Jambo!
Writing a synthesis of my experience in Kenya has been difficult for me. I came home three weeks ago, and since then I’ve been tossing ideas back and forth in my mind about what I’ve wanted to share, and how on Earth I can depict the beauty and struggle of Kenya. Of course there is the classic college girl’s volunteer blog post about how AWESOME everything was, how cute the small Kenyan children I got to take photos with were, how different the food was and how everyone should travel. Yes, those are accurate but there is so much more to this story and not all of it was that simple.
I did fall in love with everything that is Kenya (Uganda and Tanzania)—the culture, the food, the simplicity, the pace (“Kenyan Time”). I fell in love with travel. I gained the self confidence for jumping from airport to airport, city to city, village to village to take it all in. I learned how to bargain and how to ride on the back of a motorbike to get around town (sorry Daddy!). I lived in the moment, and even on a 7-hour bus ride to Uganda alone, I was overcome with gladness and stillness. I fell in love with the people I met, the children I held and the animals I saw. I mean this in the most sincere way when I say that I believe every single moment happened as it was supposed to and I felt God with me constantly. I want to keep this post honest because not everything about my trip was peachy keen and I hope my honesty doesn't offend anyone. That would never be my intention. Many aspects were difficult for me to process and very heavy on my heart and mind. I do want to be very clear about TWO things right off the bat though. In case boredom ensues and you minimize my story, please know: 1) my safety was NEVER once in question. I never felt threatened, nervous or in harm’s way. Even walking into town alone daily, traveling to Uganda by myself and then staying in a hotel room alone, taking a taxi with a male driver at 2am—none of these instances scared me and no one once had me questioning my security. That is something I want to be very very straightforward about because it’s something that worried my peers and family members. Before leaving I was constantly questioning how I would stay safe over there. Which pocket knife to bring, etc. I was about my wits with my money, passport and everything like that but much of my nervousness was unnecessary.
2) I did not go on this trip for service hours, school credits, or work. I was not paid and in regards to credits/hours, this trip means nothing. I went alone through a volunteer abroad program to personally grow as a global citizen and to visit the lands I had been dreaming about.
Thank you ELI Abroad
When I found this trip online through the study abroad organization ELIAbroad, I knew it was calling my name. My long distance friendship with my sponsored daughter Phiona began January 11th of 2014. Letters back and forth solidified my desire to travel to the Africa to experience this part of the world with all of my heart. This was due to how often her family sent love and prayers and best wishes for my life in their letters; I knew one day I would meet them. Secondly, in college, as a communicative disorders major, communication has become a passion and skill of mine and I have quite the knack for language. I am constantly thinking about and analyzing the uses of language I encounter from babies who are just acquiring it to deaf individuals to anyone in between; Language and communication are the heart of humanity and this was also solidified during my trip. I didn’t meet a single American. I met countless Kenyans, sat by a man on the plane from South Africa, taught with a man from Ghana, went on a safari with a family from Canada and a beautiful man from Italy, and lived with a young man from Japan and an Australian couple.
We were all brought together due to many different circumstances. We are global citizens who believe in travel and wanted to find a home in Kenya. We all were able to communicate with broken English, gestures, smiles and nods. And of course in my school, Kenyan Sign Language was used entirely. There were many language barriers but they did not prevent our human need and ability to communicate. I think even more was said during the silence of a midnight flight from New York to South Africa, or in the soft mutual gaze I shared with the Italian across a table.
Doing My Research
To prepare for my trip (for an entire year!), I researched deaf culture in Kenya and wrote a few papers. Just as American Deaf culture is, Kenyan “big D” Deaf culture is extremely vibrant. Sign language is a beautiful language, globally, and I felt like this program was almost custom-made to be exactly what I wanted. Applications were sent and I patiently waited for my acceptance, which happened in January 2015. I would be leaving April 27th and staying until June 7th volunteering in the classrooms at the secondary school for the Deaf in Nakuru, Kenya.
First Leg:
I am an extremely impressionable young woman. I am influenced easily by the world, by people and by my experiences. I am confident, fearless, smart and compassionate. I flew to Africa alone to teach English in a Deaf high school in a new language that I taught myself, to live with strangers, to learn and entirely new independence that I never knew I even had the ability to learn. I had no expectations going into this and “I grew in unimaginable ways” another cliché blog quote from the last study abroad student. But I didn’t change or grow because I went without wifi for two weeks but instead because I saw the depth of raw humanity without the clutter of wealth.
