Thursday, April 21, 2011
Uber-slacking
Way behind on the blog posts...Pole (KiSwahili for sorry...kinda). And sadly, there wont be any more for some time as Simon, another BVCer, his girlfiend, an Austrian and myself are all going to climb Mount Kenya this weekend. Providing I don't get eaten by a hyena, trampled by an elephant or buffalo, get lost, suffer from chronic altitude sickness, suffer from hypothermia, or die from hunger, I will be back around Tuesday of next week. At which point, I will begin writing more blogs amidst saying goodbye's and tying up a few loose ends. So happy bunny day (Eric I expect there to be some eggs with quarters in them, hidden when I return...oh and those Reese's penut butter eggs, there had better be some of those too - I know where you sleep)!
Thursday, April 14, 2011
I hope business parties in the states are this fun.
We held a going away party for one of the Germans who is leaving tomorrow. I was fairly apprehensive at first because a) there was a football match on and b) most parties where people speak other languages end up with the exclusion of the English speakers. But I figured at the very least everyone else from the Center would be there and some of them are a hoot when they are drinking so there was some fun to be had.
I was way off, it was a ton of fun. Speaking to the fact of other languages, Simon and I figured out that no one can understand the minnesoootan accent so that became our code language. And between watching parts of the match, eating half a goat, dancing, drinking, fending off over-aged suitors for some of the girl guests and almost getting attacked by a stray dog in the street it was a pretty darn good night!
I was way off, it was a ton of fun. Speaking to the fact of other languages, Simon and I figured out that no one can understand the minnesoootan accent so that became our code language. And between watching parts of the match, eating half a goat, dancing, drinking, fending off over-aged suitors for some of the girl guests and almost getting attacked by a stray dog in the street it was a pretty darn good night!
Birthday
Sometimes you just gotta wake up at the crack o’ noon and be like “alright, it’s go time! What t-shirt am I gonna wear?”
I’d say that was a pretty good start to the day. Although, I did manage to rouse myself at 8 for some breakfast before going back to sleep. I don’t even try to hide the fact that I sleep late anymore. The nuns who used to berate me for it now accept it and even joke about it. Nothing better than seeing a nun for lunch at 1 and having her greet me with “Good morning!” They also sang me the extended, holy version of happy birthday at supper later that night; it was quite the scene.
Speaking of which, the night that couldn’t get going and almost didn’t due to a case of malaria and a broken leg (relatives of our friends who access to cars), finally got under way and ended up being a great time. Simon, Steffi (one of the Germans) and I hopped on a matatu and headed off to the bar John took us too.
One problem, we didn’t remember how to get there or the name of it. So we walked alongside of the road after getting dropped off roughly where we thought it was. After an hour or so of dodging drunk drivers and pitfalls from the construction equipment, we decided to head into a hotel that seemed to have a decent music scene.
We sat and drank for a little while before being picked on by the KiSwahili speaking comedian. I guess we were asking for it being the only white people there. I somehow ended up on stage with him thanks to Simon who blurted out that it was my birthday. I think most of the questions that I had to answer were dealing with women and which one I was going to take home, but it was all in Swahili and I had been drinking. But by the end of it I was a celebrity amongst all of the cougs and there was no shortage of dance partners or free drinks for the remainder of the night. It was a blast up until the end of the night by which time most of the women had left and the floor was full of drunk men trying to dance with Steffi. All that meant was that Simon and I had to continue dancing aggressively by blocking them off!
Great night.
I’d say that was a pretty good start to the day. Although, I did manage to rouse myself at 8 for some breakfast before going back to sleep. I don’t even try to hide the fact that I sleep late anymore. The nuns who used to berate me for it now accept it and even joke about it. Nothing better than seeing a nun for lunch at 1 and having her greet me with “Good morning!” They also sang me the extended, holy version of happy birthday at supper later that night; it was quite the scene.
Speaking of which, the night that couldn’t get going and almost didn’t due to a case of malaria and a broken leg (relatives of our friends who access to cars), finally got under way and ended up being a great time. Simon, Steffi (one of the Germans) and I hopped on a matatu and headed off to the bar John took us too.
One problem, we didn’t remember how to get there or the name of it. So we walked alongside of the road after getting dropped off roughly where we thought it was. After an hour or so of dodging drunk drivers and pitfalls from the construction equipment, we decided to head into a hotel that seemed to have a decent music scene.
We sat and drank for a little while before being picked on by the KiSwahili speaking comedian. I guess we were asking for it being the only white people there. I somehow ended up on stage with him thanks to Simon who blurted out that it was my birthday. I think most of the questions that I had to answer were dealing with women and which one I was going to take home, but it was all in Swahili and I had been drinking. But by the end of it I was a celebrity amongst all of the cougs and there was no shortage of dance partners or free drinks for the remainder of the night. It was a blast up until the end of the night by which time most of the women had left and the floor was full of drunk men trying to dance with Steffi. All that meant was that Simon and I had to continue dancing aggressively by blocking them off!
Great night.
The Post Office
The other night, a monk came to our house to let me know that there were two packages at the post office for some of the volunteers. He also said that it would cost 3,500 KSH to obtain both of them. I read the contents of one of the packages and realized that it was for me, but I could not understand how I had racked up the bill without doing anything! The other package, we thought, belonged to a German volunteer who is currently touring around Kenya. I told Felix, the monk, that I was not going to pay for both packages and could barely afford the highway robbery that was going on with my package. He said, “then don’t” and proceeded to wash his hands of the situation. We will come back to this later.
That little conversation pushed me towards the edge of a cliff the other night and the ensuing soccer match almost threw me over. Luckily sleep has a very calming effect and was the next thing on the schedule for me.
The ensuing morning, I went into Nairobi alone as Simon was still under the weather and the nun who had previously tried to obtain the packages but didn’t have enough money gave me her postal identification card and said that if I presented it she did not need to go to the post office with me. I didn’t complain as she is very nice, but is not quite as fast moving or mentally sharp for catching extortionists in the act. Also there is a fairly sizeable language barrier between us.
Things didn’t get off to the greatest of starts as the matatu I was in decided to let everyone out just on the outskirts of downtown because they spotted a police officer and it spooked them. I didn’t hang around to find out why. So I meandered my way through downtown Nairobi cruising past the rest of the inhabitants who might as well be called the slowest pack-walkers in Africa. I arrived at the post office around 11am or so and stood in line under the “Parcel Pick-Up” sign. I waited for almost an hour while some woman counted out close to 200 individual envelopes and had them weighed only to find out that I had to go to the next floor for my package. Great.
I make it up the stairs and into the customs office where some woman on the phone looked at my slip, printed something out, and tried to send me off without a word to me. I didn’t accept it and motioned that I needed to talk to her. She finished her conversation and then asked me what I needed. I told her that the customs taxes on my package didn’t make sense. She explained to me that the duties are high because the government doesn’t want people importing anything and that my fees were accurate. I then told her that the estimated cost of the contents was incorrect and she told me to talk to her boss. So I sat and waited for 30 minutes before her boss came back. And she told me to go and get the package and bring it to her…after lunch (in one hour). So I bought a newspaper and sat down for some tea before returning to the post office.
This time I went straight to the second floor parcel counter. The lady brought out the package addressed to me (I used the slip with my package ID and the wrong contents). I then told the lady that I thought there was a mixup and the packages didn’t match up with the contents. She told me I was crazy, literally. So I went off like a cherrybomb on the 4th. I said, “ok, let’s open the package shall we?” I opened it, pulled out the items one by one and checked to see if it was on the list of contents. I then turned the box upside down and said that I didn’t think the other contents were in this box. She wasn’t too amused, but couldn’t do anything about it because she was completely baffled as to how the confusion had happened.
They brought out the other package and put it in front of me. I then explained to the other woman that I was here to collect my package. I then asked why my package had been previously opened without my being present. She said that I had sent someone to collect it and it was opened in front of the customs officer for taxing. I calmly went off again trying to explain that no one else had the authority to open a package with my name on it, let alone have it processed with another package belonging to someone else. (I was initially tipped off on the mixup by seeing that the form with my contents had an address line that read ‘benedictine monastrery.’ My parents can spell monastery correctly and we technically aren’t at the monastery) They gave me the little spiel about how someone with authority came in and claimed the packages together and the paperwork could not be undone.
I cant remember how many people I talked to trying to get it sorted out. I was finally sent to the floor customs officer. She also told me that there was nothing she could do. I ended up following her into her office and standing in front of her desk for close to 15 minutes without saying a word all the while she was trying to work. She then looked at me and said that if she had any money she would help me pay the fee for both of the packages so that I could leave. I told her that I wouldn’t have accepted the generous offer. I would have accepted her letting me leave with my package! I then found out that after two months of not paying the packages are sent to a warehouse where they are auctioned off. To that point I argued that the bank would not be getting the full estimated value of the package and that letting me take it by itself at full price would be better than not giving it to me. She said that she couldn’t and that money was a tricky affair. Yeah, no shit. She then told me that if I wanted to I could pay and then file a claim for overpaying, which would have taken close to 3 months.
I said fuck it and amidst glaring eyes from the other disgruntled people in the office, I politely (and sarcastically) thanked them for their patience as they had verbally complained that I was taking up too much of the officer’s time. I then went back to the main customs office and sat in the secretary’s office. Her boss was at a meeting in another building and she told me I could wait for her or come back another day. Coming back wasn’t an option so I said I would wait.
The secretary then offered me a cup of coffee while I waited to which I obliged. Then the pleasantries started. I commented how the building should be staffed by more people like her…and that it was my birthday on Saturday…which led to her talking about her son and family…which led to something else and was finally broken up by another man walking into the office and questioning why I was still there (4 hours after I had initially seen him). I replied and then the secretary asked me to describe the problem one more time. Bingo. Never underestimate the power of being polite and complimentary of secretaries.
I explained everything that had occurred along with the responses of each worker as to why nothing could be done. She said nonsense, crossed out the receipt numbers, called her boss (who was in a meeting), lowered my tax rate, and printed a new receipt for me. I then had to book it to the bank a few blocks down to pay the taxes before it closed. Next, I returned only to find out that I had to get a secondary receipt from another window and then pay the post office handling fee of a dollar and get that receipt before I could actually take my package.
But even before that there was another problem. The secretary had told me to use the slip on which my contents were written, which incidentally had the postal number of the other box. So they wouldn’t let me go with it. I offered loads of solutions to this problem and after 15 more minutes of them standing there and wondering what to do I was ushered into a back office. The floor director then decided with another worker that it would be alright to switch the numbers on the boxes…thanks glad that took 15 more minutes of my time. I thanked them both and then said that they would never have to worry about seeing me again, to which I received the reply “Oh no! We still want your business. You know, part of this was our fault as well.” Ha, no shit. I smiled and proceeded to leave. But in passing all of the other inconsiderate and incompetent workers, including the customs officer, I smiled, held up the box, pointed to it, and whispered “I got my box.”
Some of them were overjoyed at the fact that I was finally leaving and the customs officer was surprisingly happy for me although she was confused as to how I had done it with supposedly the only person who could do anything about it in a meeting on the other side of town. I loaded my backpack and ran out of the building. I then spent the next 2 hours walking around Nairobi trying to find the correct matatu pick-up location. I asked numerous people where to go and it wasn’t until I was on the wrong side of town that a bus driver picked me up and took me to where I needed to be. It was ridiculous and I was tired. I had been in Nairobi for over 9 hours and roughly 6 of them were spent in the post office.
That’s dedication and a very strong desire for the girls scout cookies that were packed inside!
On a final note, when sending packages to Kenya, declare the value of goods inside at a quarter of the cost. The import taxes are 41% of the declared value. Highway robbery I tell you…
That little conversation pushed me towards the edge of a cliff the other night and the ensuing soccer match almost threw me over. Luckily sleep has a very calming effect and was the next thing on the schedule for me.
The ensuing morning, I went into Nairobi alone as Simon was still under the weather and the nun who had previously tried to obtain the packages but didn’t have enough money gave me her postal identification card and said that if I presented it she did not need to go to the post office with me. I didn’t complain as she is very nice, but is not quite as fast moving or mentally sharp for catching extortionists in the act. Also there is a fairly sizeable language barrier between us.
Things didn’t get off to the greatest of starts as the matatu I was in decided to let everyone out just on the outskirts of downtown because they spotted a police officer and it spooked them. I didn’t hang around to find out why. So I meandered my way through downtown Nairobi cruising past the rest of the inhabitants who might as well be called the slowest pack-walkers in Africa. I arrived at the post office around 11am or so and stood in line under the “Parcel Pick-Up” sign. I waited for almost an hour while some woman counted out close to 200 individual envelopes and had them weighed only to find out that I had to go to the next floor for my package. Great.
I make it up the stairs and into the customs office where some woman on the phone looked at my slip, printed something out, and tried to send me off without a word to me. I didn’t accept it and motioned that I needed to talk to her. She finished her conversation and then asked me what I needed. I told her that the customs taxes on my package didn’t make sense. She explained to me that the duties are high because the government doesn’t want people importing anything and that my fees were accurate. I then told her that the estimated cost of the contents was incorrect and she told me to talk to her boss. So I sat and waited for 30 minutes before her boss came back. And she told me to go and get the package and bring it to her…after lunch (in one hour). So I bought a newspaper and sat down for some tea before returning to the post office.
This time I went straight to the second floor parcel counter. The lady brought out the package addressed to me (I used the slip with my package ID and the wrong contents). I then told the lady that I thought there was a mixup and the packages didn’t match up with the contents. She told me I was crazy, literally. So I went off like a cherrybomb on the 4th. I said, “ok, let’s open the package shall we?” I opened it, pulled out the items one by one and checked to see if it was on the list of contents. I then turned the box upside down and said that I didn’t think the other contents were in this box. She wasn’t too amused, but couldn’t do anything about it because she was completely baffled as to how the confusion had happened.
They brought out the other package and put it in front of me. I then explained to the other woman that I was here to collect my package. I then asked why my package had been previously opened without my being present. She said that I had sent someone to collect it and it was opened in front of the customs officer for taxing. I calmly went off again trying to explain that no one else had the authority to open a package with my name on it, let alone have it processed with another package belonging to someone else. (I was initially tipped off on the mixup by seeing that the form with my contents had an address line that read ‘benedictine monastrery.’ My parents can spell monastery correctly and we technically aren’t at the monastery) They gave me the little spiel about how someone with authority came in and claimed the packages together and the paperwork could not be undone.
I cant remember how many people I talked to trying to get it sorted out. I was finally sent to the floor customs officer. She also told me that there was nothing she could do. I ended up following her into her office and standing in front of her desk for close to 15 minutes without saying a word all the while she was trying to work. She then looked at me and said that if she had any money she would help me pay the fee for both of the packages so that I could leave. I told her that I wouldn’t have accepted the generous offer. I would have accepted her letting me leave with my package! I then found out that after two months of not paying the packages are sent to a warehouse where they are auctioned off. To that point I argued that the bank would not be getting the full estimated value of the package and that letting me take it by itself at full price would be better than not giving it to me. She said that she couldn’t and that money was a tricky affair. Yeah, no shit. She then told me that if I wanted to I could pay and then file a claim for overpaying, which would have taken close to 3 months.
I said fuck it and amidst glaring eyes from the other disgruntled people in the office, I politely (and sarcastically) thanked them for their patience as they had verbally complained that I was taking up too much of the officer’s time. I then went back to the main customs office and sat in the secretary’s office. Her boss was at a meeting in another building and she told me I could wait for her or come back another day. Coming back wasn’t an option so I said I would wait.
The secretary then offered me a cup of coffee while I waited to which I obliged. Then the pleasantries started. I commented how the building should be staffed by more people like her…and that it was my birthday on Saturday…which led to her talking about her son and family…which led to something else and was finally broken up by another man walking into the office and questioning why I was still there (4 hours after I had initially seen him). I replied and then the secretary asked me to describe the problem one more time. Bingo. Never underestimate the power of being polite and complimentary of secretaries.
I explained everything that had occurred along with the responses of each worker as to why nothing could be done. She said nonsense, crossed out the receipt numbers, called her boss (who was in a meeting), lowered my tax rate, and printed a new receipt for me. I then had to book it to the bank a few blocks down to pay the taxes before it closed. Next, I returned only to find out that I had to get a secondary receipt from another window and then pay the post office handling fee of a dollar and get that receipt before I could actually take my package.
