

"Is he eating okay?"
"Is she warm enough?"
"Should they be going there at night?"
"Don't do that, you'll go blind!"

Whether substantiated and reasonable (or not), this dynamic causes many a son and daughter to hide the delicate secrets of their life for the sake of our mothers' sanity (the awful truth). Thankfully, this scandalous piece of blog-posting will finally shed light on all the misgivings my mother had about me going to Kenya. In that vein, I dedicate this post to my mother. Sure, she worries - and here's why...


The Early Troubles

My first inklings of trouble came at Week 3. Mysterious flu-like symptoms began to appear. Even more, I had a stiff back and constant congestion. Knowing my weak immune system, I decided to check it out at the local hospital worried that I might have malaria.

Blood tests were taken and a virus was diagnosed the culprit. The aches were a function of my mattress. I was misdiagnosed a bunch of symptom-treating medications and then released.


Journeying to work

Having already described the matatus, I thought I would give you an idea of my journey to my work. The most striking part of walking up to the road is this:



I live next to a garbage dump.

Garbage dumps are haphazardly strewn about the local communities, as there is no municipal waste management service. Beautiful plots of land become grazing sites for cows and goats that feast upon the household and commercial wastes of Mombasa. These same cows and goats are the ones that are butchered for meat and eaten. It sometimes makes me question where my lunch came from.


Dehydration

Dehydration really takes its toll on you here. It's an ever-present prospect by virtue of the climate and the close-quarters involved in our work. Forgetting my water bottle has inspired moments of disappointment in myself, knowing I will necessarily have to purchase much more throughout the day. With that in mind, an example of the close-quarters that inspire dehydration is a photo of one of the local internet cafes I frequent. It's a room that is too small with five people sitting in it, but routinely fits ten-plus.




Police

Police here are not a real danger. Merely, they will detain you until they can finagle a bribe from a passing motorist. On the way to Malindi, a town two-and-a-half hours away, we were pulled over no less than three times for routine shake downs. Each time, our way forward was facilitated by a calm exchange of one or two hundred shillings.




Beards

The glory of my Africa beard knows no bounds. It is simultaneously a blessing and a curse. Enticing women is one thing, but sometimes a man gets tired of constant flirting and the like. I mean, how can one be so dastardly attractive yet so ruggedly handsome? A truly lethal combination.




That was all facetious FYI.


I just figured it was just something else my mom didn't want to hear...

The Last Hurrah at Kwacha Afrika

March 19.

That ominous day has arrived. From the beginning, the date was meant as the end of our on-project work. When it comes to the day though, things were not always as they seem. Photos galore were snapped to and fro about the Kwacha Compound. And despite the levity with the poses and smiles, there were tears and hugs and genuine emotions of regret at having to leave and being left.

Before embarking on my safari, I thought I would post some pictures of a few of the faces of Kwacha Afrika during the closing days of our sojourn here. By no means do these select few photos single out the meaningful people from my stay here. There is just only so much bandwidth I have to post pictures, otherwise I would have to wait all night for photos to upload.

DJ Havire works the turntables at the Kwacha Afrika compound. Havire is a mainstay of the Kwacha community outreaches. Typically, he takes charge of the sound systems and music for these large events. You can always tell he enjoys getting the crowds engaged via his disc changers.


Seen here are Evan Trippel (left) and Charles Kangeri (right). Charles was a close friend of the Canadian volunteers at Kwacha. His constant jokes and distinctive laugh always meant a fun conversation was about to happen. He even was kind enough to invite Evan and myself to his rural home one weekend to meet his mother and brothers. His mother's gift of homemade tea is one of the best things I will be bringing back from Kenya. One of the premier people I've met on this trip.


Georgina has been a steadfast friend of the Canadian volunteers from beginning to end. Though quiet in group settings, set her on-stage with a microphone in hand and she can whip up the positive emotions and attentions of a host of people in heartbeat. Always constructive in her approaches to things, Gina is somebody who I greatly admire and will miss.


I caught this photo of Amina (left) and Angela (right) at the farewell get-together today. Amina is one of the most energetic volunteers out there, which she does while raising two kids of her own.


Here are the four roommates from my homestay, plus the son of our homestay hosts, the Kalus. Clockwise from the upper-right are Evan Trippel (New Brunswick), Rebecca Berman(Montreal), Melissa Walters (London), Myself, and Mike Kalu. Mike and Ihad instant brotherhood over our same names and our love of soccer. He comes home every night to eat dinner with us and chat with us about everything you can imagine. Mike is also one of the executives of Kwacha and does a lot to plan the group's activities. Without him and his jokes around, the Canadian volunteers would have had a much more boring experience. Unfortunately, he likes Manchester United (just kidding).