I will begin with my first leg of the trip. The 14-hour flight to South Africa from New York was a blur of anticipation, decent airplane food and a few movies. I sat by a young woman headed to Johannesburg to work at an elephant sanctuary. We chatted briefly but generally that flight was a constant rhythm of not knowing what time it was, sleeping, eating and watching American Sniper, Mama Mia and He’s Just Not That Into You, three movies that actually run very parallel to my life. The airport in SA was dark, confusing and I briefly felt lonely until I asked for directions and made it swiftly to my next 5-hour flight to Nairobi. This time, I sat by the window and in the aisle was a South African man named Kolanzo. We got to talking and it turns out that his wife is a speech and language pathologist and audiologist. We talked the entire flight about Sign Language, deaf education, speech therapy, Africa…everything. Suddenly I felt God sitting in the middle seat telling me this is exactly where I should be. He helped me navigate the bus to customs in the Nairobi airport and also stood with me until I made it through—a blessing and a half. I have his wife’s email, but I’m really not sure there are enough words of thanks for this man’s presence as I entered Nairobi, for the final leg of a 26 hour journey before being taken by car to Nakuru, 3 more hours away. Immediately I saw my driver, Kevin, with a sign that read my name and we drove on an unimaginably bumpy road to my Kenyan mother’s house. It was 9:00 pm by the time I got there. She fed me lentils and rice and I slept like a baby in my bright yellow and blue room.
Kenya is not a UNICEF commercial…
An interesting point that I’ll make about my feelings while I was in Kenya is this: I never felt sad. It was not a UNICEF commercial. I spent days at orphanages with children who take care of themselves, who wear mismatched, urine-stained clothes, who have dirt and grime in their hair but none of this made me feel sad. The reason is because no one looked miserable and no child complained or cried. No child complained about his cleanliness, her outfit, their desperate parents who couldn’t take care of them—I only saw joy.
These children laugh and pray loudly with exuberance for life. They want to receive and give hugs and kisses constantly. They want to be held. They want to hold you. They want you to braid their hair and to color with them. They have the same innocent glow that any other child has; the same desire to learn, play and love. Their lifestyle is not less than the lifestyles of Americans, Canadians or Japanese. It is simply different and it is spectacular. Walking into the orphanage set my heart on fire in the best possible way. Blessing, a three-year-old little girl with tiny sparkling earrings and bald little head would come running to me, throwing her arms in the air, jumping into my arms, kissing my forehead, hugging my neck, trusting that I would catch her. This began on only the second day I went there.
Looking at her jumping with no fear was like looking into a mirror when I thought about how I jumped into the world’s arms to find out what it’s really like. Her little twin friends Kelly, Chantel would come running next, grabbing at my hands just to walk with me. Having a giant bag on my shoulder, a three year old in my arms and two more on my left hand made me feel like a mommy. I’ve babysat so many kids, but this instant love that I felt showed me that I really do have the nurturing capabilities and the strength to be a mother.
I skipped, jump-roped, cooked, ate, played futbol, held babies, and felt complete and utter joy throughout the entirety of my visits. Toddlers would wander the yards of the school and orphanage. As soon as I picked them up, they fell asleep on my shoulder. I never felt sad while I was there. Maybe this is because I didn’t see the parents leave these angels or because the ministry that’s there provides such a foundation of safety and care, I don’t know. Perhaps it’s the community of love that the children have built but whatever it is, it’s beautiful and I know God gave extra blessings to them simply because they know how to love without question and live joyously in such simplicity.
At the first orphanage, I met a child named Asha and we immediately bonded. Her name is even the acronym of an organization that I am a member of: the American Speech and Hearing Association. That was the first thing I thought of.
She is such a beautiful girl, in grade 2, sponsor-less. I am thrilled to tell you that in a few short weeks once everything is processed, she will be my second sponsored daughter. Asha instantly trusted me. She taught me Kiswahili, the most prominent language of Kenya and I helped her with her English. I still have every note she wrote for me with diagrams and Kiswahili words. I braided her hair and she braided mine. I held her and she held me. She would hold my hand and walk around outside as if she were showing me off…I was hers. I thought that I wanted to take her home with me, to save her. But reflecting now, Asha doesn’t need to be saved; these kids didn’t need to be saved. I didn’t need to buy them new shiny things to make them happy. I didn’t need to teach them the “American way”. All I needed to do was simply love them and let them love me in return. I could only show them that I care and maybe if they know I care, they will think all Americans care.