But even before that there was another problem. The secretary had told me to use the slip on which my contents were written, which incidentally had the postal number of the other box. So they wouldn’t let me go with it. I offered loads of solutions to this problem and after 15 more minutes of them standing there and wondering what to do I was ushered into a back office. The floor director then decided with another worker that it would be alright to switch the numbers on the boxes…thanks glad that took 15 more minutes of my time. I thanked them both and then said that they would never have to worry about seeing me again, to which I received the reply “Oh no! We still want your business. You know, part of this was our fault as well.” Ha, no shit. I smiled and proceeded to leave. But in passing all of the other inconsiderate and incompetent workers, including the customs officer, I smiled, held up the box, pointed to it, and whispered “I got my box.”
Some of them were overjoyed at the fact that I was finally leaving and the customs officer was surprisingly happy for me although she was confused as to how I had done it with supposedly the only person who could do anything about it in a meeting on the other side of town. I loaded my backpack and ran out of the building. I then spent the next 2 hours walking around Nairobi trying to find the correct matatu pick-up location. I asked numerous people where to go and it wasn’t until I was on the wrong side of town that a bus driver picked me up and took me to where I needed to be. It was ridiculous and I was tired. I had been in Nairobi for over 9 hours and roughly 6 of them were spent in the post office.
That’s dedication and a very strong desire for the girls scout cookies that were packed inside!
On a final note, when sending packages to Kenya, declare the value of goods inside at a quarter of the cost. The import taxes are 41% of the declared value. Highway robbery I tell you…
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Alley Cats
Around 4 am or so we decided that we should probably head back and get some seep. We stopped upstairs to say goodbye to the other whitefolk before leaving and finding a way back to the other side of town. At first, we decided to walk a ways and see if we were could catch a matatu even though you’re not exactly supposed to take them after 10pm; something about masked men and guns I think.
Well we were walking along this deserted road in an industrial district of Nairobi when we spotted some skyscrapers and the town center about a mile or two away on the left. We took are next left and BIG mistake. Even darker street that had shanties lined up and down the sides. What was worse, there was a stopped car with about 10 men standing around it, and they saw us. You know that little chilly feeling that runs up your spine when you are kind of spooked. We had that. But we couldn’t turn around less show our nervousness and unwillingness to face confrontation so we walked past them stonefaced with the subtle up-tilt head nod to acknowledge them. We made it up a little ways and then heard the car start. Luckily they decided to turn around and go the other way. Then we saw a huge fence in front of us. What now? We decided to keep going and hope that there was a way through, which there was. But immediately upon passing through I spied two fuzzy objects under the loan streetlamp up about a block. In a very coordinated manor we made a quick semicircle and doubled back on the same street hoping that no one would notice. Most everyone whom we had already passed was somewhat preoccupied and took little notice, but we tensed at every grim glance that was shot our way.
We walked a little further and realized that there was no way that we were going to make it back and figured that getting mugged is one thing, but getting mugged on account of stupidity was a-whole-nother matter. Then a taxi came speeding around a roundabout and stopped abruptly at the sight of us. Deciding to play it cool we asked what the price was to our part of town and sat there and debated with him for a few minutes! As if we were going to say no…ha. We did have the fact that there were about 10 taxis outside of the nightclub a few blocks back and that definitely helped. But we agreed on the price and took off. No more than a minute had passed before a torrential downpour lasting a half an hour hit. Whew.
Well we were walking along this deserted road in an industrial district of Nairobi when we spotted some skyscrapers and the town center about a mile or two away on the left. We took are next left and BIG mistake. Even darker street that had shanties lined up and down the sides. What was worse, there was a stopped car with about 10 men standing around it, and they saw us. You know that little chilly feeling that runs up your spine when you are kind of spooked. We had that. But we couldn’t turn around less show our nervousness and unwillingness to face confrontation so we walked past them stonefaced with the subtle up-tilt head nod to acknowledge them. We made it up a little ways and then heard the car start. Luckily they decided to turn around and go the other way. Then we saw a huge fence in front of us. What now? We decided to keep going and hope that there was a way through, which there was. But immediately upon passing through I spied two fuzzy objects under the loan streetlamp up about a block. In a very coordinated manor we made a quick semicircle and doubled back on the same street hoping that no one would notice. Most everyone whom we had already passed was somewhat preoccupied and took little notice, but we tensed at every grim glance that was shot our way.
We walked a little further and realized that there was no way that we were going to make it back and figured that getting mugged is one thing, but getting mugged on account of stupidity was a-whole-nother matter. Then a taxi came speeding around a roundabout and stopped abruptly at the sight of us. Deciding to play it cool we asked what the price was to our part of town and sat there and debated with him for a few minutes! As if we were going to say no…ha. We did have the fact that there were about 10 taxis outside of the nightclub a few blocks back and that definitely helped. But we agreed on the price and took off. No more than a minute had passed before a torrential downpour lasting a half an hour hit. Whew.
Marathoning pt.2
Both of us slept through breakfast. Damn, best meal of the day and even better after a night of drinking….missed. So we did the next best thing went back to the bar! It was about 9 or so and the bar had a breakfast option, which was bear bones but it was better than nothing and we were starving. I think we even turned a few heads as the regulars who were there the night before couldn’t believe that we were back so early. We ate and then went back to the room. Simon went back to sleep and I took advantage of the Germans not being around and caught up on some much needed web surfing.
Later that afternoon, Simon received a text from a friend saying that she was having a going away party in uptown downtown Nairobi. And we remembered that we were meeting Vincent from work for a few beers later that evening. So we slow-played everything and ended up leaving to meet Vincent at 6, the start time of the Arsenal match (Simon’s team). He showed up at 7…grr. He had been drinking since noon and was in a very funny state when he arrived. The entire time he was going off on some funny tangents about experiences and what to do or not to do and his life… Simon had a longer attention span than I did. I could keep up for about 3 minutes or so before focusing on the soccer game. Well there was also that girl from the night before…just like the movies, she texted back! Let the texting commence. And let me tell you, be thankful for having the free unlimited texting options because when you don’t it costs $$$, well not too much but it is a hassle to have to go out and buy credits every few days.
Simon and I left after the match amidst Vincent trying to set up a waitress with Simon. We made it back to the house and then decided to head into Nairobi. Getting to the city wasn’t really a problem, but once we were there we had a hell of a time finding the place. We walked through the city for a little while startling quite a few people at the sight of two Wazungus without cars in Nairobi at night. After asking for directions from various people and calling Simon’s friend, we finally found a matatu to take us to the part of town we were looking for. Upon arriving, we exited and followed a complete stranger down some poorly lit streets before he left us and pointed us in the right direction down some more poorly lit streets. But he comforted us saying that we were in an upscale part of town…yeah, cool dude but shit happens everywhere otherwise there wouldn’t be 20’ high electrified and fortified fences all around.
Well we made it to the restaurant safely and just in time to leave. Darn, we were planning on having supper there. And we missed a full goat that was prepared for the party. Double darn. We were then told by Simon’s friend to get a ride to the nightclub with a friend of hers whom we weren’t introduced to. Time to put on the charm. We introduced ourselves just outside of the restaurant and snatched a ride. The place looked like it was going to cost a fortune to get into, bust surprisingly there wasn’t a covercharge! We went in and ended up standing at one end of the bar while watching yet another soccer match. Most of the other white people in the group were dancing albeit with their significant others or in the single sex groups that I haven’t seen since high school.
Just as we were warming up to the place and the 80 db speaker right next to the table, the group decided to leave and go upstairs. We followed suit hoping for greener pastures only to find out that they weren’t so green after all. The place was packed and probably would have been fun had we been in a different mood. But it seemed like everyone there was with someone else so Simon and I decided to split and head back to the other place.
It turned out being the smart move as we made a few friends who were celebrating a birthday. By that point we were ready to dance again and drew the eyes of just about everyone in the place at one point or another. I think we don’t like sharing the spotlight with other Wazungu. Besides we are the only young white guys that we have seen dancing without white girls…claim to fame and dirty looks from the Kenyan stags everywhere because the girls are always watching us!
Later that afternoon, Simon received a text from a friend saying that she was having a going away party in uptown downtown Nairobi. And we remembered that we were meeting Vincent from work for a few beers later that evening. So we slow-played everything and ended up leaving to meet Vincent at 6, the start time of the Arsenal match (Simon’s team). He showed up at 7…grr. He had been drinking since noon and was in a very funny state when he arrived. The entire time he was going off on some funny tangents about experiences and what to do or not to do and his life… Simon had a longer attention span than I did. I could keep up for about 3 minutes or so before focusing on the soccer game. Well there was also that girl from the night before…just like the movies, she texted back! Let the texting commence. And let me tell you, be thankful for having the free unlimited texting options because when you don’t it costs $$$, well not too much but it is a hassle to have to go out and buy credits every few days.
Simon and I left after the match amidst Vincent trying to set up a waitress with Simon. We made it back to the house and then decided to head into Nairobi. Getting to the city wasn’t really a problem, but once we were there we had a hell of a time finding the place. We walked through the city for a little while startling quite a few people at the sight of two Wazungus without cars in Nairobi at night. After asking for directions from various people and calling Simon’s friend, we finally found a matatu to take us to the part of town we were looking for. Upon arriving, we exited and followed a complete stranger down some poorly lit streets before he left us and pointed us in the right direction down some more poorly lit streets. But he comforted us saying that we were in an upscale part of town…yeah, cool dude but shit happens everywhere otherwise there wouldn’t be 20’ high electrified and fortified fences all around.
Well we made it to the restaurant safely and just in time to leave. Darn, we were planning on having supper there. And we missed a full goat that was prepared for the party. Double darn. We were then told by Simon’s friend to get a ride to the nightclub with a friend of hers whom we weren’t introduced to. Time to put on the charm. We introduced ourselves just outside of the restaurant and snatched a ride. The place looked like it was going to cost a fortune to get into, bust surprisingly there wasn’t a covercharge! We went in and ended up standing at one end of the bar while watching yet another soccer match. Most of the other white people in the group were dancing albeit with their significant others or in the single sex groups that I haven’t seen since high school.
Just as we were warming up to the place and the 80 db speaker right next to the table, the group decided to leave and go upstairs. We followed suit hoping for greener pastures only to find out that they weren’t so green after all. The place was packed and probably would have been fun had we been in a different mood. But it seemed like everyone there was with someone else so Simon and I decided to split and head back to the other place.
It turned out being the smart move as we made a few friends who were celebrating a birthday. By that point we were ready to dance again and drew the eyes of just about everyone in the place at one point or another. I think we don’t like sharing the spotlight with other Wazungu. Besides we are the only young white guys that we have seen dancing without white girls…claim to fame and dirty looks from the Kenyan stags everywhere because the girls are always watching us!
Marathoning
Before I arrived in Kenya, Simon made a friend named John who frequents the local bar regularly. Now, John is a very big man both influentially and physically. And he loves to buy alcohol for friends. Simon already knew this very well, but I was introduced to it just this past Friday. We had crossed paths earlier in the week when he mentioned that he would like to take us out to supper on Friday. We obliged him and before you know it Friday was upon us. We had planned to meet at 7, which typically would mean that we would be eating around 7:30 or 8ish. Not that night! Meeting at 7 meant lets sit down and drink for 2 hours on empty stomachs and then drive to a restaurant. We were beginning to wonder if we would make it through the night.
Just before leaving the bar I ordered a bottle of water, which did both of us wonders in terms of prolonging our ability to oblige the free drinks being bought for us. We made it to the restaurant, which conveniently had a butcher shop in the front end, or was that just the kitchen? Anyhow, John picked out a goat leg, an entire freaking goat leg and asked us how it looked. Ha, I have never seen such a good-looking piece of meat in Africa. An entire freaking goat leg. We then walked through the maize of tables and minibars before settling at the main bar that was close to the live musician who was filling our ears with upbeat Swahili dance songs.
At the bar, we continued drinking still with no food in our stomachs. And then out of nowhere this other woman comes up to us and sits down next to me (turns out it was John’s mistress). Not wanting to draw anymore attention to our little party he decided to have her sit next to me so that the attention wouldn’t be focused on him. Ok, I see where he was coming from, but its kind of hard not draw attention to yourself by bringing two white guys into an upscale late-night restaurant. Fortune favored me this night though. Simon and I had previously discussed the tactics of life. Given two options….take the funnier one. Well John’s mistress wanted to dance, but he didn’t want to so she grabbed my hand and he told me to go! Now imagine this scene: Kenyan nightclub with a central dance floor where there are currently two people dancing and then this 22 year old Mzungu walks out into the middle of the floor with a 40 somethin’ year old woman who weighs about two of him. Needless to say, eyes were fixated. Thank God for liquid courage.
Simon followed suit a few songs later upon my return to the bar for refueling purposes. After an hour or so of this, and still no food, we made our way up to the upper level bar where some of John’s other friends were waiting for us. We drank some more there and then danced more. I threw another bottle of water in there just for kicks as I didn’t really see it doing much at the time, but it was probably a life-saver. Around that time John found another woman for me to dance with, a seemingly drunk manager of the restaurant who had her eyes set on something that she definitely wasn’t going to get. Coincidentally, right before we started dancing I tried to get up to go to the bathroom before getting corralled to the dance floor by the manager. So all the while I was trying to find an exit clause…Enter Simon. He saw that I was somewhat distraught, which I must say doesn’t happen to often anymore, and came down to run interference. I made my escape and then returned to the floor looking to get him out of the same predicament. Then I spotted a few girls that we had been casually keeping tabs on. Bingo! I went up and started dancing with them and then spun around grabbed Simon away from another woman who had taken the place of the manager and threw him into the mix of girls. They happened to all be sisters and their older brother and I had a kind of dance off after I saw him trying to get some candids of the mzungu dancing with his sisters. It was straight out of a movie and it was great. The musician then decided to take a break so we returned to our lookout point with John at roughly the same time that the food arrived, midnight. Better late than never I always say. We downed the food and had room for the rest of the goat, but decided not to push our luck as it had been a great evening thus far. We continued drinking and talking and dancing until around 4am, yes we drank nonstop for 9 count it 9 hours. And it was all free. Boom Roasted.
We finally wrapped things up, but before we left I had to take the funnier of two options. I found a napkin, wrote down my name and number, coolly swagged my way across the dance floor and handed it to the girl I was dancing with amid the surprise laughter of all of her sisters, turned around and powerwalked my way to a laughing Simon and went to the car. We got in and then began thinking that we were getting into a car with some very big men who had been drinking for the better part of a day and were about to drive on a dangerous road under construction in the middle of the night. We strapped in, real tight. Luckily our host was of the same mindset and decided to take the back roads, which gave us some comfort aside from the fact that we did think at one point that we could possibly have been abducted just as easily as returned to the Amani Center.
Well we weren’t and we made it back safely. Then I decided to start skyping people, always a good time especially when it doesn’t cost anything (assist to Google). If you got a call from a number in California or a garbled message that cuts in and out…Pole (sorry ‘kind of’ in Kiswahili). I think I made it to bed around 5.
Just before leaving the bar I ordered a bottle of water, which did both of us wonders in terms of prolonging our ability to oblige the free drinks being bought for us. We made it to the restaurant, which conveniently had a butcher shop in the front end, or was that just the kitchen? Anyhow, John picked out a goat leg, an entire freaking goat leg and asked us how it looked. Ha, I have never seen such a good-looking piece of meat in Africa. An entire freaking goat leg. We then walked through the maize of tables and minibars before settling at the main bar that was close to the live musician who was filling our ears with upbeat Swahili dance songs.
At the bar, we continued drinking still with no food in our stomachs. And then out of nowhere this other woman comes up to us and sits down next to me (turns out it was John’s mistress). Not wanting to draw anymore attention to our little party he decided to have her sit next to me so that the attention wouldn’t be focused on him. Ok, I see where he was coming from, but its kind of hard not draw attention to yourself by bringing two white guys into an upscale late-night restaurant. Fortune favored me this night though. Simon and I had previously discussed the tactics of life. Given two options….take the funnier one. Well John’s mistress wanted to dance, but he didn’t want to so she grabbed my hand and he told me to go! Now imagine this scene: Kenyan nightclub with a central dance floor where there are currently two people dancing and then this 22 year old Mzungu walks out into the middle of the floor with a 40 somethin’ year old woman who weighs about two of him. Needless to say, eyes were fixated. Thank God for liquid courage.