So there you go. My path is paved for next week's safari. This could be my last blog post before Canada. See you on the other side and I'll make sure to avoid the lions.

Of Monkeys, Jellyfish and Cockroaches

Time flies when you're having fun. It also flies when you're really busy. When you're having fun and being really busy....well, you get the idea. With two-and-a-half weeks left here in Kenya, things are finally coming into focus for me personally. There are certain realities with which I have come to grips: development work is even less rosy and positive than I thought, it is a struggle to play internal politics, and I think for the first time in my life I am becoming homesick. Ah well, on the bright side I have some time left to enjoy myself and continue to contemplate my whole experience.

On my way to Kwacha Afrika last week, I got the rare chance to nab some pictures of monkeys clambering over the rooftop of a local cafe. They were a group of five, and were really shy. Thankfully, I had my camera on hand or else I might have missed it.



Over the past seven days, our group of six volunteers and the host of volunteers at Kwacha Afrika delivered five complete events. Two days were women's events. The first was a "Women at Work" speaker's panel featuring local female business leaders talking to a Kisauni high school. The other women's event was a screening of a documentary in honour of International Women's Day.

Three days of last week consisted of active citizenship training for 22 youth group leaders. This training is part of YCI's goal of complementing economic development with improvement in community governance capacities. In training local youth about governance and their roles in decision-making, YCI hopes to create concerned citizens who can push for accompanying democratic improvements. Unfortunately, the discussions with youth proved somewhat depressing. During a discussion about constitutional rights among the leaders, the group became split into two camps - those with positive attitudes towards their roles in creating change, and those who see corruption and graft in government as too debilitating to allow for the country's redemption. When the youth are more afraid of the police than thugs, how can progress be made? It puts your own efforts into perspective when you realize that certain trainings lack the gravity of real-life perspectives. Here is photo of me in action during a facilitation session:



We took some deserved R&R amidst the hectic week at Mombasa Beach. It was a quick getaway for us and some of the Kwacha youth to relax, play some beach soccer and swim. Having never been to a tropical beach prior to coming to Kenya, I had not experienced the simple pleasure of walking into warm water so carefree for your um - ahem - "parts". Male readers who have sauntered into a cold lake know what I'm talking about. Unfortunately, tropical beaches are not all fun and games. I was the unlucky recipient of an unpleasant jellyfish sting (seen below). It actually got me twice, leaving a nice Zorro "Z" mark on my lower stomach.



In terms of other animals, I crushed a cockroach in my room which exploded onto my clothes. Consequently, I spent last night shaking cockroach parts off my t-shirts. Gross.

Okay, I'll try to fit in a few more posts before I make it back home. I'm looking forward to seeing everybody soon. Miss you all.

Back By Popular Demand

Have you ever sweated through the front of your t-shirt? I can now officially say that I have.

One of the problems of blogging an extended stay such as this is that the new and unusual situations of your stay become commonplace. Whereas, when I arrived, seeing wild animals roam the streets was novel, I hardly notice them anymore. Fortunately, I was on the ball when I snapped the photo below as a herd of cows rumbled along the pathway in front of my house.


Highlighting this juxtaposition amid the Kenyan landscape is essential to understand the culture. Men work strenuously to push handcarts along downtown avenues while drivers cruise by with mobile phones abuzz. International soccer matches are streamed via satellite while armless women care for their babies on the street. During facilitation sessions here, we provide lunch stipends to our students which are pocketed rather than spent. Money can be transferred via cell phones but there is rarely a night without power outages. It seems that everywhere, the traditional and the modern are forever thrusting themselves into my visage, relentlessly making me marvel at the pace of progress and the unyielding nature of the past. In that vein, I really enjoyed taking this picture during rush hour as we left Kisauni.



Last week, the YCI volunteers were working in tandem with the Kwacha Afrika members to lead gender training workshops in a conservative suburb of Mombasa called Likoni. For the first two days of the training, we had the participants split by gender, so that the programming and discussions could be focused. The third day allowed the two genders to come together and discuss leadership in their community.



It is striking to hear some replies that we received. According to one male youth, women were inducing rape by wearing short skirts. On the other hand, some women were calmly acquiescent when describing how they were required to submit to sexual intercourse whenever their husbands wanted. But those were only the exceptions. For the most part, the facilitators received many thoughtful and encouraging answers from the youth. Female participants were not afraid to speak of how they should take on equal control of their household's finances, especially if they were a main contributor. Male participants were particularly good at espousing the equal rights of women. In my opinion, the most well-received portion of the training was a female Kenyan lawyer who talked about the Sexual Offenses Act and human rights. All-in-all, the feedback we received was favourable. At this point, I would credit a lot of success with the talented Kwacha youth, particularly Georgina, Aisha, Chamto and Samson. The picture above is of Samson leading the combined group in a leadership seminar.