What is wealth?
I lived in a 3rd world country and saw the opposite of poverty. Abundance was everywhere. Wealth of spirit filled the Kenyan streets. When Kenyans greet each other, they grasp hands and shake them while talking; it’s personal and respectful. Children are taught as infants to reach for hands and shake them. When you walk by a child on the street, they will typically reach their hand out just for a little squeeze. Everyone’s got a hand to offer—there is no discrimination. I would see old people in the crowded town streets laughing and holding hands, school children maybe 4 or 5 years old walking home from school hand in hand in their adorable plaid uniforms. Of course one of my favorite faces was that of the old man I saw every single day sitting outside his shop sewing shoes. We’d smile and wave while I walked by and sometimes we’d exchange fruit. My students brought me joy in so many ways also. I’ll never forget standing in a circle after school passing a volleyball around laughing hysterically when the ball would hit a wrist and go flying the opposite direction of intention. I saw happiness, meekness and pure humanity and I bathed in its glory. My students played soccer in their school uniforms, beat up shoes, with a ratty non-soccer ball in the rain or shine. I breathed this simplicity in along with the salty, sweet, dense Kenyan air.
Maybe I didn’t feel sadness in Kenya because these people were so beautiful and innocent and the children reminded me of the children here. Children of the slums smile the same way American children smile. Children in America play, and make up games and run wild. Children from the slums do the same. Maybe ignorance is bliss for these children but I do know for a fact that wealth, clutter, and material items are not necessary for happiness and love.
Being in Ngala is not a mistake
The orphanage was the first place I worked because when I arrived in Kenya, the Ngala School for the Deaf was on holiday. When I started working at the school, it was equally welcoming and intimidating. The principal is a short, plump Kenyan man with tinted glasses and gleaming teeth. He accepted the donation of the projector and MacBook laptop with open arms the first day I began teaching. He threw me into the classroom without even telling me exactly what material I’d teach. It was incredibly unorganized, unprofessional, and haphazard. I’m not even sure I was qualified to teach some of the proper English I was teaching! But I did my best. I fundraised extensively for those items and so many of my peers, family members, and friends donated for the purchases (about $2,000). The school is still lacking in technology. They have two dated desktop computers that they shift around the teacher’s lounge to share. They use a scanner for scanning photos and diagrams from the books but a majority of the teaching is done on the white board. In my classroom experience as a student, projectors are at our fingertips and visual learning is engaging and necessary to supplement learning. This is even more so true for deaf individuals. I am so thrilled for the school that they have another sustainable piece of teaching equipment that will provide the necessary visual learning processes for the students. They thanked me multiple times and the kids were so impressed by the new (to them) technology. Thank you EVERYONE who donated. Please know that this donation will last a long, long time and will bring about better learning.
The Ngala School for the Deaf is divided into two halves, primary and secondary. I was teaching in the secondary side. The school is right across the street from where I lived so I simply walked there every morning. Walking through the guarded gate was refreshing. My students are so beautiful and each has a unique personality, some sweet as can be and some ultimate troublemakers. It’s a boarding school so I would come early, stay late and visit on weekends to hang out. The dorms are simple. Metal bunk beds with thin mattresses line one-story dorms, one for boys and one for girls, separated by a grown out field that the boys “mow” with machetes. Chickens run freely with their babies, cows visit the primary school side and it always smelled like the delicious lunches of beans, rice and cabbage that were made in the outdoor kitchen. Being in Ngala was peaceful, teaching was not nerve wracking at all and my fellow teachers were mostly welcoming.
My favorite part of being in Ngala was pulling out my 5 students who have hearing aids and giving them speech therapy. Sandra, Grancy, Joyce, Emmanuel and Hellen are used to signing so much at school, they don’t use their voices often but every day we did short intensive speech intervention targeting the sounds used most in their day to day lives. The tools I showed them are applicable across the board and they will be able to practice on their own using them. My fellow teachers were also able to ask questions about special needs education in the US and I was excited to inform them about the knowledge I’ve obtained in Autism Spectrum Disorder and Down syndrome and the effects on speech. When I first arrived, I didn’t understand how attached I would become but on my last day, it hit me and there I stood crying like a baby in front of 21 students who didn’t want me to leave either. I have an extremely difficult time saying good-bye to those who I may never see again.