Simon followed suit a few songs later upon my return to the bar for refueling purposes. After an hour or so of this, and still no food, we made our way up to the upper level bar where some of John’s other friends were waiting for us. We drank some more there and then danced more. I threw another bottle of water in there just for kicks as I didn’t really see it doing much at the time, but it was probably a life-saver. Around that time John found another woman for me to dance with, a seemingly drunk manager of the restaurant who had her eyes set on something that she definitely wasn’t going to get. Coincidentally, right before we started dancing I tried to get up to go to the bathroom before getting corralled to the dance floor by the manager. So all the while I was trying to find an exit clause…Enter Simon. He saw that I was somewhat distraught, which I must say doesn’t happen to often anymore, and came down to run interference. I made my escape and then returned to the floor looking to get him out of the same predicament. Then I spotted a few girls that we had been casually keeping tabs on. Bingo! I went up and started dancing with them and then spun around grabbed Simon away from another woman who had taken the place of the manager and threw him into the mix of girls. They happened to all be sisters and their older brother and I had a kind of dance off after I saw him trying to get some candids of the mzungu dancing with his sisters. It was straight out of a movie and it was great. The musician then decided to take a break so we returned to our lookout point with John at roughly the same time that the food arrived, midnight. Better late than never I always say. We downed the food and had room for the rest of the goat, but decided not to push our luck as it had been a great evening thus far. We continued drinking and talking and dancing until around 4am, yes we drank nonstop for 9 count it 9 hours. And it was all free. Boom Roasted.
We finally wrapped things up, but before we left I had to take the funnier of two options. I found a napkin, wrote down my name and number, coolly swagged my way across the dance floor and handed it to the girl I was dancing with amid the surprise laughter of all of her sisters, turned around and powerwalked my way to a laughing Simon and went to the car. We got in and then began thinking that we were getting into a car with some very big men who had been drinking for the better part of a day and were about to drive on a dangerous road under construction in the middle of the night. We strapped in, real tight. Luckily our host was of the same mindset and decided to take the back roads, which gave us some comfort aside from the fact that we did think at one point that we could possibly have been abducted just as easily as returned to the Amani Center.
Well we weren’t and we made it back safely. Then I decided to start skyping people, always a good time especially when it doesn’t cost anything (assist to Google). If you got a call from a number in California or a garbled message that cuts in and out…Pole (sorry ‘kind of’ in Kiswahili). I think I made it to bed around 5.
Studies
Welcome to Simon and Greg’s University of Proper Drinking.
Major courses include: introduction to drinking 101, drinking 102 (types of drinks), drinking 201 (perfecting the pour), drinking 202 (the binge & how to avoid it), drinking methods (research and discussion based course on marathoning), the history of alcohol, law 210 (drinking ages and legal restrictions), partying 301 (the house v. the bar), etiquette 301 (rules for drinking and partygoing), etiquette 305 A&B modules (the party foul), quantitative study analysis (sex ratios v. the size of the venue), senior research option 1 (production of hard alcohol), senior research option 2 (beer brewing), drinking 390 (field experience), drinking 391 (games & the physics of pong), drinking 399 (the home brew)
Major courses include: introduction to drinking 101, drinking 102 (types of drinks), drinking 201 (perfecting the pour), drinking 202 (the binge & how to avoid it), drinking methods (research and discussion based course on marathoning), the history of alcohol, law 210 (drinking ages and legal restrictions), partying 301 (the house v. the bar), etiquette 301 (rules for drinking and partygoing), etiquette 305 A&B modules (the party foul), quantitative study analysis (sex ratios v. the size of the venue), senior research option 1 (production of hard alcohol), senior research option 2 (beer brewing), drinking 390 (field experience), drinking 391 (games & the physics of pong), drinking 399 (the home brew)
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
DL
Opening day of baseball and I have 3 guys on the 15 day DL. What gives?
In other news I am halfway finished with my computer consolidation project, which includes compiling a master list of music and photographs from 3 separate hard drives (pre-Ireland crash, post-Ireland crash, and the one that got all funny on me in Togo). I have close to 5,250 songs/videos/podcasts spread out between the three folders and not one folder has a complete collection for one artist. I don’t know how it happened, but at least it explains why I can’t find ridiculously random songs when I want to hear them.
In other news I am halfway finished with my computer consolidation project, which includes compiling a master list of music and photographs from 3 separate hard drives (pre-Ireland crash, post-Ireland crash, and the one that got all funny on me in Togo). I have close to 5,250 songs/videos/podcasts spread out between the three folders and not one folder has a complete collection for one artist. I don’t know how it happened, but at least it explains why I can’t find ridiculously random songs when I want to hear them.
I woke up an American today.
I got shit done at the center despite an entire cultural influence working against me. It doesn’t matter that Simon and I later discussed the infeasibility of what it was that we wanted to do at the center, which was create an informal school so as to save on formal school fees for a majority of our children. Schools don’t carry the same connotation as they do in the states, money does not equal a quality education. The same could be argued for some schools in the US as well, but here you have to break the bank in order to get into a decent school. In any case I convinced the program director to let us do a preliminary study on the feasibility of the idea, which was a feat in and of itself. Sadly, I think, it was all for naught as it wouldn’t be cost effective unless we found at least 4 full time teachers willing to work for free :( I like my odds of getting attacked by a polar bear better.
Fatality
Seriously. I was told very abruptly and out of the blue at work the other day that one of our new kids was killed last week while Simon and I were away. He was hit by matatu while crossing a street. His family was paid 250 ksh, roughly $0.50 by the matatu driver before the bus left the scene.
Vincent, one of the workers had me pull up the photo catalog of the boys that we have been working on. I scrolled to his picture and Vin told me yeah, “Yeah, he’s dead.” Great way to start of the workday. And just a few minutes after that someone came in to get a copy of the photo for the police report or the newspaper, I didn’t quite catch who they were.
Vincent, one of the workers had me pull up the photo catalog of the boys that we have been working on. I scrolled to his picture and Vin told me yeah, “Yeah, he’s dead.” Great way to start of the workday. And just a few minutes after that someone came in to get a copy of the photo for the police report or the newspaper, I didn’t quite catch who they were.
PLAY BALL!
So as many of you should be aware, the baseball season is about to get under way. And that coincides pretty closely with the fantasy baseball season, iiinnntttteeerreeeesssstttiinnnggg. So yeah, some of my friends and I carried over the league from college and the draft was held just a few days ago at 6:30 pm…CST. I don’t think anyone was too open to the idea of holding at 6:30 GMT +3.
For the most part it wasn’t too terribly taxing as I took advantage of google’s phone and skype to call friends whom I haven’t talked to in a while. I also managed to watch a few basketball games and kept tabs on some hockey games that were going on at the same time. And in fact, I wasn’t really that tired when all was said and done at 5:30 am my time at which time Simon walked into my room joking that it was time for work! (He woke up to use the bathroom and saw my light on)
Somehow, I managed to make it to work around 11 after taking a brief nap. But man o man was I tired. And as the first true sign of aging, it carried over into Tuesday. It’s good to know that I can still hang with the best of ‘em, but the effects are hitting a little harder than they use to.
But it was worth it, I have a pitching lineup that rivals that of the Phillies!
For the most part it wasn’t too terribly taxing as I took advantage of google’s phone and skype to call friends whom I haven’t talked to in a while. I also managed to watch a few basketball games and kept tabs on some hockey games that were going on at the same time. And in fact, I wasn’t really that tired when all was said and done at 5:30 am my time at which time Simon walked into my room joking that it was time for work! (He woke up to use the bathroom and saw my light on)
Somehow, I managed to make it to work around 11 after taking a brief nap. But man o man was I tired. And as the first true sign of aging, it carried over into Tuesday. It’s good to know that I can still hang with the best of ‘em, but the effects are hitting a little harder than they use to.
But it was worth it, I have a pitching lineup that rivals that of the Phillies!
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Another word...
On that 7 continents in 7 years deal, I just realized that aside from a few people I don’t think that I have explicitly come out with that goal. But it is there and if all goes to plan I should finish it on the first time around. I hit up Europe back in ’08, took out the states in ’09-‘10, and conquered Africa in ’10-’11. That leaves Australia, South America, Asia, and Antarctica. There are expeditions from Argentina that sail to Antarctica so I would most likely have to tag team those two. That gives me one-year leeway assuming I can get Australia and Asia in separate years.
If anyone has any suggestions, I am all ears.
If anyone has any suggestions, I am all ears.
Ahhh shit.
I don’t like dwelling on things. Shit happens, I reflect and move on – quickly. Dwelling, means that I am missing the next opportunity to learn. I don’t like missing things, especially when I deem them important.
And now I am on the brink of a life altering decision. All fuzzy logic would point towards me going to China and accepting a teaching position at a university there. Everything else is telling me to hold out and wait for something better, which may not present itself in the very near future.
Continue my quest of 7 continents in 7 years in the most practical and affordable way possible – teaching, or go back get a job and fall in line with everyone else. Geeze, putting it that way makes the answer stand out even more. So why am I so torn over such a seemingly easy question? Family. Mine and MINE. The latter doesn’t exactly exist…yet. Enter “dwelling” stage left.
So here I am contemplating odds and opportunities that could or may not present themselves leaving me wondering about the potential hindsight of making either decision and trying to figure out wtf I am going to do.
Not that it really has any impact on the decision, but I most likely will have an offer from the French Teaching Assistantship to go and teach in the Marseille arondisement for next year as well. I’ll most likely be turning that one down, for the second time in as many years. It definitely pays to have options, but sometimes I just want all but one to go and take a swan dive off a cliff.
And now I am on the brink of a life altering decision. All fuzzy logic would point towards me going to China and accepting a teaching position at a university there. Everything else is telling me to hold out and wait for something better, which may not present itself in the very near future.
Continue my quest of 7 continents in 7 years in the most practical and affordable way possible – teaching, or go back get a job and fall in line with everyone else. Geeze, putting it that way makes the answer stand out even more. So why am I so torn over such a seemingly easy question? Family. Mine and MINE. The latter doesn’t exactly exist…yet. Enter “dwelling” stage left.
So here I am contemplating odds and opportunities that could or may not present themselves leaving me wondering about the potential hindsight of making either decision and trying to figure out wtf I am going to do.
Not that it really has any impact on the decision, but I most likely will have an offer from the French Teaching Assistantship to go and teach in the Marseille arondisement for next year as well. I’ll most likely be turning that one down, for the second time in as many years. It definitely pays to have options, but sometimes I just want all but one to go and take a swan dive off a cliff.
GOOOAAAALLLLL
Well I stayed up pretty late to watch the Richmond v. KU basketball game…mistake. I should have slept and then woken up to watch the two games after that. Oh well. Needless to say I didn’t get much sleep…before breakfast. Afterwards, I still didn’t get much sleep in between the random phone calls and knocks on the door, which were either answered by a very groggy Simon or Greg.
Most of that post-breakfast dealt with getting tickets to that night’s soccer match, but at the time both Simon and I were ready to say screw it let us sleep! I am glad we didn’t. After leaving later than one could in the US and expect to see any significant action, we took a few matatus and finally arrived at the stadium. It wasn’t anything too spectacular as it only holds 30,000 people and is nothing more than a really big, circular stair case inside. But what did stand out was the 6” barbed-wire fence that encircled the playing field. That was new. But considering the stadium is an built in a way that nothing can be destroyed or used against anyone else in a brawl, it seemed like it was probably necessary.
Before we even entered the stadium, we had to make our way through the hoards of people, most of whom were scalping, selling or stealing. Completely aware of my surroundings, I actually caught a pick-pocket going for my phone. I grabbed him and spun him around only to find out that there was a whole team of them and had it escalated, I could have lost a lot more than my phone. I let it slide, but I think that may have scared him enough.
But this match was everything you would expect in an African stadium – chaos. 95% of the people were Kenyan supporters who showed up hoping that they would see a miracle as the national team had only won one match in their past 19! And that is exactly what they got, a miracle. Well, the Kenyan side played a much better match than the supposedly superior Angolan side. So it wasn’t exactly a miracle, but the final goal came in the closing minutes of the game from a spectacular strike at the top of the 18. It was incredible and as fate would have it, Simon and I were sitting about 30” from the pitch at a good angle from the home side goal. All of the goals happened right in front of us so it was pretty cool.
As for that fence, we found out pretty quickly why it was there. Even the slightest bad call brought down a shower of empty and full pop bottles onto the field along with the typical jeering, whistles, drums, and vuvuzelas. And after both of the goals, people in the stands rushed the fence and quite a few made it over. There was a design flaw making it fairly easy to make it over unscathed. But the ones who made it over ran around the field taunting the other team and just being taken away by the moment. Security didn’t really seem to do much as the fans were all probably aware of the fact that the Gor Miah (one of the Kenyan Premier League teams) fans were tear gassed for bull-rushing the field after some controversial calls. Aside from that, there isn’t much that can compare to the crowd’s reaction after a goal. Even on a bigger stage, people are in control and rarely leave their seats. But when the seats don’t exist, per se, everyone melds together into a mob and it is insane. The only thing that I could compare it to would be like a very very very big version of Habiyé without the rusty spears and machetes and arrows and frogs. It was surreal.
After the game, the streets were flooded with people and shut down highways and roads on the way to the city centre to celebrate the victory.
Most of that post-breakfast dealt with getting tickets to that night’s soccer match, but at the time both Simon and I were ready to say screw it let us sleep! I am glad we didn’t. After leaving later than one could in the US and expect to see any significant action, we took a few matatus and finally arrived at the stadium. It wasn’t anything too spectacular as it only holds 30,000 people and is nothing more than a really big, circular stair case inside. But what did stand out was the 6” barbed-wire fence that encircled the playing field. That was new. But considering the stadium is an built in a way that nothing can be destroyed or used against anyone else in a brawl, it seemed like it was probably necessary.
Before we even entered the stadium, we had to make our way through the hoards of people, most of whom were scalping, selling or stealing. Completely aware of my surroundings, I actually caught a pick-pocket going for my phone. I grabbed him and spun him around only to find out that there was a whole team of them and had it escalated, I could have lost a lot more than my phone. I let it slide, but I think that may have scared him enough.
But this match was everything you would expect in an African stadium – chaos. 95% of the people were Kenyan supporters who showed up hoping that they would see a miracle as the national team had only won one match in their past 19! And that is exactly what they got, a miracle. Well, the Kenyan side played a much better match than the supposedly superior Angolan side. So it wasn’t exactly a miracle, but the final goal came in the closing minutes of the game from a spectacular strike at the top of the 18. It was incredible and as fate would have it, Simon and I were sitting about 30” from the pitch at a good angle from the home side goal. All of the goals happened right in front of us so it was pretty cool.
As for that fence, we found out pretty quickly why it was there. Even the slightest bad call brought down a shower of empty and full pop bottles onto the field along with the typical jeering, whistles, drums, and vuvuzelas. And after both of the goals, people in the stands rushed the fence and quite a few made it over. There was a design flaw making it fairly easy to make it over unscathed. But the ones who made it over ran around the field taunting the other team and just being taken away by the moment. Security didn’t really seem to do much as the fans were all probably aware of the fact that the Gor Miah (one of the Kenyan Premier League teams) fans were tear gassed for bull-rushing the field after some controversial calls. Aside from that, there isn’t much that can compare to the crowd’s reaction after a goal. Even on a bigger stage, people are in control and rarely leave their seats. But when the seats don’t exist, per se, everyone melds together into a mob and it is insane. The only thing that I could compare it to would be like a very very very big version of Habiyé without the rusty spears and machetes and arrows and frogs. It was surreal.
After the game, the streets were flooded with people and shut down highways and roads on the way to the city centre to celebrate the victory.
Nanyuki
Br. James approached Simon and I yesterday after work. He was aware that Simon wanted to visit a monastery close to Mt. Kenya and told us that we could go at any time. He had called one of the monks up there and found out that they had some rooms available for us. We decided to leave Wednesday.
It turns out the monastery is more of a retreat center than anything. And when we walked through the front gate it all seemed, familiar. Grassy fields surrounded by pine trees with actual wooden houses and some of them had porches! It was pretty cool and Simon and I immediately took advantage of the treeless, grassy field and pulled out our dinner plate errr frisbee. We play back at the Amani Center, but the field we use is spotted with randomly placed trees and vines and buildings. We got a bunch of looks as most people here have never seen one before, let alone two white people playing with one.
The first night was rather interesting as we had no idea what was going on save the little schedule posted on the back of our door. The monk who was told we were coming was away for the day and wasn’t going to get back until Thursday. So we have been walking around nonchalantly for the past day or so. We ran into the receptionist this morning and she found a monk to give us a tour of the Bible on the Ground, which is retreat-like path that goes through the story of the Bible in the context of African values. It was pretty interesting. There aren’t any pictures though, not allowed.
Also, we are not quite sure if this little retreat deal is free or not. The way it was presented to us sounded like it was going to be gratuit, but it seems expensive here with the quality of the food and some of the services. I guess we’ll find out at checkout. Also, we are above the mosquito line at the current elevation so there are no bugs! It is amazing and also the first time that I have not slept under a mosquito net in over 6 months.