Meanwhile, I've been trying to keep abreast of the Winter Olympics, mostly for the men's hockey tournament. I had been hoping to find some satellite coverage of the games, but then I stumbled across a newspaper article attempting to explain ice hockey to the average Kenya. My hope just faded. Please, somebody tell me they TIVO'd the games...

Miscellaneous Musings

Old Town in Mombasa, Kenya.

Lacking a theme to opine upon today, I thought I would send out an assortment of random thoughts with which my readership can mull over:

Things I like:

• Freezy business operated out of my homestay - 24 hour access to mango-flavoured deliciousness


• Seeing sea turtles


• Nights without electricity


• Very professional dramas produced by Kwacha Afrika

Things I do not like:

• Getting stiffed by matatu conductors looking to make easy money off foreigners

For the most part, I expect local vendors and drivers to target me, judged mostly on my skin colour. However, after three weeks here, I know the going rates to take the matatu bus everywhere I need to go and the prices of most common foods. It becomes a great aggravation to haggle every time I want to go somewhere in town.

Also, the other day I pulled out my wallet on the matatu and flashed ten American dollars. The passenger next to me asked if he could have it. That was quite the annoying assumption. I mean, many people assume that the YCI volunteers are wealthy (I wish) because we are white. However, would that man have had the same gall to ask a wealthy Kenyan for the same thing? It seems highly unlikely.

Myself, Kasena, and Mody.

To return to things that I like...

Kwacha Afrika hosted a theatre night in downtown Mombasa last Sunday. Like most of their outreach activities, their plays are themed upon HIV/AIDS awareness and gender empowerment. Sunday's play told the story of Layla, a recently widowed young woman who suspected her former partner of dying from HIV. Scared to have herself tested, she still is intent upon marrying another man. Her sister Lulu is convinced that her new fiance is, in fact, the one who needs to be tested. Her love for Layla pushes her to sabotaging the wedding and leads to ostracism from her own family. In the end, the fiance confesses to being HIV-positive, Lulu rejoins the family, Layla comes to terms with the news and they all live happily ever after.

Kwacha Afrika youth performing for an HIV/AIDS outreach event.
Lulu, played by Nti Abdala (above) during Kwacha's play.
Tabulezy (above left) and Shiko (above right), stars of Kwacha Afrika's HIV/AIDS awareness drama. Shiko played the starring role of Layla.

As an allegory for the locals, the Kwacha youth hoped to impress the need for absolutely everybody to be tested for HIV - even if you are fairly certain that you do not carry the virus. Hopefully, this message will be heeded by the fifty-plus youth who attended the show. Young people in Mombasa are fortunate to have the energy and vision that Kwacha Afrika delivers to their commmunity.

Things are getting busy here for the YCI volunteers. Coming up this week, we are holding a 3-day gender issues summit for youth in the Likoni, the south side of the city. Mostly, it will focus on empowering women to join the workforce and for men to shed the stereotyped roles that women are given here. It will prove to be an interesting discussion, I believe. Thanks for reading my posts!

An Outsider's View from the Inside - Sex Tourism

Club night was a resounding success again this past Saturday. My group decided to go local and visit a non-tourist destination simply called, "Bob's". Bob's is a patio bar situated in what looks like the inside parking lot of a cheap motel. But when the sun goes down and the laser disco starts up, Bob's becomes the nighttime hotspot. Locals and the occasional tourist bump and grind to an eclectic mix of 90's RnB, African hip-hop and some European techno. After the past week of daily computer classes, the YCI and Kwacha Afrika volunteers were ready to let loose. Drinks flowed, people danced and the revelers made merry. Persistent amidst all of this were the ubiquitous sex tourists.

A weekend ago at Tembo, I had my first up-close experience with the dirty secret of Western dignity: the parade of young Kenyan women and men being courted by middle-aged tourists. Sex tourism is accepted by the locals as a necessary evil. These young men and girls do need to make a living. Its market strength is such that before anybody else hits the dance floor, the prostitutes are out there strutting their stuff for potential clients. As the night heats up, so does the business. Mustachioed men, clad in their Birkenstocks and tropical t-shirts sidle up to barely post-pubescent girls and make their intentions known with their hands, pelvises and kisses. Likewise, I witnessed two fifty year-old women hold court with two native Kenyan men apiece. The four men were dressed in traditional Masai dress complete with head feathers and colourful sarongs. Debauchery of this sort has even prompted the whoring out of traditional culture.