I’m still very proud to be an American and a global citizen
My fellow teachers were easy to get to know and I really enjoyed hanging out with them but I did find myself having to stand up for America on a few occasions. My American pride came through naturally. One time specifically was when an older female teacher told me I eat my lunch so fast because I’m American and that Kenyans eat slowly. It was a silly thing to get offended over but I did get defensive! I told her, yes I’m American but so is my dad and he eats so slowly it’s almost painful.
Teachers would say, “You look American”. I would say, “No, there’s no such thing. I actually look a quarter Italian, a quarter English, a quarter Cherokee and a quarter French!” It turns out that many Kenyans don’t understand the US just like many Americans don’t understand Kenya. My students constantly asked me how much things cost in the US and what I eat here. They were obsessed and seemed to forget that I’m just a person too. They were surprised and in disbelief to know that it’s actually very similar…
Homosexuality and gay marriage were probably the biggest arguments I got in over there (and I wrote this before the beautiful and historical day we had!). The culture is very…dated in those regards. One teacher singled me out to argue about “America’s stance” on gay marriage. I couldn’t tell him “America’s” stance. I couldn’t say that all Americans have a uniform belief because we all know that isn’t true. I told him my feelings, why I feel that way and tried my hardest to word it in a way that was calm even though my blood was boiling under my skin. The law in Kenya reads as: “Kenya’s Penal Code criminalizes sodomy. Under this law, a “person who … has carnal knowledge of any person against the order of nature … or permits a male person to have carnal knowledge of him or her against the order of nature” commits a felony, punishable on conviction by a fourteen-year prison term.[40] An attempt to commit an unnatural offense, also a crime, is , punishable on conviction by a seven-year prison term.[41]”
In Gambia if you show any sign of being gay you will “get your throat slit and the West cannot stop it.” That is a direct quote from the president.
I could throw up.
Assumption causes conflict, the world needs education
This type of thing scared me because as an incredibly opinionated and passionate woman, I had to bite my tongue and I became upset when I knew many of my core values were the opposite of my new friends there. These particular instances bothered me but I have to stop and reflect on why they might take this stance. Maybe it’s rooted in religion. Or maybe that the times don’t change as quickly in Africa as they do in the Western world, I don’t know. I was scared to know 37 African countries still have these laws in place when it’s 2015, but nothing I said could change anyone’s mind so instead of continuing the arguments. I let them go and prayed about it and was thankful for our strong democracy.
The knowledge and empathy that different areas of world lack for one another is literally frightening. I believe THIS the source of conflict. I cannot tell you how many stereotypes I heard about Africa before leaving and how many American stereotypes I heard while I was there! Everyone, everywhere needs to do some research and open their eyes to other parts of the world with an empathetic lens. Some of the common misconceptions that I heard from my fellow Americans:
1.
You will get malaria: I took my malaria pills daily and correctly, hardly saw any mosquitoes and the ones I did see, I murdered viciously. Students at my school use malaria nets and there was a net above my bed, but I never used it. While camping in Masai Mara for the safari, there were no mosquitos due to the high altitude. Mosquitos did not come in huge swarms and like I said, I became quite the mosquito huntress for the ones I did see.
2.
You will get Ebola: This really grinded my gears. Ebola is in WEST Africa and the distance from those areas is actually closer to the East Coast of the US than from Kenya. Kenya is Ebola free. We cannot say the same about our country. I never felt sick, not even once. No fevers, no nothing! No Kenyans said anything about Ebola in Kenya and I’m glad I didn’t mention it because it would have been an uneducated comment.
3.
You will get diarrhea: This is one I chuckle at and ponder regularly. I am gluten and dairy intolerant and was actually terrified to eat the food before arrival. However while almost everything I eat here at home hurts my tummy, absolutely nothing in Kenya bothered me. I was completely regular and didn’t cut out anything from my diet. I ate the fruit, I ate the meat, I drank the milk and literally nothing happened, not even a cramp. It was unbelievable. Perhaps the GMOs and pesticides used in the US really are to blame for these newfound intolerances that people are facing because everything I ate was locally grown and pesticides are not prevalent.
4.