It turns out the monastery is more of a retreat center than anything. And when we walked through the front gate it all seemed, familiar. Grassy fields surrounded by pine trees with actual wooden houses and some of them had porches! It was pretty cool and Simon and I immediately took advantage of the treeless, grassy field and pulled out our dinner plate errr frisbee. We play back at the Amani Center, but the field we use is spotted with randomly placed trees and vines and buildings. We got a bunch of looks as most people here have never seen one before, let alone two white people playing with one.
The first night was rather interesting as we had no idea what was going on save the little schedule posted on the back of our door. The monk who was told we were coming was away for the day and wasn’t going to get back until Thursday. So we have been walking around nonchalantly for the past day or so. We ran into the receptionist this morning and she found a monk to give us a tour of the Bible on the Ground, which is retreat-like path that goes through the story of the Bible in the context of African values. It was pretty interesting. There aren’t any pictures though, not allowed.
Also, we are not quite sure if this little retreat deal is free or not. The way it was presented to us sounded like it was going to be gratuit, but it seems expensive here with the quality of the food and some of the services. I guess we’ll find out at checkout. Also, we are above the mosquito line at the current elevation so there are no bugs! It is amazing and also the first time that I have not slept under a mosquito net in over 6 months.
Just another manic Monday
I showed up late to the bored meeting at the Center as is typical of Monday’s because I literally can’t stand the meetings. Making an actual decision at one of them is about as rare as seeing a Dodo bird. There is no official ‘boss’ at the center as the director wants everyone to be on the same level. That’s all fine and dandy Marx, but it only works on paper and you still need a leader!
The result is an all day meeting during which nothing gets accomplished. The fact that everyone is afraid to criticize and idea of someone else’s and that one critical comment can kill a discussion is evidence that more than just the budget needs to change. Enter Greg. If I am not busy loosing to the damn computer in a rigged scrabble game I am working with Simon to move the meeting on as quickly as possible. Timely comments can do wonders as does quick, analytical criticism. When something is being talked about that we can contribute to, we jump in at any chance just to prevent silence. Nothing really ever gets decided, but at least the discussion moves a little faster.
Also of note from the meeting, there were a few opportunities for people to volunteer for certain tasks that were all in everyone’s job description, Rose and Ann immediately looked away from the center of the table and started fiddling with things or doodling. Simon, two other volunteers and I looked at each other like “you’ve got to be kidding me.”
For people who like being efficient, we sure do despise Mondays.
The result is an all day meeting during which nothing gets accomplished. The fact that everyone is afraid to criticize and idea of someone else’s and that one critical comment can kill a discussion is evidence that more than just the budget needs to change. Enter Greg. If I am not busy loosing to the damn computer in a rigged scrabble game I am working with Simon to move the meeting on as quickly as possible. Timely comments can do wonders as does quick, analytical criticism. When something is being talked about that we can contribute to, we jump in at any chance just to prevent silence. Nothing really ever gets decided, but at least the discussion moves a little faster.
Also of note from the meeting, there were a few opportunities for people to volunteer for certain tasks that were all in everyone’s job description, Rose and Ann immediately looked away from the center of the table and started fiddling with things or doodling. Simon, two other volunteers and I looked at each other like “you’ve got to be kidding me.”
For people who like being efficient, we sure do despise Mondays.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Sundayzzzzzz
We slept in as has become the mantra of the Americans. Nothing wrong with it as we typically work harder than most and work outside of work. Upon waking up we spent a majority of the day writing the Safaricom proposal as well as filling out job applications.
That night I found out that ESPN 360 works on Simon’s computer and spent part of the night watching March Madness. It was blissful. I was also saddened by this as ESPN added a “BOSS” button to the menu allowing a viewer to switch instantly to a screenshot of Outlook and a half-written email and I will not be able to use it!
That night I found out that ESPN 360 works on Simon’s computer and spent part of the night watching March Madness. It was blissful. I was also saddened by this as ESPN added a “BOSS” button to the menu allowing a viewer to switch instantly to a screenshot of Outlook and a half-written email and I will not be able to use it!
Jokester
So there is this family staying at the Amani Center. None of the volunteers knows why they are there but they are. And they are annoying and obnoxious. Plus they hold the wazungu to a double standard when they think that we are being loud or annoying. Not good. Anywho, the other night Simon and I were sitting at a table eating our supper when out of the blue the dad decides to sit next to us. He doesn’t eat at the same table of the family and we think it is a tribal thing whereby “warriors” aren’t allowed to eat with women. So he sits down and the little girls start giggling. He doesn’t say a word. Simon tried to engage him in conversation and he gave a few one-word responses. Then he looked away and ate with a smirk on his face.
I wasn’t very pleased with this and neither was Simon. Had he conversed with us we wouldn’t have thought a thing about it. But he didn’t and hasn’t done so since. It should also be mentioned that this family treats the buffet as their personal food service and eats at will without any regard whatsoever to the fact that there are other people who need to eat. I think there have been 4 meals where there is nothing but Ugali (pate) and rice left for the volunteers.
In response to this we have decided to go and sit with him at supper, with the girls and talk amongst ourselves. We may even ask the girls about their opinions on women’s rights in Kenya!
I wasn’t very pleased with this and neither was Simon. Had he conversed with us we wouldn’t have thought a thing about it. But he didn’t and hasn’t done so since. It should also be mentioned that this family treats the buffet as their personal food service and eats at will without any regard whatsoever to the fact that there are other people who need to eat. I think there have been 4 meals where there is nothing but Ugali (pate) and rice left for the volunteers.
In response to this we have decided to go and sit with him at supper, with the girls and talk amongst ourselves. We may even ask the girls about their opinions on women’s rights in Kenya!
Day's go by...
The weekend was rather nice. It started raining on Friday and didn’t stop until Saturday morning. It was glorious. Once the rain stopped, Simon and I decided to head in to Nairobi as he had a package waiting for him at the post office. Little did we know that there were three post offices all located in different corners of the city. What’s worse is that after we finally located the right post office, we found out that “yes, we are open, but that department is only open during the week.” So much for that little excursion.
We spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around the streets and doing some small market window shopping. I was looking for vintage hats. The only one I found was a Hartford Whalers hat that had the names of two people stitched on the side. Had the names been different or not there I would have bought it in a heartbeat as probably very few of you know, that team doesn’t exist anymore.
Lunch was at an emptied out jazz club that doesn’t really play jazz music, but the food made up for it. I had a cheeseburger and fries for the first time in as long as I can remember. After lunch, we made our way back to the matatu station (matatus are 15 passenger vans that resemble the trottros of Ghana). On the way we stopped at the library of all places only to find out that their collection is as old as time and didn’t have anything that wasn’t outdated by about 20 years. It would be a great resource if one were writing a report contrasting styles of thought at various points in time…aka not for us. I was also greeted by a woman wearing an Ethiopian track once we got back on the road. I didn’t pay too much attention to it until I realized that there was an entire team of women wearing track suits. We think that they were a volleyball team hear for some tournament and we are both kicking ourselves for not turning around and running after them once we realized it.
We spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around the streets and doing some small market window shopping. I was looking for vintage hats. The only one I found was a Hartford Whalers hat that had the names of two people stitched on the side. Had the names been different or not there I would have bought it in a heartbeat as probably very few of you know, that team doesn’t exist anymore.
Lunch was at an emptied out jazz club that doesn’t really play jazz music, but the food made up for it. I had a cheeseburger and fries for the first time in as long as I can remember. After lunch, we made our way back to the matatu station (matatus are 15 passenger vans that resemble the trottros of Ghana). On the way we stopped at the library of all places only to find out that their collection is as old as time and didn’t have anything that wasn’t outdated by about 20 years. It would be a great resource if one were writing a report contrasting styles of thought at various points in time…aka not for us. I was also greeted by a woman wearing an Ethiopian track once we got back on the road. I didn’t pay too much attention to it until I realized that there was an entire team of women wearing track suits. We think that they were a volleyball team hear for some tournament and we are both kicking ourselves for not turning around and running after them once we realized it.
St. Patty's
It just wouldn’t be right if I didn’t do something big for what seems like an annual 21st birthday. Simon and I, decided to pay a visit to the Guinness factory in Nairobi to drown our sorrows of coming up short in the meeting earlier that day at Safaricom.
It took a while finding the darn place and once we did it was even tougher to get inside. I think we ended up parking illegally after blocking up delivery truck traffic for a few minutes. “It’s all good! Two guys in 3 piece suits, we own the place…” We went into the reception area to find out that tours had to be scheduled. After some deliberation we convinced the woman at the desk to make a call for us and get us the name of the person in charge of it all. She did, and sent us to the corporate office just down the road and told us to tell the security guards that we were there to see so-and-so and were cleared by so-and-so.
Likely story. We walked the half-mile to the corporate building, it wasn’t even Guinness, but a local beer called Tusker. The guards didn’t believe our story and made a call only to tell us that the result of the call was that we had to make the same call that they just made. We didn’t understand, but did it anyways. After about 20 minutes of standing at the guard house it started raining. Good thing we walked. Wait… We finally got a hold of the woman we needed only to find out that they have formally discontinued tours and we had no realistic chance of getting in. I joked that we should claim to be beer inspectors in 3-piece suits, but we let that one go.
Dan took the guards umbrella and ran, err walked back to the car and came to pick us up before heading back to the monastery. He left promptly afterwards and Simon and I crashed for a few hours. Upon waking up in time for supper we remembered that oh yeah, it’s St. Patty’s Day! Good thing we brewed a new batch of Pineapple Cider three days before. We ate and then partied it up with the Spaniards who brought along a bottle of Johnny Walker among other things. We drank the place dry.
All four of us took personal days from work the following morning and life was good.
It took a while finding the darn place and once we did it was even tougher to get inside. I think we ended up parking illegally after blocking up delivery truck traffic for a few minutes. “It’s all good! Two guys in 3 piece suits, we own the place…” We went into the reception area to find out that tours had to be scheduled. After some deliberation we convinced the woman at the desk to make a call for us and get us the name of the person in charge of it all. She did, and sent us to the corporate office just down the road and told us to tell the security guards that we were there to see so-and-so and were cleared by so-and-so.
Likely story. We walked the half-mile to the corporate building, it wasn’t even Guinness, but a local beer called Tusker. The guards didn’t believe our story and made a call only to tell us that the result of the call was that we had to make the same call that they just made. We didn’t understand, but did it anyways. After about 20 minutes of standing at the guard house it started raining. Good thing we walked. Wait… We finally got a hold of the woman we needed only to find out that they have formally discontinued tours and we had no realistic chance of getting in. I joked that we should claim to be beer inspectors in 3-piece suits, but we let that one go.
Dan took the guards umbrella and ran, err walked back to the car and came to pick us up before heading back to the monastery. He left promptly afterwards and Simon and I crashed for a few hours. Upon waking up in time for supper we remembered that oh yeah, it’s St. Patty’s Day! Good thing we brewed a new batch of Pineapple Cider three days before. We ate and then partied it up with the Spaniards who brought along a bottle of Johnny Walker among other things. We drank the place dry.
All four of us took personal days from work the following morning and life was good.
Slackin'
Nough said.
Also a group of Norwegians showed up the other day. They looked like snowmen on the first day and then pink snowmen on the second. Welcome to Africa. All kidding aside there was one cute girl in the bunch.
Also a group of Norwegians showed up the other day. They looked like snowmen on the first day and then pink snowmen on the second. Welcome to Africa. All kidding aside there was one cute girl in the bunch.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Safaricom
We didn’t get the money. Drat. Well at least not yet.
Simon and I got all decked out in our suits and headed off to Nairobi for the day with Dan (the Center’s director). We made it to Safaricom headquarters and walked in like we owned the place. I mean, we were two white guys wearing three-piece suits, what else were we supposed to think?
Our attempt to be punctual on African time failed miserably as we showed up early, even on Western standards. That wasn’t too bad though as it gave us a chance go over everything one last time. When the call finally came, we went up and found ourselves in a cubicle-filled room and were shown to a little lounge area where we set up our laptop and took one final deep breath. Greatings were exchanged and then we were off! Surprisingly we were given a full 45 minutes to give our presentation before being rather abruptly shut down.
The woman we were dealing with, the sponsorship chairman, was visibly shocked by how much money we were asking for. I think we blew her away with the presentation though, and it was a very big reason why we were given the courtesy of finishing. She said that there are tons of organizations that send requests for meetings or money as we did, but it seemed like we were a little more prepared than the others.
We joked around for a few minutes to keep a light mood and gave one final pitch, to which she gave us the good old corporate tag line “it’s not that we don’t care, per se, it’s just that helping you doesn’t help us.” To be expected from the largest company in Kenya I guess, but she did tell us that she might be able to help us balance our budget for the current year (roughly $10,000).
We will hear back on our written proposal for that by next week.
All in all, it was a pretty neat experience and something that I don’t think too many other people in our situation have had the opportunity to do. And we learned quite a bit in the process. That all comes second to the fact that we still may be able to gain a large sum of money, securing the program for another year.
Simon and I got all decked out in our suits and headed off to Nairobi for the day with Dan (the Center’s director). We made it to Safaricom headquarters and walked in like we owned the place. I mean, we were two white guys wearing three-piece suits, what else were we supposed to think?
Our attempt to be punctual on African time failed miserably as we showed up early, even on Western standards. That wasn’t too bad though as it gave us a chance go over everything one last time. When the call finally came, we went up and found ourselves in a cubicle-filled room and were shown to a little lounge area where we set up our laptop and took one final deep breath. Greatings were exchanged and then we were off! Surprisingly we were given a full 45 minutes to give our presentation before being rather abruptly shut down.
The woman we were dealing with, the sponsorship chairman, was visibly shocked by how much money we were asking for. I think we blew her away with the presentation though, and it was a very big reason why we were given the courtesy of finishing. She said that there are tons of organizations that send requests for meetings or money as we did, but it seemed like we were a little more prepared than the others.
We joked around for a few minutes to keep a light mood and gave one final pitch, to which she gave us the good old corporate tag line “it’s not that we don’t care, per se, it’s just that helping you doesn’t help us.” To be expected from the largest company in Kenya I guess, but she did tell us that she might be able to help us balance our budget for the current year (roughly $10,000).
We will hear back on our written proposal for that by next week.
All in all, it was a pretty neat experience and something that I don’t think too many other people in our situation have had the opportunity to do. And we learned quite a bit in the process. That all comes second to the fact that we still may be able to gain a large sum of money, securing the program for another year.
Manchester United
So aside from my time in Ireland I have never really been a diehard supporter of any football team. I mean, Liverpool was an obvious holdover. But outside of that I typically just root against the bigname hotshot teams or against specific players that I will never ever root for AKA Wayne Rooney and Manchester United. And apparently Kenya and most of Africa for that matter suffer from the same thing that swept the soccer crazies in the states in the 90s. Only the top teams in the Championship games get televised and so naturally everyone either picks and team and sticks with ‘em or blows with the prevailing breeze. The ManU “fans” who inhabit the pub down the street are the prevailing breeze type that care about the W and not the way it was won.
I can’t wait until Tuesday night when OM gets a shot at ManU and I’ll get a chance to lay down some French chants. Dirty team, dirty players and even dirtier fans. Think USC at the end of the Pete Carrol era, just dirty. Anywho, at least the atmosphere is a little livelier, sure beats everyone going for the same team.
I can’t wait until Tuesday night when OM gets a shot at ManU and I’ll get a chance to lay down some French chants. Dirty team, dirty players and even dirtier fans. Think USC at the end of the Pete Carrol era, just dirty. Anywho, at least the atmosphere is a little livelier, sure beats everyone going for the same team.
Impulse
I had to make up for 6+ months of not being able to make impulse buys. Simon and I bought tailored 3 piece suites for our upcoming presentation. At a whopping $40 it seamed like a pretty good idea, especially considering I have no presentable clothes here save a pair of hiking pants that are khaki. It’s all coming together now and hopefully with a strong final push we can lock this thing in and go on vacation for a month!
Welcome to the Bigtime
We got the meeting! The head of Safaricom’s Social Works and Funding Division (AKA BIG time corporate funding) finally answered one of our phone calls and Simon set it up for Thursday at noon. It’s not exactly the type of work that I thought I would be doing when I signed up for the children’s center, but fundraising would be supremely more beneficial than anything else I would be doing. Hopefully all goes well as we have spent the past two weeks updating our databases, fixing our budget (which had basic mathematical errors and somehow left out funding for 8 children), and working on pamphlets and a powerpoint presentation.
Well Simon and I have been doing the bulk of it and have probably come off as a little crass when interacting with some of the lazier staff members. And I say that earnestly as just yesterday (Friday) I witnessed Rose (27 year old post-grad student, weighs about 230) try to reach over the side of the couch to grab a pair of flip flops and fail. So, she yelled out the door to one of the children playing and had him come in and move them closer to her feet. You can only imagine what her work ethic is like for the actual work.