My own moral compass nearly got me into some trouble that night. Some British tourist was enjoying being sandwiched between two beautiful and tall Kenyan prostitutes. The scene of this stubby tourist getting his rocks off on these girls made me a little sick, so I pointed it out to my group of friends and laughed him off. Unfortunately, he didn't take too kindly to my mocking and made a point of flipping me off, which made me laugh even more. Coming over to me, he asked me if I had a problem with him and if we needed to settle it. Harnessing my best self-control, I calmly told him there wasn't a problem. He turned away and I gave him a patronizing pat on the back as he walked off. What a real man, I suppose, sticking up for himself like that. Although - a real man wouldn't have to buy his sexual gratification.

Since I promised pictures, below are a few that I have taken so far. Uploading pictures here takes roughly twenty minutes at the internet cafe. Consequently, I am posting only five pictures today.


Above are two pictures of my neighbourhood. We live in a very sandy and dusty clime replete with dirt walking paths that branch off of the one main road.

Mom, you should be happy with the picture above. It's myself and fellow volunteer Melissa doing laundry by hand in front of our homestay.

This photo is taken from an old Portuguese fort overlooking the Indian Ocean in the Old Town of Mombasa. The fort served as a transit point for the slave trade in the 1500s.

In my next few posts I'll try to delve into more of the work we do here. It has not been all fun and games here, and the schedule looks to get a lot busier. Upcoming this week we have three outreach sessions with the Matatu driver sector, a population segment that is at high risk of contracting HIV. Some of the issues we will tackle are gender roles, HIV stigma and drug use. It definitely portends to be an interesting session.

But alas, I only have so much time. I'll do my best to post ASAP. Thanks once again for following my adventure here. Miss you all.

Racism and Other Tidbits (a little late - my apologies)

***This blog post was meant to appear this past Saturday***

Mombasa is an interesting locale for the average tourist. It's considered the tourist mecca of Kenya and hosts a wide variety of people from Africa and the Middle East. In its downtown, white people are not unheard of, but they aren't exactly common either. Out where we live though, there is a peculiar sense of your own skin colour when you walk around the suburbs. Your daily walks become a strut down a gauntlet of greetings as people shout at you from all sides. A twenty minute walk becomes doubly tiring as you expend lots of effort shouting back greetings and responses.

For all of the political correctness shoved down our Canadian throats, the Kenyans hold none of it dear. It's not unfriendly either, however. The notion of a foreign visitor is of special importance to Kenyan culture. I was informed by my homestay father that, to Kenyans, hosting a visitor is a mark of honour and that same honour extends to their wider community. For every slack-jawed idiot catcalling our female fellow volunteers, we receive gregarious "Jambos" and "Karibu Kenya" ("Welcome to Kenya") from tenfold more locals. The children are especially friendly, as for many of them it would be the first white people they had seen in person. Trying to pass by a school elicits a cacaphony of little voices shouting, "how are you?" Celebrity does have its perks. Unfortunately, after so many days, the novelty of being different has worn off for us volunteers.

Despite the friendliness, the endless shouts of "mzungu" or "white European" have become a little tiresome. Some children could be forgiven, but the idea of walking around and having adults shouting, "Chinaman!" or "Black guy!" becomes a little bit grating. While the intention is mostly genuine, the idea of us as curios in their community compels them to single us out for being different. Instead of recognizing us for trying to contribute to their community's development, we exist purely as rich, white tourists in some of their minds. I suppose it is a small price to pay for what we are trying to accomplish.

Meanwhile, since my last post the computer classes have a fait accompli. In the picture below you can see my roommate, Evan Trippel, teaching a Microsoft Excel tutorial to a class. Running the classes was a study in perseverance in the face of obstacles. Whether it was cramming fifteen students into a six-person internet cafe, or running voltage adapters from outlet to outlet to plug in one extra computer, the preparations stretched the limits of our organizational creativity. Luckily, the students were very laid-back, understanding, and eager to learn. After a week full of classes, fully thirty Mombasan youths are now computer literate enough to work the Windows environment, Microsoft Word, Microsoft Excel and internet e-mail/browsing. Working with my cohorts and the Kwacha Afrika volunteers has been an immense pleasure. When everybody is on the same page it makes the work that much more smooth.



Speaking of smooth, the Youth Challenge International volunteers joined ranks with the Kwacha Afrika members for a club night last Saturday. It was by far the most interesting night of my trip thus far. Tembo is tropical disco that deserves a place on a resort but is nestled snugly in our little suburb of Mombasa. I left our homestay wearing a white button-up shirt and returned looking like I had participated in the most unappealing wet t-shirt contest ever witnessed. Dancing is a sweaty enough affair as it is, but dancing in thirty degree heat exacerbates the whole situation. In my next post I'm going to touch upon some things that happened that night including dancing and fighting sex tourists.

Mothers, lock up your daughters - it's club night again tonight. At this point I'd like to issue a pre-emptive apology for anybody who has to see, touch or smell any party of my body tonight...