Are you sure you want to go there as a blonde?: My hair meant nothing to the Kenyan people, my white skin was enough. I would walk into town and not see any white people. I would go a week and not see any white people. The fact that I was blonde had nothing to do with it, I stuck out like a sore thumb just because of my skin color.
5.
You will come back the queen of a village: This one makes me extremely disturbed and upset due to the naivety. No I didn’t get married in Kenya and yes, of course I saw tribes. Everyone in Kenya is from a tribe! We visited Masai Mara where the Masai Mara tribes’ people still live very traditionally. They did not want to marry me; they simply wanted to sell me their “handmade” jewelry.
6.
You should be nervous about visiting a terrorist country: I’m going to discuss this one later.
My own Lion King adventure
On my first weekend I went to Masai Mara park with a group of other volunteers because my school was on holiday until the following Monday. On my safari was Phillip the driver, a Canadian family of 3, Omar, a wonderful Italian man and Fugimoto, my Japanese housemate. The safari was simply spectacular. We headed out on a Friday, went on an evening safari, spent the night, full day safari Saturday and a morning safari on Sunday. It was unbelievable. I highly recommend a safari for anyone traveling to an African country. Once you go you will understand why zoos should be outlawed. We saw 21 lions, 3 cheetahs, a leopard, countless elephants, giraffes, hippos, crocs, water buffalo, warthogs—everything, in the WILD. The birds were beautiful too and I was constantly wishing that my wildlife-obsessed parents were there. My long lens for my Canon camera REALLY came in handy and some of the photos I took are just breathtaking. The energy in our safari was awesome too. Everyone was so kind and funny; we were all instantly a safari family. I couldn’t believe we saw the entire cast of Lion King and the depictions of the characters are so realistic! Take Pumba, the way he walks in the movie is exactly how warthogs do in the wild. Waddling around like they own the place. Stirring up trouble. We watched one warthog tempt a lioness many times teasing her pride by approaching and scurrying off multiple times, trying to get her to chase him. It was hilarious.
We stayed in huge tents with bathrooms and real wood beds. It was pretty nice! There were only a few spiders inside, but who could blame them?! I wouldn’t want to sleep outside with lions around either! I shared a tent with Fugi and Omar…We fell asleep to the harmony of cows, chickens, wild dogs, snoring men and other mysterious sounds that we couldn’t quite decipher. Fugi had a nightmare in the middle of the night on Friday that shut the whole campground up suddenly. His malaria pills gave him bad dreams so at about 3am he jumped out of bed screaming in Japanese. We were thankful because it provided enough silence from our symphony to get a little shuteye.
Il Mio Mucca Preferito
Like I mentioned just before this, on my safari was a young Italian man named Omar. We quickly became friends on the safari and as soon as we were back in Nakuru a fiery romance ensued. If there’s one woman who would find the perfect man in the middle of Kenya on a random safari the first weekend she was there, it’s me. He was everything. We went on dates to fantastic little Kenyan restaurants, we ran wild through the raining streets of Nakuru wearing hideous rain jackets, we drank a lot of wine, we bargained for a lot of fruit and we truly enjoyed each other in a wholesome way. He taught me new things everyday (and not just the Italian names of the animals we saw in the streets!). He taught me that the world should be trusted, that people, no matter how different from me could be trusted. He taught me that it’s ok not to have a plan and to just…go. He taught me that I could feel beautiful with no make up on, wet hair while slurping down an overripe mango. He reminded me that money isn’t impressive but instead, the hard, honest, selfless work he did by building a kitchen for a primary school, by himself, for nothing in return is. Awful tan lines developed over the weeks on his arms and neck and they were a testament of his dedication to that school. He showed me the kitchen he built, his “mama” the head cook at the kitchen and the babies of the primary school. We walked through the slums near his project while countless children followed us. He picked me a tiny flower that was pink and yellow and I tried to hold onto it while also holding the little dark hands reaching for me.
Omar never wronged me, never stood me up, never ignored me and never doubted me. There were no games. His mom, Mama Adri, raised him right. Even when he left Nakuru before me to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro and his phone didn’t work, I knew he’d be waiting for me in the airport of Zanzibar where I’d meet him a week later. And he was there! Holding mangos and chocolate! Zanzibar, that was another thing. Omar invited me to go there with him…it wasn’t in the original plan. My parents told me not to go, but I had to disobey them and follow my heart. Mia decisione preferito.