But in any case, we should be ready for the meeting and have even considered buying second hand suits for the occasion as my only clothes are the rugged outdoors type save my traditional Togolese cotton suits, which would most likely get me laughed out of the building.
Well Simon and I have been doing the bulk of it and have probably come off as a little crass when interacting with some of the lazier staff members. And I say that earnestly as just yesterday (Friday) I witnessed Rose (27 year old post-grad student, weighs about 230) try to reach over the side of the couch to grab a pair of flip flops and fail. So, she yelled out the door to one of the children playing and had him come in and move them closer to her feet. You can only imagine what her work ethic is like for the actual work.
But in any case, we should be ready for the meeting and have even considered buying second hand suits for the occasion as my only clothes are the rugged outdoors type save my traditional Togolese cotton suits, which would most likely get me laughed out of the building.
Strip and Go Simba
Simon and I tested out an African brewing recipe that involved pineapples. It worked, we had roughly 6 liters of Pineapple beer, which we later added Simba brand cane liquor (2 dollar 750ml bottle at 43%) to. You couldn’t taste the rubbing alcohol at all and so we dubbed it the African Strip and GO!
Even the Germans liked it, especially the two moms who were visiting at the time. We were quite surprised. Now its time to perfect it…
Even the Germans liked it, especially the two moms who were visiting at the time. We were quite surprised. Now its time to perfect it…
Damn Kids
Simon and I went to fill bottles for our trash fence at one of the local primary schools. I wanted to take some pictures of the kids working. But alas, when a kid in Africa sees a camera there is no such thing as candid working. I was engulfed in a sea of children. And in an attempt to salvage some photos, I continued to back up and keep snapping. Little did I know that the waste trench leading to the river from the school latrines was fast approaching and before I knew it I had fallen in. They immediately jumped back as I quickly pulled my foot out of the foot deep muck. I was jeered with chants of ‘sorry, sorry’ which were more reminiscent of mocks than apologies for allowing me to take the fall. Then there were the other kids who thought that it would be funny to poke the bear and make fun of the ‘stinky foot.’ That stopped pretty quickly after I picked up a perpetrator and dangled him over the trench for a minute or so.
That same afternoon some kids tried to use the bottles that we handed out as water bottles. Luckily they hadn’t thought things through and weren’t doing it sneakily. Already a little on edge I decided to punish them by making each kid I caught with water instead of trash drink the entire thing in front of me and then fill it with trash. I don’t think they realized the severity of the punishment until an hour later when they were sitting in class and weren’t allowed to leave for a bathroom break. That’ll teach ‘em.
That same afternoon some kids tried to use the bottles that we handed out as water bottles. Luckily they hadn’t thought things through and weren’t doing it sneakily. Already a little on edge I decided to punish them by making each kid I caught with water instead of trash drink the entire thing in front of me and then fill it with trash. I don’t think they realized the severity of the punishment until an hour later when they were sitting in class and weren’t allowed to leave for a bathroom break. That’ll teach ‘em.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Glue (*graphic)
I have seen some pretty difficult things to stomach in my life, but what I had to witness the other day gave me a sick feeling inside. We recruited about 20 children and confiscated 3 or 4 bottles of substances (glue, soap, and gasoline combinations). Before I get to the tough part, I will tell you that if any of the kids had looked into the office around 3p.m. they would have seen the entire staff sniffing the substances and passing them around. The thought struck Simon and I as we were figuring out what they were and then looking to find that the door was wide open. Oops. I don’t think anyone saw us, luckily.
Anywho, the new recruits are allowed to leave at will and upon leaving they are returned their substances. It baffled and infuriated me. I know the process of rehabilitation and weaning someone off of a substance if they are addicted must be considered. But being a psychology major and knowing the effects of huffing toxins on the brain, well I wasn’t a happy camper. Just to refresh you on the effects of sniffing glue (or a bunch of the smelly markers from 4th grade) the acute and chronic symptoms are:
Acute – impaired sensory ability (like being drunk), slurred speech, ataxia, dizziness, confusion, vertigo, heart palpitations, tachycardia, lung damage, & pneumonitis
Chronic – irreversible CNS, cerebral cortex atrophy, cerebellar degeneration,
peripheral neuropathy, optic neuropathy, blindness, toxic hepatitis, liver failure, & sever muscle weakness
I have seen most of the acute symptoms and the kids with them are wild, uncontrollable. And up until today (a few days after seeing the bottles given back) the acute symptoms were all that I had seen. That changed and it’s scary. A 35 year old mad who looked more like a sickly teenager came to the center. Apparently he had been there almost a decade before, but had left to return to the streets. Not only was he sickly, he had lost most of his dexterity in his hands and had a resting tremor throughout his body due to CNS deterioration. He couldn’t even grip my hand when I went to shake his upon meeting him. Speech is almost non-existent and is mostly a symphony of hysterical laughs and occasionally a slurred word or two. He won’t make it through the year as liver and lung failure are next on the list of potential symptoms.
Anywho, the new recruits are allowed to leave at will and upon leaving they are returned their substances. It baffled and infuriated me. I know the process of rehabilitation and weaning someone off of a substance if they are addicted must be considered. But being a psychology major and knowing the effects of huffing toxins on the brain, well I wasn’t a happy camper. Just to refresh you on the effects of sniffing glue (or a bunch of the smelly markers from 4th grade) the acute and chronic symptoms are:
Acute – impaired sensory ability (like being drunk), slurred speech, ataxia, dizziness, confusion, vertigo, heart palpitations, tachycardia, lung damage, & pneumonitis
Chronic – irreversible CNS, cerebral cortex atrophy, cerebellar degeneration,
peripheral neuropathy, optic neuropathy, blindness, toxic hepatitis, liver failure, & sever muscle weakness
I have seen most of the acute symptoms and the kids with them are wild, uncontrollable. And up until today (a few days after seeing the bottles given back) the acute symptoms were all that I had seen. That changed and it’s scary. A 35 year old mad who looked more like a sickly teenager came to the center. Apparently he had been there almost a decade before, but had left to return to the streets. Not only was he sickly, he had lost most of his dexterity in his hands and had a resting tremor throughout his body due to CNS deterioration. He couldn’t even grip my hand when I went to shake his upon meeting him. Speech is almost non-existent and is mostly a symphony of hysterical laughs and occasionally a slurred word or two. He won’t make it through the year as liver and lung failure are next on the list of potential symptoms.
Mathare
I took my first real trip to the deepest and darkest corners of the slum today. Dan, the program director, Bruce, a child at the center, and I went to see the shanty where he stays every night. It was built by a former street child and houses 15 adults and 14 children. Getting to it was a task in and of itself as I found myself crawling through trash piles, balancing along brick bridges that ran alongside and through the sewage that flows through the back alleys. At times I was ducking from the rugged tin roofs while balancing on stones and small walls while having to jump from one side of the little rivers to the other. I passed countless children answering nature’s call openly in the sewage, looking up with huge smiles and friendly greetings of “Mazungu!” (white person). I don’t think that they are used to seeing my kind so close to home. There were also the glue sniffers basking in the shade of the shanties and lounging around with the various bottles glued to their noses. I’ll get to this in another post.
We arrived out of the blue as I had no idea what to expect. I was told it was a makeshift center for street people. My conception was a horribly built brick building that was ready to fall down. I was greeted by a two-story tin box held together by inch and a half long nails and various lengths of wood. I was a little freaked out by the location and the fact that if something happened to me there…we just wont go there. But sitting in that sweatbox of a house, I wondered 1. Why am I here? and 2. why anyone would leave a mud brick house in the countryside to come live in the city? To the first, Bruce’s mom left her husband and then abandoned him in the streets and neither has yet to be found. To the second, the thought of a western lifestyle is more appealing than the alternative.
We arrived out of the blue as I had no idea what to expect. I was told it was a makeshift center for street people. My conception was a horribly built brick building that was ready to fall down. I was greeted by a two-story tin box held together by inch and a half long nails and various lengths of wood. I was a little freaked out by the location and the fact that if something happened to me there…we just wont go there. But sitting in that sweatbox of a house, I wondered 1. Why am I here? and 2. why anyone would leave a mud brick house in the countryside to come live in the city? To the first, Bruce’s mom left her husband and then abandoned him in the streets and neither has yet to be found. To the second, the thought of a western lifestyle is more appealing than the alternative.
Animal House
So our house got broken into by the monkeys. Fuckers. We had a nice little stockpile of mangoes and avocadoes in our defunct kitchen and while we were at the center, the little devils somehow opened our loosely latched window and stole everything. Well not everything…Simon and I are brewing Pineapple beer. Luckily, we left it in Simon’s room and it seemed to be undisturbed. But oh my golly would it be hilarious to walk into a house full of drunk monkeys.
Takataka
It’s a cool word in Swahili, but it means trash. I hear it a lot because I am helping Simon with a project that he had started prior to my arrival. We are currently building a fence out of trash around the little “shamba” or field that borders the center. The goal is to protect the produce that the center grows from the many passers-by who pick the almost ready produce a day or two before we are ready to pick them. So Simon decided to start building a fence out of plastic bottles filled with trash. Sounds simple enough, but trying to get 10, 11, & 12 year old children to fill a bottle with trash from around their school complexes isn’t the easiest thing in the world. But it is fun and once the kids buy into it, they enjoy themselves and start to loosen up around the two white dudes. Pictures of the gate, the only part that had been constructed prior to my arrival, can be found on the center’s website in the photo gallery.
Dan's Pub
Simon and I got invited to watch a Premier League match with the director of the center last week. It was sure to be an interesting night as all three of us have different team allegiances along with the ‘enemy of my enemy’ mentality. For that match, it ended up being Simon and I against Dan. Upon arriving, Dan welcomed us to his ‘pub,’ which is a one story 3 room house on the outskirts of town. It was a fun night and ended in Simon and my favor when Manchester United lost.
A few nights after this, we were taken out for a beer (at Dan’s Bar – had me confused the entire way there) after work by one of the other workers. Although, this time around, it wasn’t quite as enjoyable. You know that one guy who is the first one to point out that someone bought a round for everyone and then asks for volunteers to buy the next round? Yeah, he sat next to me. And in between his trying to get volunteers to pay for next week’s outing (if it happens…) he regailed me with the do’s and don’ts of sleeping with hookers in Nairobi. Neither Simon nor I could figure out how that conversation started. I mean, he is a really nice guy (Fred, a Kenyan volunteer at the center), but just a touch out of tune with the social do’s and don’ts.
In fact it was his generous asking of our host to buy us beef tips and broth after I mentioned to Simon that I was hungry and couldn’t wait for supper. We ended up waiting an extra hour and a half and missing supper to have lukewarm goat and broth. We weren’t very happy. And that compounded when we were told that one of their new found friends was going to accompany us to the other side of the street. Crossing the 4 lane highway on foot is no easy task, but the last time I checked I didn’t need some stranger to hold my hand. I have Simon for that But yeah, we walked the Western pace and fumed back at the complex. Luckily, one of the German volunteers saw that we weren’t at supper and snagged some for us. She also bought us a few beers and well you just don’t say no to that!
We ate and drank a little more before winding down the night. At that point, we were groggy and still a bit pissed off from earlier. Then Simon got a call from a friend who was collecting bottles for our fence saying that we needed to come pick them up for some reason or another (I later found out that this girl has a crush on Simon, great reason for me to go and carry a few bags of recycled bottles a half mile at midnight). She ended up coming back with us because her water is out; I should have made her prove it. On the way back we saw some guy either get mugged or get caught trying to stiff the bar that is just down the street. Either way we kept walking and tried to pretend that we weren’t there. Simon ended up having to walk her back home and I should have gone with him because there was animal in one of the bottle bags, which were being stored in our kitchen. I got spooked and drunkenly jumped at any noise outside and shriveled at the thought that a monkey had gotten into our house. I spent the next 20 minutes holding the kitchen door shut waiting for Simon to make it back. Even he was on edge from walking back with visions of the scuffle running through his head.
We slept until breakfast and then slept until noon.
A few nights after this, we were taken out for a beer (at Dan’s Bar – had me confused the entire way there) after work by one of the other workers. Although, this time around, it wasn’t quite as enjoyable. You know that one guy who is the first one to point out that someone bought a round for everyone and then asks for volunteers to buy the next round? Yeah, he sat next to me. And in between his trying to get volunteers to pay for next week’s outing (if it happens…) he regailed me with the do’s and don’ts of sleeping with hookers in Nairobi. Neither Simon nor I could figure out how that conversation started. I mean, he is a really nice guy (Fred, a Kenyan volunteer at the center), but just a touch out of tune with the social do’s and don’ts.
In fact it was his generous asking of our host to buy us beef tips and broth after I mentioned to Simon that I was hungry and couldn’t wait for supper. We ended up waiting an extra hour and a half and missing supper to have lukewarm goat and broth. We weren’t very happy. And that compounded when we were told that one of their new found friends was going to accompany us to the other side of the street. Crossing the 4 lane highway on foot is no easy task, but the last time I checked I didn’t need some stranger to hold my hand. I have Simon for that But yeah, we walked the Western pace and fumed back at the complex. Luckily, one of the German volunteers saw that we weren’t at supper and snagged some for us. She also bought us a few beers and well you just don’t say no to that!
We ate and drank a little more before winding down the night. At that point, we were groggy and still a bit pissed off from earlier. Then Simon got a call from a friend who was collecting bottles for our fence saying that we needed to come pick them up for some reason or another (I later found out that this girl has a crush on Simon, great reason for me to go and carry a few bags of recycled bottles a half mile at midnight). She ended up coming back with us because her water is out; I should have made her prove it. On the way back we saw some guy either get mugged or get caught trying to stiff the bar that is just down the street. Either way we kept walking and tried to pretend that we weren’t there. Simon ended up having to walk her back home and I should have gone with him because there was animal in one of the bottle bags, which were being stored in our kitchen. I got spooked and drunkenly jumped at any noise outside and shriveled at the thought that a monkey had gotten into our house. I spent the next 20 minutes holding the kitchen door shut waiting for Simon to make it back. Even he was on edge from walking back with visions of the scuffle running through his head.
We slept until breakfast and then slept until noon.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Western Pace
Simon tells me that my coming was a nice infusion of energy into the center. As a majority of the “work” is playing countless games of Sorry! and checkers with the kids, it is easy to fall into a lackadaisical mindset. Not that it is a bad thing by any means and it definitely provides a nice break from the traditional conception of work, even if it is done at an African pace.
But Simon and I have actually been cruising along. We have convinced the staff to update the database and correct some of the mistakes and anomalies found in the children’s files. And while they work on one computer, Simon and I work on the other creating a website for the center. Not that it wasn’t a legitimate program before, but in the digital age it is almost necessary. You can visit it at www.mathareproject.webs.com. It is still a work in progress, but should be finished and updated regularly after that point. Some of the more interesting updates that we are looking forward to include graphs of the data regarding our children, which the techno savvy Simon and Greg discovered through messing around in the database.
But Simon and I have actually been cruising along. We have convinced the staff to update the database and correct some of the mistakes and anomalies found in the children’s files. And while they work on one computer, Simon and I work on the other creating a website for the center. Not that it wasn’t a legitimate program before, but in the digital age it is almost necessary. You can visit it at www.mathareproject.webs.com. It is still a work in progress, but should be finished and updated regularly after that point. Some of the more interesting updates that we are looking forward to include graphs of the data regarding our children, which the techno savvy Simon and Greg discovered through messing around in the database.
Friday, March 4, 2011
I am gonna like it here
Simon and I live in a two bedroom “house” equivalent to the dingiest party houses in Saint Joseph, MN with the same accommodations…broken sink in the kitchen, broken water heater, poor water pressure in the shower, small rooms. It’s like heaven.
There are 4 German girls living on the other side of the guest compound along with a few workers and some nuns.
The schedule is pretty much the same as Togo. The only main difference is that we eat separately from the monks. But from the proximity of living quarters from my previous location, I am not complaining. The monks that I have met are very nice as are the local people who I have come into contact with.
Things are more expensive than in Togo and it all seems foreign to me. If I needed something there I could get it fairly painlessly, but here I don’t know anything and am relying on other people. Not that it is a bad thing, but I need to get use to it after Togo.
The weather is comparable to summer in Nebraska and is actually too cold for me at the moment. I found myself shivering in a sweater on Sunday night (it was about 70). A little over a year ago I was running through blizzards in a hula skirt. The days are a cool 80 and unless I am in the sunlight feels like autumn.
I am working at a center for street children in the second largest slum in Nairobi. The center takes children off of the streets and away from crime and drugs in order to rehabilitate them and reconnect them with their families. We also try to get the kids back into school with the ultimate goal being passing their exams and getting accepted into high school.
The food is pretty good. They have their own form of pate, but I choose not to eat it if there are other options.
And… there are monkeys living on the grounds and I was lucky enough to snag a few pictures of them climbing around on the drainage chains hung from the houses.
There are 4 German girls living on the other side of the guest compound along with a few workers and some nuns.
The schedule is pretty much the same as Togo. The only main difference is that we eat separately from the monks. But from the proximity of living quarters from my previous location, I am not complaining. The monks that I have met are very nice as are the local people who I have come into contact with.
Things are more expensive than in Togo and it all seems foreign to me. If I needed something there I could get it fairly painlessly, but here I don’t know anything and am relying on other people. Not that it is a bad thing, but I need to get use to it after Togo.
The weather is comparable to summer in Nebraska and is actually too cold for me at the moment. I found myself shivering in a sweater on Sunday night (it was about 70). A little over a year ago I was running through blizzards in a hula skirt. The days are a cool 80 and unless I am in the sunlight feels like autumn.
I am working at a center for street children in the second largest slum in Nairobi. The center takes children off of the streets and away from crime and drugs in order to rehabilitate them and reconnect them with their families. We also try to get the kids back into school with the ultimate goal being passing their exams and getting accepted into high school.
The food is pretty good. They have their own form of pate, but I choose not to eat it if there are other options.
And… there are monkeys living on the grounds and I was lucky enough to snag a few pictures of them climbing around on the drainage chains hung from the houses.
Welcome to Nairobi
About 5 minutes into the drive to the monastery we witnessed a street-fight in a poorly lit parking lot on the side of the road. Welcome to Nairobi.
Airports
I don’t know what it is about me, but the security guards just love to pester me. Before even going through the second screening zone, I got called back into a security room and told to open my checked bag (the one crammed with all of the random things that I knew I couldn’t carry on). Luckily alarm was dismissed by politeness and the setting up of a tripod, the likes of which none of them had seen before. Next in Addis Ababa, without leaving the airport, I had to go through security again. This time, the guard didn’t believe that my little duck tape pouch was only used to hold my credit and health cards. He examined it for over a minute. I was then instructed to drink from my unopened and recently bought bottle of whiskey. I had some leftover money in Togo and there wasn’t an exchange bureau. I laughed and said “you have to be kidding.” He watched me open it, take a pull, and swallow all the way down. Then upon arriving in Kenya, the immigration officer gave me a rough time because I didn’t have an address. The address was totally my fault in lack of preparation, but it never came up in any of my quick messages to Simon and I didn’t exactly have a ton of time to arrange everything electronically. But if he had let me walk another 50 ft. Simon and a monk were there waiting for me. In any case, I got through and will never see him again.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Present
So I am in my room, sweating my balls off trying to make everything fit in my pack and suitcase when low and behold Ezekiel shows up. He hands me a letter for Boniface and a bag. The bag had a Canadian tuxedo in it as a going away gift. Not that I didn’t like it, but shit now I have an all denim outfit that I have to pack.
Leaving
The goodbyes took longer than I like, but I played along anyways as I could see that all I have done here has had a fairly sizeable impact on the community. I took one final tour of the garden and did the goodbye thing before sprinting off to the school as the bus was being loaded. I made quick stops by the primary school and each of the grade school classes to say one final goodbye to everyone. The bishop, who was running on a different schedule than mine (he was just going to Kara for the morning), wasn’t shy about his impatience as he honked his horn for me to hurry up. I ran past the school one final time towards the road where I jumped in the bus and the 12 hour, 500 km journey started.
We left at 8 from Agbang. We made it to Kara at 8h45 and left at 9h15. We stopped for a few random pee breaks (there were two women in the travel party, evil included; and nothing against women, but in my experience you need to stop more than guys). We then stopped for an hour long “lunch” (at 3pm) about 150km from Lomé. Upon leaving the driver, Fr. Gregoire, killed a goat. The darn thing had the dear in the headlights look from about 100m away, no chance. We then played stop and let three people out to go bargain shopping for roadside rat and squirrel. Alongside of the highway, hunters sell bush rat and squirrel. I thought we should’ve just taken the goat that we accidentally killed. In any case, we stopped about 3 times for up to 20 minutes at a time to let people out and go haggle with the hunters. Being someone who doesn’t like not having traveled at least 400 miles in 6 hours of driving, I wasn’t a very happy camper being 8 hours in and not having even gotten 400 km.
After finally finding a few rats (of which I will not be eating mind you), we made it to the outskirts of the city where we were greeted by a traffic jam, Togo style. Two and occasionally 3 story trucks, vans, mammy-wagons, cars, and motos to plug the spaces between all going the same direction on a 2-way street. (yes that sentence has no verb, and I am leaving it) The problem as we found out after 2 hours of waiting, was a semi that was having mechanical trouble and parked on the wrong side of the road – into incoming traffic. Then when the one-way passing lane was being cleared, the Lomé bound traffic took advantage of the clearing and moved into the oncoming lane as there currently was no oncoming traffic. That didn’t work out too well when the massive semis leaving Lomé were finally allowed to pass. It was hot and humid. The AC doesn’t work so all of the windows were down, which was wonderful considering all of the toxic fumes streamlining it into my lungs from the mass of cars trapped on what I would consider a country backroad.
We finally got free and then started dropping people off all over the city. Ezekiel even surprised me by telling the evil woman, who he usually has to cater to at the bidding of the prior that we were not going to visit her friend’s house so that she could drop off a basket of tomatoes, but instead were going straight to her house and leaving it all there. She wasn’t happy, but she wasn’t driving either. Ezekiel then surprised me again by getting out of the bus and saying that he would see us later (I found out upon arriving at the house an hour later that he had come straight here because he was thirsty). We stopped at the woman’s house, where she scolded the guard for not greeting her loud enough. I felt sorry for him. She then invited the monks inside for a beer. Nope not tonight after this car ride. I was not shy about my feelings at this point reflecting on the fact that I was all but forced to take the bus down after having already purchased a courier ticket from the postal service line. Luckily, the driver listened to my plea and was out in less than a minute.
Alas, after 12 hours on the road we arrived at the house where I was greeted by all of my friends. I was also greeted by Ezekiel who then told me that he came straight back after getting out of the car. I joked about him not taking me with or even bother asking if anyone else wanted to go back. It came out as a joke, but I was dead serious underneath the mask. That faded as it didn’t have any impact on the present. I am here and only a day away from leaving Togo.
We left at 8 from Agbang. We made it to Kara at 8h45 and left at 9h15. We stopped for a few random pee breaks (there were two women in the travel party, evil included; and nothing against women, but in my experience you need to stop more than guys). We then stopped for an hour long “lunch” (at 3pm) about 150km from Lomé. Upon leaving the driver, Fr. Gregoire, killed a goat. The darn thing had the dear in the headlights look from about 100m away, no chance. We then played stop and let three people out to go bargain shopping for roadside rat and squirrel. Alongside of the highway, hunters sell bush rat and squirrel. I thought we should’ve just taken the goat that we accidentally killed. In any case, we stopped about 3 times for up to 20 minutes at a time to let people out and go haggle with the hunters. Being someone who doesn’t like not having traveled at least 400 miles in 6 hours of driving, I wasn’t a very happy camper being 8 hours in and not having even gotten 400 km.
After finally finding a few rats (of which I will not be eating mind you), we made it to the outskirts of the city where we were greeted by a traffic jam, Togo style. Two and occasionally 3 story trucks, vans, mammy-wagons, cars, and motos to plug the spaces between all going the same direction on a 2-way street. (yes that sentence has no verb, and I am leaving it) The problem as we found out after 2 hours of waiting, was a semi that was having mechanical trouble and parked on the wrong side of the road – into incoming traffic. Then when the one-way passing lane was being cleared, the Lomé bound traffic took advantage of the clearing and moved into the oncoming lane as there currently was no oncoming traffic. That didn’t work out too well when the massive semis leaving Lomé were finally allowed to pass. It was hot and humid. The AC doesn’t work so all of the windows were down, which was wonderful considering all of the toxic fumes streamlining it into my lungs from the mass of cars trapped on what I would consider a country backroad.
We finally got free and then started dropping people off all over the city. Ezekiel even surprised me by telling the evil woman, who he usually has to cater to at the bidding of the prior that we were not going to visit her friend’s house so that she could drop off a basket of tomatoes, but instead were going straight to her house and leaving it all there. She wasn’t happy, but she wasn’t driving either. Ezekiel then surprised me again by getting out of the bus and saying that he would see us later (I found out upon arriving at the house an hour later that he had come straight here because he was thirsty). We stopped at the woman’s house, where she scolded the guard for not greeting her loud enough. I felt sorry for him. She then invited the monks inside for a beer. Nope not tonight after this car ride. I was not shy about my feelings at this point reflecting on the fact that I was all but forced to take the bus down after having already purchased a courier ticket from the postal service line. Luckily, the driver listened to my plea and was out in less than a minute.
Alas, after 12 hours on the road we arrived at the house where I was greeted by all of my friends. I was also greeted by Ezekiel who then told me that he came straight back after getting out of the car. I joked about him not taking me with or even bother asking if anyone else wanted to go back. It came out as a joke, but I was dead serious underneath the mask. That faded as it didn’t have any impact on the present. I am here and only a day away from leaving Togo.
Can you say king?
Well that’s the kind of treatment I got from everyone on my final visit to Kara. Everyone I visited, was very gracious and saddened at my recent departure. I have never been one for gaudy goodbye’s, so it was somewhat difficult to engage everyone in the endless ‘say hi to your family when you return, good luck, safe travels, Godspeed, say hi to Boniface in Nairobi, enjoy your time, don’t forget us, and be safe’s.’ I received just about every one of those from every person. And that is the shortened/translated version. But I did. There were also a few small gift/trinket exchanges, which were heartwarming.
Back at Agbang (I drove the moto both ways and through the city and incidentally broke just about every traffic rule, what few there are. I only ended up going into oncoming traffic twice!) I was greeted at supper by just about every monk in the community and a nice little going away speech from the prior all before sitting down to a feast of a meal made specially for the occasion. Everyone was all smiles save the beady-eyed woman who had to stand and listen to it all before sitting down to eat it. Win? Yep! It was very satisfying after putting up with her for the past month considering that she is leaving on the same day as I am The hotelier wasn’t into the speech too much either, but that wasn’t completely unexpected.
On the subject of the woman, the day before she was singing rather loudly outside of my door. It started right after breakfast and inconsequently right when I started cleaning my room and packing up. I had had it, not today on my last day here, and not for four straight hours…again. I went up to Johanas and made my case to ask him to ask her to stop. He agreed with me and then confessed that he was sick of her too. In his words, “This is a monastery, not a hotel. She has no right being here or ordering us around like she does, save she’s in the graces of the prior.” We found the surprior and he said that he would talk to her in a few minutes when he came to give me a list of needed medications. Well that wasn’t for about a half an hour. But he came, and almost as soon as he entered the monastery he heard her bellowing and sprinted to her to ask her to stop. She ignored him and then asked “Why? Because of my voice?” and continued even louder. American Idol candidate anyone? She won for the time being, but the prior showed up soon thereafter with some guests. She shut right up, before he could see her. Talk about putting on a show for guy in charge. It was disgusting, but at least she stopped.
Moving on, after supper I was visited by an unlikely guest, Pelimliwa. He had come the night before and I wasn’t expecting him. I had previously stopped by his house upon my return only to find out that he was at his garden (really far away). It was a nice visit and an appropriate ‘last student’ to see.
Back at Agbang (I drove the moto both ways and through the city and incidentally broke just about every traffic rule, what few there are. I only ended up going into oncoming traffic twice!) I was greeted at supper by just about every monk in the community and a nice little going away speech from the prior all before sitting down to a feast of a meal made specially for the occasion. Everyone was all smiles save the beady-eyed woman who had to stand and listen to it all before sitting down to eat it. Win? Yep! It was very satisfying after putting up with her for the past month considering that she is leaving on the same day as I am The hotelier wasn’t into the speech too much either, but that wasn’t completely unexpected.
On the subject of the woman, the day before she was singing rather loudly outside of my door. It started right after breakfast and inconsequently right when I started cleaning my room and packing up. I had had it, not today on my last day here, and not for four straight hours…again. I went up to Johanas and made my case to ask him to ask her to stop. He agreed with me and then confessed that he was sick of her too. In his words, “This is a monastery, not a hotel. She has no right being here or ordering us around like she does, save she’s in the graces of the prior.” We found the surprior and he said that he would talk to her in a few minutes when he came to give me a list of needed medications. Well that wasn’t for about a half an hour. But he came, and almost as soon as he entered the monastery he heard her bellowing and sprinted to her to ask her to stop. She ignored him and then asked “Why? Because of my voice?” and continued even louder. American Idol candidate anyone? She won for the time being, but the prior showed up soon thereafter with some guests. She shut right up, before he could see her. Talk about putting on a show for guy in charge. It was disgusting, but at least she stopped.
Moving on, after supper I was visited by an unlikely guest, Pelimliwa. He had come the night before and I wasn’t expecting him. I had previously stopped by his house upon my return only to find out that he was at his garden (really far away). It was a nice visit and an appropriate ‘last student’ to see.
Round 2
Tonight, the night after the crash, I went out after dinner with Fr. Gregoire, the cook, her husband, her 3 year old son, and the father of Pelimliwa for one last Tchuc run. No, I did not take the moto. We walked and I got one last look at the Agbang market and the nightlife of tribal Africa. The company was good as was the Tcuch, although I could have done without a few encounters with some drunken villagers who seem to be under the impression that we are great friends. But no harm, no foul and at least I was able to say some more goodbyes even though they weren’t planned.
CRASH
So it wasn’t this huge 10 car pile-up or anything, but yes I crashed. Oops. At the time I was pretty surprised that I made it as far as I did without crashing considering the conditions…night, bad light, old motorcycle, sand, 2 people riding, and a belly full of chicken and beer. Adding that all up it makes me think that my decision making at the time was a little off! Before I go further, I should probably clarify that by crash I mean swirving a little in the sand, coming almost to a complete stop, and tipping over.
I’ll just go back to the beginning. Briefly, a former monk of Agbang invited Blaise and I to visit his house and his garden (5 times bigger than ours, but he has land next to the river). I made some time for it thinking it wouldn’t take long and I could profit from it at the same time by saying goodbye. As it turns out, he killed his biggest rooster to say thank you to me for visiting and also to keep me in good spirits hoping that I might be able to help him out one day. Later that night, Blaise and I snuck out during prayer to go meet him at a bar owned by Blaise’s parents in Agbebou. Thinking I could get away with drinking a coke, I toke the bike.
We got there just after nightfall and were greeted with a bowl full of a very deliciously prepared coq. Trying to be courteous I offered to buy some Tchuc, but the waitress said she couldn’t find any and brought us back a flask of wine (which is the equivalent of grape flavored vodka). Now that I think about it, that’s what did me in. Afterwards, the rounds of beer started coming in along with a phone call to the monk in charge of supper saying that I was visiting with friends and wouldn’t make it. Upon the second 1.5 liter bottle, I politely declined and was rewarded with only HAVING to drink half of it. Afterwards, I was offered a free bottle by the owner of the bar and had to defer the request to the following day (which never actually happened ). That was my trying to be responsible me. I knew my limits, but that darned vodka, ugh slipped my mind.
Blaise and I hit the gravel road cruising through the villagers who had yet to disperse from the evening market. En route, I felt pretty comfortable up until I heard Blaise start laughing his head off after telling me that I missed the turn. No worries, we went up to the Agbang market and hung a very w-i-d-e left. I was a little generous on the gas. Everything was going fine up until the school, at which point I became slightly worried having remembered the sand pits that litter and at points overtake the path. I made my way through the first few to realize that I ended up on the wrong end of a divide and was going to nail the big one instead of skim along side of it. Not wanting to overcorrect after the swerving started, I tried to keep ‘er straight, which worked! For the first half. Once I straightened out I celebrated a little too soon as almost instantly I swerved again and crashed.
Blaise was laughing the entire way down. So was I. I want to think that it was the beer that prevented me from feeling anything, but I am certain that part of it was the luck of landing directly in the middle of the sand pit. I escaped with nothing more than a 2 inch 2nd degree burn on my right ankle from landing on the exhaust pipe. Blaise was unharmed and still laughing as I told him that it was the beer driving and not I. We rolled into the monastery just after meal time and parted ways like nothing had happened. I returned to my room to find a timely received care package. What a night!