Long Live Buyengo
Two weeks before I left Nakuru for Zanzibar, I traveled across the border to Uganda to meet the child I sponsor through
Child Fund International. My housemother Rosemary was extremely unhelpful during the travel planning process so I decided to just take care matters into my own hands. I took an Easy Coach bus for about 7 hours to Busia, Uganda. There, a representative (the nicest human I have ever met) from Child Fund picked me up at the bus stop and took me to my hotel. I stayed in a run down hotel by myself in a one-bedroom room. Nothing worked. No wifi. No TV. No hot water and the power went out at 8pm. I didn’t care. In the middle of the night I heard a mouse scurry across my floor…I didn’t sleep after that. In the morning Ukumu picked me up and took me to the Child Fund office. They fed me a delicious Ugandan breakfast of Ugandan pancakes, boiled peanuts and coffee and I met the other staff members of Child Fund. There I got to ask them the questions that we all want to ask: Does my money really make a difference to this child? Where exactly does my money go? Does her family really write the letters to me? I learned the answers to all of these:
1.
YES! At Child Fund International, if a child is sponsored he/she receives services throughout his/her life in different stages. As infants, sponsored babies receive regular health screenings from Child Fund professionals, nutrition supplements, parenting courses etc. As they get older they receive different services like schooling through CF built schools, family medical support, continued health screenings etc.
2.
My money fuels these programs that directly serve the children.
3.
YES! My daughter Phiona is only 3 years old but her uncle wrote all of the letters himself. He is a wonderful man and a great uncle to Phiona. I met him and Phiona’s parents. Unfortunately the relationship between her parents is rocky—I learned that Phiona’s father has hurt her mother in the past and her mother has mental disabilities. Fortunately however, CF checks on this situation regularly, makes sure Phiona is safe and has provided medical attention to the mother. This care provided is because Phiona is sponsored. I watched children write letters to their sponsored families and I felt utter joy because it IS real. Sponsoring a child really does make a difference! I pay $28 a month and I write letters every few months. CF keeps track of EVERYTHING and has a binder for Phiona with all of our letters and photos exchanged! If ANY of you would like to sponsor a child, please contact me. Child Fund Uganda has sent me a list of children who need sponsors and I would love to connect my peers/family/friends to this awesome foundation. Let me tell you, when I met Phiona I cried and cried. We were finally united. I put her chubby little body on my lap and held her and taught her how to say my name. She is just a baby but I know she understood who I am and when I left she was sad and confused. She let me hold her like we had known each other a long, long time. I told her parents about how much she means to me and how I pray they will keep her safe and healthy.
I hope this inspires you all to sponsor a child. It’s so easy and it really has changed my life and Phiona's.
Zanzibar, Tanzania
Now for the romantico part of the journey that I’m sure you’re all dying to hear about. We all know I'm dying to fall in love bu I just want to say NO I am not engaged or married, and I did not have a honeymoon in Zanzi haha.
So Zanzibar is a tiny island off of the coast of Tanzania, Africa and it’s a dream come true. Like I said, I flew there just before I was flying back stateside on a tiny plane from Nairobi straight to Zanzibar. The flight is about an hour long and the airport in Zanzi is a tin can. I told the man at customs I would only be there a few days. He put my expiration date to a year from now and said I could marry him haha.
My Italian waited for me outside the little aiport holding mangos and chocolate, he already got a taxi and we just had to decide which town to go to. We decided on Nungwi, a northern town on the Tanzania side of the island. Omar and I stayed in a grass hut on the beach. We walked out of our door and could see the bright turquoise sea. The trip was simple: We woke up at 6am in the mornings to walk by the Indian Ocean and to collect the exquisite shells that people buy in souvenir shops. We drank fresh mango juice for breakfast, and fell asleep in the sun during the afternoons. We had nowhere to be, no wifi, no cares. It was unreal. We ate candlelit dinners in the sand, drank wine and devoured the seafood catches of the day. We took sunset cruises where we could see nothing but the vibrant orange sky. Omar went snorkeling while I watched (I don't do middle of the ocean swimming). We explored Stone Town, the tippy top capital city of Zanzibar where the spices are abundant and the market place over crowded. The smell of nutmeg, red curry powder, garlic, seafood and exhaust filled the air. It was warm and the ocean air was thick.