I’ll just go back to the beginning. Briefly, a former monk of Agbang invited Blaise and I to visit his house and his garden (5 times bigger than ours, but he has land next to the river). I made some time for it thinking it wouldn’t take long and I could profit from it at the same time by saying goodbye. As it turns out, he killed his biggest rooster to say thank you to me for visiting and also to keep me in good spirits hoping that I might be able to help him out one day. Later that night, Blaise and I snuck out during prayer to go meet him at a bar owned by Blaise’s parents in Agbebou. Thinking I could get away with drinking a coke, I toke the bike.
We got there just after nightfall and were greeted with a bowl full of a very deliciously prepared coq. Trying to be courteous I offered to buy some Tchuc, but the waitress said she couldn’t find any and brought us back a flask of wine (which is the equivalent of grape flavored vodka). Now that I think about it, that’s what did me in. Afterwards, the rounds of beer started coming in along with a phone call to the monk in charge of supper saying that I was visiting with friends and wouldn’t make it. Upon the second 1.5 liter bottle, I politely declined and was rewarded with only HAVING to drink half of it. Afterwards, I was offered a free bottle by the owner of the bar and had to defer the request to the following day (which never actually happened ). That was my trying to be responsible me. I knew my limits, but that darned vodka, ugh slipped my mind.
Blaise and I hit the gravel road cruising through the villagers who had yet to disperse from the evening market. En route, I felt pretty comfortable up until I heard Blaise start laughing his head off after telling me that I missed the turn. No worries, we went up to the Agbang market and hung a very w-i-d-e left. I was a little generous on the gas. Everything was going fine up until the school, at which point I became slightly worried having remembered the sand pits that litter and at points overtake the path. I made my way through the first few to realize that I ended up on the wrong end of a divide and was going to nail the big one instead of skim along side of it. Not wanting to overcorrect after the swerving started, I tried to keep ‘er straight, which worked! For the first half. Once I straightened out I celebrated a little too soon as almost instantly I swerved again and crashed.
Blaise was laughing the entire way down. So was I. I want to think that it was the beer that prevented me from feeling anything, but I am certain that part of it was the luck of landing directly in the middle of the sand pit. I escaped with nothing more than a 2 inch 2nd degree burn on my right ankle from landing on the exhaust pipe. Blaise was unharmed and still laughing as I told him that it was the beer driving and not I. We rolled into the monastery just after meal time and parted ways like nothing had happened. I returned to my room to find a timely received care package. What a night!
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Kenya!
By the time you see this, I will be boarding a plane in Lomé bound for Ethiopia and eventually Nairobi! If I haven't already had the chance to do so, there are a few more blog updates from my last week in Agbang that will be up soon.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Yay Bo!
The Huskers have a new OC and from everything I have read and heard, he’s the right man for the job! Wohoo! Now all we have to do is find a way for Rex Burkhead to line up at all 11 positions on offense at the same time.
In other news, I haven’t seen a cute (white) girl in over 6 months. Better luck in Nairobi?
In other news, I haven’t seen a cute (white) girl in over 6 months. Better luck in Nairobi?
Yay Bo!
The Huskers have a new OC and from everything I have read and heard, he’s the right man for the job! Wohoo! Now all we have to do is find a way for Rex Burkhead to line up at all 11 positions on offense at the same time.
In other news, I haven’t seen a cute (white) girl in over 6 months. Better luck in Nairobi?
In other news, I haven’t seen a cute (white) girl in over 6 months. Better luck in Nairobi?
New Pictures
I uploaded some new pictures of the garden. The previous picture of the garden is a little outdated now. It shows the original garden, the back 60ft or so, and the first expansion, the front 60 ft including the house of flying green beans. The new pictures include a before (rocks and brush) and after (rock wall) picture of the wall that I built a few Sundays ago along the South side of the garden. There are also a few different angles of a wall that went up this Saturday encompassing nearly the entire front (West) entrance of the garden, which is made out of masonry bricks that were dug up from different areas inside of the now walled in area. There is a picture with some rows of black ash from recently burned brush. That along with a 10 sq ft. area to the right of it is the second phase of expansion for the garden. The barren area to the left of that, which is pictured by itself from the East side of the garden, is the fourth expansion phase, which will be used by Fr. Innocent to grow ginger for the fabrication of the Elixir of Agbang (Vodka steeped in ginger and medicinal roots).
Blaise is picture watering the garden and Innocent is pictured washing his moto. There is also a picture of an African carrot with my hand to show the enormity of the leaves.
Blaise is picture watering the garden and Innocent is pictured washing his moto. There is also a picture of an African carrot with my hand to show the enormity of the leaves.
I should eat a bird
This whole having worms thing has lost its appeal, if it ever had any. I’m ready to be rid of them. I think this round came with a nice piece of goat meat in Benin. But honestly, the way food is cooked, eaten, and stored here I could have picked them up in one of a billion different ways.
I should eat a bird
This whole having worms thing has lost its appeal, if it ever had any. I’m ready to be rid of them. I think this round came with a nice piece of goat meat in Benin. But honestly, the way food is cooked, eaten, and stored here I could have picked them up in one of a billion different ways.
Strange
So I find myself, near the end of my six months in Togo, not shying away from the dangerous things that I probably shouldn’t be messing with. Generally, I would assume that, as the mindset changes regarding the time remaining in a situation, that risk taking would be greater towards the beginning or earlier half of the middle of an experience as opposed to near the end when it is perceived to be the time when the most can be lost. Well, the same amount can be lost throughout, the only difference is that you think there is more to lose at the end and or you are slightly more conscious of it.
This mini revelation comes after realizing that just under 6 months ago I took one of the scariest motorcycle rides of my life from Kara to Agbang at night. Now, I am driving that motorcycle (mine you that was the 4th time ever being behind the handlebars). In the garden I have uncovered snakes in digging up bricks and rocks. I stumbled upon a king scorpion moving dead tree stumps. And in a strange series of events I found myself creeping closer (the photo was worth the risk) to a pack of African honeybees using the gardens water barrel as a personal drinking fountain.
And it isn’t like this is a new occurrence for me. Four years ago this April or May (I forget the exact date), I found myself looking for an adventure along the goat paths that were at times inches away from 500+ ft sheer drops off of the Cliffs of Moore in Galway. And unlike my mom, I didn’t have the satisfaction of knowing that “I am reading this, he is still alive.”
This mini revelation comes after realizing that just under 6 months ago I took one of the scariest motorcycle rides of my life from Kara to Agbang at night. Now, I am driving that motorcycle (mine you that was the 4th time ever being behind the handlebars). In the garden I have uncovered snakes in digging up bricks and rocks. I stumbled upon a king scorpion moving dead tree stumps. And in a strange series of events I found myself creeping closer (the photo was worth the risk) to a pack of African honeybees using the gardens water barrel as a personal drinking fountain.
And it isn’t like this is a new occurrence for me. Four years ago this April or May (I forget the exact date), I found myself looking for an adventure along the goat paths that were at times inches away from 500+ ft sheer drops off of the Cliffs of Moore in Galway. And unlike my mom, I didn’t have the satisfaction of knowing that “I am reading this, he is still alive.”
Strange
So I find myself, near the end of my six months in Togo, not shying away from the dangerous things that I probably shouldn’t be messing with. Generally, I would assume that, as the mindset changes regarding the time remaining in a situation, that risk taking would be greater towards the beginning or earlier half of the middle of an experience as opposed to near the end when it is perceived to be the time when the most can be lost. Well, the same amount can be lost throughout, the only difference is that you think there is more to lose at the end and or you are slightly more conscious of it.
This mini revelation comes after realizing that just under 6 months ago I took one of the scariest motorcycle rides of my life from Kara to Agbang at night. Now, I am driving that motorcycle (mine you that was the 4th time ever being behind the handlebars). In the garden I have uncovered snakes in digging up bricks and rocks. I stumbled upon a king scorpion moving dead tree stumps. And in a strange series of events I found myself creeping closer (the photo was worth the risk) to a pack of African honeybees using the gardens water barrel as a personal drinking fountain.
And it isn’t like this is a new occurrence for me. Four years ago this April or May (I forget the exact date), I found myself looking for an adventure along the goat paths that were at times inches away from 500+ ft sheer drops off of the Cliffs of Moore in Galway. And unlike my mom, I didn’t have the satisfaction of knowing that “I am reading this, he is still alive.”
This mini revelation comes after realizing that just under 6 months ago I took one of the scariest motorcycle rides of my life from Kara to Agbang at night. Now, I am driving that motorcycle (mine you that was the 4th time ever being behind the handlebars). In the garden I have uncovered snakes in digging up bricks and rocks. I stumbled upon a king scorpion moving dead tree stumps. And in a strange series of events I found myself creeping closer (the photo was worth the risk) to a pack of African honeybees using the gardens water barrel as a personal drinking fountain.
And it isn’t like this is a new occurrence for me. Four years ago this April or May (I forget the exact date), I found myself looking for an adventure along the goat paths that were at times inches away from 500+ ft sheer drops off of the Cliffs of Moore in Galway. And unlike my mom, I didn’t have the satisfaction of knowing that “I am reading this, he is still alive.”
Wild Dogs
In watching a Planet Earth episode the other night I came to a startling realization. The African Wild dogs, an endangered species, inhabit the Pendjari Park that I visited a week ago. Not that I saw them, but I did see picture of the dogs painted on buildings with signs saying that they were dangerous but not to kill them. Originally I mistook them for strange picture of hyenas although something always looked off about them (their ears). It doesn’t change anything, but its kind of cool to say that I was within striking distance of one of the most endangered animals in the world.
Wild Dogs
In watching a Planet Earth episode the other night I came to a startling realization. The African Wild dogs, an endangered species, inhabit the Pendjari Park that I visited a week ago. Not that I saw them, but I did see picture of the dogs painted on buildings with signs saying that they were dangerous but not to kill them. Originally I mistook them for strange picture of hyenas although something always looked off about them (their ears). It doesn’t change anything, but its kind of cool to say that I was within striking distance of one of the most endangered animals in the world.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
The Constant Gardener
Fr. Blaise stepped up his game today. Everyone did. I decided not to make a run to Kara as I had originally planned due to an unfortunate case of worms and the unavailability of the friend I was going to visit. Also, I had an unexpected surprise as a few students showed up to work in the garden. I had asked them the night before if they could come and figured it was a long shot, but it turned out being worth it.
We successfully finished off over half of the garden project by clearing brush and burning it in the furrowed rows, digging up over 100 mason bricks and creating a wall around the entrance of the garden (the part that is visible from the entrance to the monastery), created new paths, and cleared rocks out of a portion of ground that was previously unusable for planting. In finishing up today, I came to two realizations. The first, the garden will have more than tripled in size since my arrival and has even more room for expansion if it is needed. The second, I should have taught the 4th grade class. Not that Pelimliwa and I aren’t good friends, but I think that the potential was there to have about 5 or 6 Pelimliwa’s had I been in the other class. There are 11 more students, most of them live within a 4 km distance as opposed to one of mine, and they are more outgoing. Not that there shouldn’t be a degree of professionalism when interacting with students, but my more playful and sometimes childlike demeanor meshes very well with most of them. I visited a few of their houses this afternoon to thank them for coming to help me this morning and in doing so I ran into a few more and the little outing turned into a school reunion! Not that I have any regrets about how things turned out, but things could have been different in a very good way.
As it stands, I will get a nice day of rest and recovery tomorrow before packing up and putting some finishing touches on the garden Monday and Tuesday before heading to Kara on Wednesday, Lomé on Thursday, and Nairobi on Saturday.
We successfully finished off over half of the garden project by clearing brush and burning it in the furrowed rows, digging up over 100 mason bricks and creating a wall around the entrance of the garden (the part that is visible from the entrance to the monastery), created new paths, and cleared rocks out of a portion of ground that was previously unusable for planting. In finishing up today, I came to two realizations. The first, the garden will have more than tripled in size since my arrival and has even more room for expansion if it is needed. The second, I should have taught the 4th grade class. Not that Pelimliwa and I aren’t good friends, but I think that the potential was there to have about 5 or 6 Pelimliwa’s had I been in the other class. There are 11 more students, most of them live within a 4 km distance as opposed to one of mine, and they are more outgoing. Not that there shouldn’t be a degree of professionalism when interacting with students, but my more playful and sometimes childlike demeanor meshes very well with most of them. I visited a few of their houses this afternoon to thank them for coming to help me this morning and in doing so I ran into a few more and the little outing turned into a school reunion! Not that I have any regrets about how things turned out, but things could have been different in a very good way.
As it stands, I will get a nice day of rest and recovery tomorrow before packing up and putting some finishing touches on the garden Monday and Tuesday before heading to Kara on Wednesday, Lomé on Thursday, and Nairobi on Saturday.
Consumerism
I recently read an article that talked about the major problems facing humanity. It wasn’t a new concept to tackle by any means. And that is me saying this with my limited resources (few magazines and random newspaper clippings) in the heart of Africa. But something stood out about how we have these “problems.” Over-population scares, consumerism, and all of the environmental issues in between seem to be the popular talking points. There seems to be a relative consensus on the population issue and honestly it’s not going to be as bad as people think, says the suburbian raised white kid from a farm state where you can go 30+ miles without seeing more than a small homestead. And this ‘scare’ is partially coming about due to the nature of world-wide consumerism, which in effect affects the environment. The ‘doomsday trifecta’ of sorts.
And to that almost everyone (that I have read) says that ‘we are making strides’ on the environmental change and the consumerism issue by finding renewable sources of energy and biofuels. Now I am no genius or anything, but finding new ways to consume the same amount doesn’t exactly do much other than create a few jobs, take away others, and start us on a path towards another ‘consumer crisis’ when our newfound source of energy falls into a state of peril or isn’t the ‘answer’. The experts have it right, consumerism is the problem. But they all go awry with the solutions. That is because their solutions aren’t more than temporary fixes, duct tape and a paper clip if you will. And so far as we consume the way we do, the problem will constantly be masked by gray and silver fixes until…Basically all I am trying to say is that if the problem is consumerism then the solution has to include the idea of reducing it, not simply finding a way to allow it to continue at its current levels or even increase at the expense of a newer or more bountiful natural resource.
And to that almost everyone (that I have read) says that ‘we are making strides’ on the environmental change and the consumerism issue by finding renewable sources of energy and biofuels. Now I am no genius or anything, but finding new ways to consume the same amount doesn’t exactly do much other than create a few jobs, take away others, and start us on a path towards another ‘consumer crisis’ when our newfound source of energy falls into a state of peril or isn’t the ‘answer’. The experts have it right, consumerism is the problem. But they all go awry with the solutions. That is because their solutions aren’t more than temporary fixes, duct tape and a paper clip if you will. And so far as we consume the way we do, the problem will constantly be masked by gray and silver fixes until…Basically all I am trying to say is that if the problem is consumerism then the solution has to include the idea of reducing it, not simply finding a way to allow it to continue at its current levels or even increase at the expense of a newer or more bountiful natural resource.
Computer
I found a hidden treasure trove of Planet Earth episodes in a buried file on my computer. (there is no connection between piracy and ‘buried’, that just happened to be the first word to cross my mind) At last a chance to work on my power multitasking skills – watching a movie, listening to music, writing a blog post, and playing the computer in Othello, and getting it all done in less than 2 hours! Yup, I got game.
The real reason for this post is to ask anyone if they know of any computer donating programs or have computers that can be donated/a way of getting them to Africa. It’s a long shot I know, but I told the librarian here that I would ask around and see if anything came up. The expectations aren’t too high on this one, but that’s when you seem to catch the biggest fish right? (any ideas can be sent to me at gsullivan1518(at)gmail.com, yes I am computer illiterate on a French setting of an English keyboard and cant find the damn symbol.
The real reason for this post is to ask anyone if they know of any computer donating programs or have computers that can be donated/a way of getting them to Africa. It’s a long shot I know, but I told the librarian here that I would ask around and see if anything came up. The expectations aren’t too high on this one, but that’s when you seem to catch the biggest fish right? (any ideas can be sent to me at gsullivan1518(at)gmail.com, yes I am computer illiterate on a French setting of an English keyboard and cant find the damn symbol.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Mosquitoes
They’re back! The little buggers have returned and are making up for lost time. Gone are the days where I could go to the bathroom and not have to worry about leaving with four or five bites all over my back and backside. At least I only have to deal with them for another week! Then I get to move to Kenya, which is home to a spider that dines solely on mosquitoes and as strange as it sounds is attracted to sweaty socks.
Lame Duck
Let’s just say that the BVC is lucky that I have a decent set of moral values and have, despite many opportunities to do so, not exploited my position as a lame duck volunteer. As I am leaving in just over a week and could wreak havoc on the monastery budget and monks, I have decided not to. That shouldn’t come as a surprise considering that I have, for the most part, politely refused most offerings and have insisted on paying for just about every courtesy afforded to me. But this is an interesting position that I have never fully experienced before and I can see where it would be easy to fall into a more lackadaisical mindset about what one should do during this period of time.
One thing's for sure...
I am going to be eating well for the next few days. A care package just came! I now have about a week to eat what previously could’ve lasted me close to a month had I eaten sparingly. Who knows, maybe my students might benefit from my good fortune…we’ll see how they behave for the remaining classes.
The Difference
I read an article on American ideology today. It hit some key points, but one thing that really struck out was the fact (anecdotal of course) that we have been brought up to ask “why?” And no I am not referring to the annoying yet amusing age of childhood when it seems like that is the only word that the kid knows. It is not that we have some of the best universities and minds in the world teaching the next wave of students. No. It is that those students question the teacher, the ideas, and the support of those ideas.
Maybe it was a little bit of cultural indifference on my part, but I just now noticed the rather big difference here. It occurred to me during a friendly football match of all places. I have never agreed with all of the rules that are used here as ‘hand balls’ are thrown around as liberally as penalty flags on the Huskers this past season. The hand ball is there for a reason, yes, but you have to play the advantage. It doesn’t always have to be a free kick. In any case I was on an outskilled team of primary school kids up against some of my students and those from the grade above. Obvious mismatch, but we scored the first goal. The “older” kids then took the ball down and threw up a lazy cross towards the goal that was going out of bounds. The pint-sized preschooler who was the goalie (a single cement block is the goal), ended up slipping and throwing his hand up to catch his balance. The ball hit his hand and the older kids cheered for a penalty kick (aka goal) as the ‘gaurdian’ isn’t allowed to use his hands. Go figure, neither is anyone else. So if the goalie can’t use his hands just like the rest of us then why should a stray touching (even occasionally to deflect the ball from hitting his face) count as anything more than a free kick like every other hand ball?
Not being the slight bit worried about my super-competitiveness I got all riled up about it. They were frustrated at losing to a smaller, slower; and less skilled group of kids and tried to take advantage of an obvious flaw in the system to even the score. I explained my argument, after letting the penalty stand, and got a response that went something like, ‘those are the rules that I have been told.’ To that I responded along the lines of, “but if the rule doesn’t make sense then why do you follow it?” Maybe I am a rare breed who likes to understand why a rule is there, sometimes to learn if or how I can break it, or if I agree with it to let it stand. There is no concern for that here. Whether it be the discipline that the culture drives the students towards or a lack of wanting to know, I can’t completely say. But what I do know is that I can definitely see the cultural difference not that I am looking for it.
Maybe it was a little bit of cultural indifference on my part, but I just now noticed the rather big difference here. It occurred to me during a friendly football match of all places. I have never agreed with all of the rules that are used here as ‘hand balls’ are thrown around as liberally as penalty flags on the Huskers this past season. The hand ball is there for a reason, yes, but you have to play the advantage. It doesn’t always have to be a free kick. In any case I was on an outskilled team of primary school kids up against some of my students and those from the grade above. Obvious mismatch, but we scored the first goal. The “older” kids then took the ball down and threw up a lazy cross towards the goal that was going out of bounds. The pint-sized preschooler who was the goalie (a single cement block is the goal), ended up slipping and throwing his hand up to catch his balance. The ball hit his hand and the older kids cheered for a penalty kick (aka goal) as the ‘gaurdian’ isn’t allowed to use his hands. Go figure, neither is anyone else. So if the goalie can’t use his hands just like the rest of us then why should a stray touching (even occasionally to deflect the ball from hitting his face) count as anything more than a free kick like every other hand ball?
Not being the slight bit worried about my super-competitiveness I got all riled up about it. They were frustrated at losing to a smaller, slower; and less skilled group of kids and tried to take advantage of an obvious flaw in the system to even the score. I explained my argument, after letting the penalty stand, and got a response that went something like, ‘those are the rules that I have been told.’ To that I responded along the lines of, “but if the rule doesn’t make sense then why do you follow it?” Maybe I am a rare breed who likes to understand why a rule is there, sometimes to learn if or how I can break it, or if I agree with it to let it stand. There is no concern for that here. Whether it be the discipline that the culture drives the students towards or a lack of wanting to know, I can’t completely say. But what I do know is that I can definitely see the cultural difference not that I am looking for it.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Why am I teaching?
I had two students today. One of the remaining four has been sent home because she has still yet to pay her school fees and the other one was sick. Of the two remaining, only one has any school books and it is not even a complete set. The one without books, Pelimliwa, lost his to the director of the school due to a failure to care for the 25 year old books. Not that I disagree with the fact that the students should learn to be responsible and put new covers on the books and whatnot, but there is only so much you can do for a book that is twice your age (he’s 13). I didn’t even bother arguing it as it would have been taken as a sign of favoritism and I have enough fear over how the students will be treated after my departure. As it stands, the final English exam of the term is set for next Tuesday and will be my last day at the monastery/school. I hope that my students can surprise me considering they are getting hour long 2-on-1 lessons, but given the track record I am not holding my breath.
For that I would say that I can’t blame them. The students here are referred to as lazy by the same people who don’t show up to give classes or survey the exams. I see a certain element of laziness, sure, but I refer to it as being a kid. It is not like the kids are out playing with their tires or makeshift soccer balls every day. For most of them, their evenings are filled with chores or work in the fields/gardens. Any time left over from that can be used for studying, provided there is sufficient light or money for a flashlight or a candle. And then you’re up before the crack of dawn around 4:30 or so. Throw in the lack of money for decent school supllies, confiscated learning materials, and a lack of faith on the part of the instructors that the children are worth the effort and yeah, I could very easily see how students would fall out of favor for trying in school. On top of it they see no reason to overachieve in school, because here it rarely makes a difference. Unless you have a wealthy family or are extremely lucky or are in the top 5 percent of the university class, you’re stuck in a jobless market and turn into a drain on family resources until you can break through and find some type of work.
What does that mean for me? Well, I no longer prepare lesson plans. Not that I did a very good job of that from the getgo, but at least I gave it the good old college try back then (and to be honest, not much work is needed teaching second year English students who are on their 3rd or 4th language). Now, I plan on the fly and cater to the students who are there. Even that doesn’t help as I often find myself going over old material because half of the class wasn’t there the day before. But if I didn’t somewhat enjoy it I would have left the school long ago. And maybe, just maybe some very much needed financial aid coming in from my cousin Audrey's high school will turn the tide a little bit and start an uptrend...hopefully.
For that I would say that I can’t blame them. The students here are referred to as lazy by the same people who don’t show up to give classes or survey the exams. I see a certain element of laziness, sure, but I refer to it as being a kid. It is not like the kids are out playing with their tires or makeshift soccer balls every day. For most of them, their evenings are filled with chores or work in the fields/gardens. Any time left over from that can be used for studying, provided there is sufficient light or money for a flashlight or a candle. And then you’re up before the crack of dawn around 4:30 or so. Throw in the lack of money for decent school supllies, confiscated learning materials, and a lack of faith on the part of the instructors that the children are worth the effort and yeah, I could very easily see how students would fall out of favor for trying in school. On top of it they see no reason to overachieve in school, because here it rarely makes a difference. Unless you have a wealthy family or are extremely lucky or are in the top 5 percent of the university class, you’re stuck in a jobless market and turn into a drain on family resources until you can break through and find some type of work.
What does that mean for me? Well, I no longer prepare lesson plans. Not that I did a very good job of that from the getgo, but at least I gave it the good old college try back then (and to be honest, not much work is needed teaching second year English students who are on their 3rd or 4th language). Now, I plan on the fly and cater to the students who are there. Even that doesn’t help as I often find myself going over old material because half of the class wasn’t there the day before. But if I didn’t somewhat enjoy it I would have left the school long ago. And maybe, just maybe some very much needed financial aid coming in from my cousin Audrey's high school will turn the tide a little bit and start an uptrend...hopefully.
The Test
By the time you read this I will have either failed or passed. And if I have failed then you most likely wont be reading this right now. Hooray me! I took a solo moto ride into Kara, having only an hour of actual drive time, which was recorded on the previous joy ride over a week ago. And I am pleased to say that I have managed to compress the moto ride from Kara to Agbang into a file that is small enough to load on Youtube (it should already be up). If you want to see what my journey was like, play it in reverse.
A little beat up
Currently, I have a strained tendon in my right wrist that doesn’t seem to want to heal making even the most simple of tasks (putting on a sock) somewhat painful. I am also fighting a small bout of Jungle Foot (aka trench foot) that I picked up from wearing gardening boots for 8 hours straight on a hot and humid day. That one is fun. Luckily it is only a small portion of my middle toe on my left foot, but it is extremely tender. On the other side of things, my right big toe has been re-fractured/restrained after not having healed properly over the past 5ish years. I think I can trace that one back to a soccer practice in high school when we were moving the goalposts and my foot got run over by the tractor trailer that was hauling one of them. I guess for the time being it’s not as bad as it could be. But it makes playing soccer and working slightly difficult.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Rain!
It is finally raining! After lying in bed and listening to the thunder for nearly 2 hours and watching the light change with the moving clouds, it started to rain. And I love it. I might actually get to sleep on dry sheets tonight! Wohoo!
SAFARI
Well, I did my little tourist gig (most touristy thing that I have ever done) at a safari zone in Northern Benin - Pendjari. It was a good experience, but suffice it to say that my type of tourism doesn’t exactly coincide with the typical connotation, the African connotation, or park regulations. Getting to the park was a story in and of itself as we got caught up in Kara before leaving 4 hours after the planned time. My version of the driving instructions was literally drive East, cross the boarder into Benin, keep driving East until you hit a really big road and then turn left (and drive until you see more animals than people) and the driver wanted me to print off a map (which not surprisingly, didn’t give much more information than that – that only took about 5 minutes, there were also some top-secret monk emails that had been forgotten about until we were about 5 miles from the boarder and had to turn around and take care of). We also spent the night in some shantitown about 100 km away from the park due to the lost time and the fact that roads in that part of Benin are highly unsafe at night (I was told that armed men set up false road blocks and then rob you for everything you’ve got once you stop). That night I also had to convince our driver that we should leave before 5 am because we were so far away from the park. My argument was something along the lines of if we leave when you want to get up, the animals will be taking their afternoon naps by the time we get there and we wont see anything. He reluctantly obliged, although we didn’t end up hitting the road until close to 6 am. We reached the park a little after 8h15 and finally made it into the park around 8h30.
The roads in the park were somewhat of a surprise as the park was currently using the dry season to level out some of the main paths. The last time I checked bulldozers, dump trucks, and levelers weren’t on the safari zone picture list. It didn’t have a true safari feel, from the imagined form, for the first hour or so until we got a little more off of the beaten path; at which point I stopped feeling like I was driving through the animal ‘safari’ of the Henry Doorly Zoo. The park was also having controlled burns to clear out some of the dead brush and that happened to be in the area where some of the major attractions can be seen. Naturally the animals were nowhere to be found.
In any case I spent every minute in the park scanning the brush for any sign of movement with my camera at the ready. We didn’t see anything for close to an hour as the first part of the park is the hunting zone and the wildlife has all but cleared out. Our guide picked out a predetermined route that seemed pretty standard, although I was slightly disappointed not to have had any say in the matter as we were basically paying him to sit in the car and tell us what we weren’t allowed to do (get out, honk your horn, drive too fast etc). After a little while we started seeing some animals. And this is when the cultural differences kicked in. Me, wanting to capture NatGeo quality photos from the passenger side of a van, was not too pleased with the speed with which we would drive and pass by potential award winning shots! Maybe I was overplaying it a little bit, but the point is clear: for someone not with a camera, when the animals aren’t doing much but grazing or standing there, all you have to do is look at them for a second, snap a quick keepsake and then move on. I managed to snap at least one decent photo of each animal we saw, but I sure was frustrated at the time. But they did come around a little bit when we saw the hippos, which none of them had ever seen before.
Overall I was satisfied with the experience (even though the major attractions; lions, elephants, leopards, hyenas, didn’t bother to make an appearance – partially due to our tardiness) and realized that I can’t get everything right on the first try. And for the way in which we went about the safari and the considerably small amount of money spent on it, I probably came out on top in the end (we paid 10,000 CFA for two double rooms at a hostel for the night and the hotels in and around the safari zone were upwards of 30,000 CFA per head – it’s not too expensive if you’ve got the money, which most of the visitors, upper-middle aged and older white folk, did) I also came to the realization that my pictures couldn’t have gotten much better under the circumstances as I wasn’t allowed to get out of the car in the first place, so my old school zoom and picture setter-upper wasn’t working for me. But I think I fared pretty well. The pictures are to the right, so I’ll let you be the judge of that.
In reflecting on the experience on the car ride home I came to the conclusion that unless you’re willing to fork out the money or happen to be in a position like mine, you’re probably better off going to the zoo. Not that I would deter anyone from ever going on a safari, because I would do just the opposite. It is an amazing experience seeing the animals in the wild, without the cages or glass in between you and them, even if the shot isn’t that great. It’s only that if you’re going to do it you might as well pull out all the stops. Go big or go home as they say.
Here is a quick list of the animals I saw in no particular order, but they are in French so you’ll have to translate some of them: hippopotami, buffle, hippotrague, waterbuck, cobe de buffane, bubale, babouin, vervet (not photographed), phacochére (Pumba), aigle pecheur, crocodile, ombrette, martin-pecheur (not photographed), and a few random birds.
Lastly, I found Rafiki! And as ironic as it would seem, I could only get a shot of his but.
The roads in the park were somewhat of a surprise as the park was currently using the dry season to level out some of the main paths. The last time I checked bulldozers, dump trucks, and levelers weren’t on the safari zone picture list. It didn’t have a true safari feel, from the imagined form, for the first hour or so until we got a little more off of the beaten path; at which point I stopped feeling like I was driving through the animal ‘safari’ of the Henry Doorly Zoo. The park was also having controlled burns to clear out some of the dead brush and that happened to be in the area where some of the major attractions can be seen. Naturally the animals were nowhere to be found.
In any case I spent every minute in the park scanning the brush for any sign of movement with my camera at the ready. We didn’t see anything for close to an hour as the first part of the park is the hunting zone and the wildlife has all but cleared out. Our guide picked out a predetermined route that seemed pretty standard, although I was slightly disappointed not to have had any say in the matter as we were basically paying him to sit in the car and tell us what we weren’t allowed to do (get out, honk your horn, drive too fast etc). After a little while we started seeing some animals. And this is when the cultural differences kicked in. Me, wanting to capture NatGeo quality photos from the passenger side of a van, was not too pleased with the speed with which we would drive and pass by potential award winning shots! Maybe I was overplaying it a little bit, but the point is clear: for someone not with a camera, when the animals aren’t doing much but grazing or standing there, all you have to do is look at them for a second, snap a quick keepsake and then move on. I managed to snap at least one decent photo of each animal we saw, but I sure was frustrated at the time. But they did come around a little bit when we saw the hippos, which none of them had ever seen before.
Overall I was satisfied with the experience (even though the major attractions; lions, elephants, leopards, hyenas, didn’t bother to make an appearance – partially due to our tardiness) and realized that I can’t get everything right on the first try. And for the way in which we went about the safari and the considerably small amount of money spent on it, I probably came out on top in the end (we paid 10,000 CFA for two double rooms at a hostel for the night and the hotels in and around the safari zone were upwards of 30,000 CFA per head – it’s not too expensive if you’ve got the money, which most of the visitors, upper-middle aged and older white folk, did) I also came to the realization that my pictures couldn’t have gotten much better under the circumstances as I wasn’t allowed to get out of the car in the first place, so my old school zoom and picture setter-upper wasn’t working for me. But I think I fared pretty well. The pictures are to the right, so I’ll let you be the judge of that.
In reflecting on the experience on the car ride home I came to the conclusion that unless you’re willing to fork out the money or happen to be in a position like mine, you’re probably better off going to the zoo. Not that I would deter anyone from ever going on a safari, because I would do just the opposite. It is an amazing experience seeing the animals in the wild, without the cages or glass in between you and them, even if the shot isn’t that great. It’s only that if you’re going to do it you might as well pull out all the stops. Go big or go home as they say.
Here is a quick list of the animals I saw in no particular order, but they are in French so you’ll have to translate some of them: hippopotami, buffle, hippotrague, waterbuck, cobe de buffane, bubale, babouin, vervet (not photographed), phacochére (Pumba), aigle pecheur, crocodile, ombrette, martin-pecheur (not photographed), and a few random birds.
Lastly, I found Rafiki! And as ironic as it would seem, I could only get a shot of his but.
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