The Muslim population is enormous in Zanzibar, 98%...you know what that means! Beautiful mosques, exquisite fabrics and AMAZING food! Curries, rices and stews for lunch hit just the spot…we were obsessed. Stone Town was hectic and the streets were winding but somehow my Italian knew his way and guided me around. I never questioned him. We drank iced coffees on a ledge café overlooking the most beautiful bay. We walked and walked and walked and every sight I saw amazed me.
But then three short days later, it was over…just about as fast as it started. One long good bye and I was on my way back to the states. Omar is a wonderful human and saying good-bye was extremely difficult. All I could do was thank him for encouraging my hunger for adventure, for carrying my flip flops, for bargaining this one old lady for her basket because it’s the one I wanted, then helping her dump out her belongings into another bag so I could have it.
Most of all, I want to thank him for teaching me that there are men out there who are decisive, mature, loyal and sincere. Anyone who gets to meet Omar is lucky. He painted my world with more vibrant colors. I didn’t think that was possible. My mom and I are going to Italy and Greece next summer. I don’t know if I will see him then or ever again but he holds a special place in my life for the lessons he taught me in loving and trusting this Earth. I would proudly introduce him to my father as a man who protected me, respected me, loved me and showed me the world.
Withdrawls
I had an extremely long journey back home. First I went from Zanzibar to Nairobi. Stayed in the Nairobi airport for about 4 hours before getting on a flight to South Africa. I still had Zanzi sand on my toes and was extremely sunburnt--not the most comfortable flights but I didn't mind; my head was not even there. From South Africa I went to New York and from New York, Boston. I stayed overnight at my brother's house then in the morning my last flight went from Boston to Seattle. My students wrote me letters before I left. I read them over the course of my flights and was touched by each one. Terrible grammar-ed sentences of love and best wishes. My favorite was from a girl I gave speech therapy to. She wrote that she was going to become a track star and once she was famous she'd meet me in America. I just love that. I finally got to understand what "culture shock meant" and it's funny that it didn't occur when landing in a 3rd world country but instead back stateside.
I was culturally shocked by variety, by infrastructure, by order, by everything. Lines moved quickly, things worked, I saw so many white faces, and clean children with their parents. I became angry. I called my dad crying in Boston because I watched a little boy scream at his mother because he wanted a toy from the gift shop. Then I saw two teenage girls count calories of power bars that costed more than two Kenyan dinners. I couldn't take it. This upset me very much and I felt a surge of embarrassment. I went to Starbucks for a coffee but it didn't taste as good as Kenyan coffee. It took me a while to snap out of it...being at my brother's helped. I was able to decompress and get a long night's sleep. I still have these surges of culture shock and I think to myself, "What am I even doing? Why am I even spending this money?" Perhaps parents of young children are reading this and if you are I hope one day you teach your little ones that they were born into a bountiful circumstance and that not all children have the luxuries we do. Help them to be stewards of the earth and to understand that little boys and girls in other areas of the world do not need material things to be happy. I am not going to write that we Americans are "blessed" or "lucky" to have what we have but instead our lives are simply...different. I believe children raised to be grateful and happy, without material items, are the lucky ones. Also, please teach your children (and work on this yourselves) to be judicious with the word "starving". If you eat lunch at 1pm instead of 12pm, you are not starving.
Hakuna Matata Kenya
In Kenya, people really do say, “Hakuna Matata Kenya” and it really does mean no worries. I mentioned in the beginning that I would explain why Kenya is NOT a terrorist country and maybe even why I believe no country is a “terrorist country”. The act of terrorism is definitely a scary thing, that’s why it’s called terrorism. That’s what it’s for—random acts of hate and violence to strike terror in innocent hearts. What happened in Northern Kenya a few months ago was terrorism, yes, but it wasn’t Kenya that was at fault and it wasn’t going to stop me from going. That event could have been aimed to stop travel, to frighten students, whatever, but it didn’t work on me. When I found out about the Garissa attack, this was my thought process:
1.
Where is Garissa? North, across the country from where I’ll be.
2.
Is this going to affect my decision to go to Kenya? No.
3.
Has my flight been affected? No.
Onward.
I refused to be a victim of terrorism. I refused terror and I chose love instead. People texted me, called me, and questioned, “why I would want to go to a terrorist country” and that is damn sad. In May 2013, two terrorists bombed the Boston Marathon. My brother was at the race working as an EMT. The United States is not a terrorist country, and my brother continued to live in Boston. If we let terrorism terrify us, we let it win. Kenya was a victim, the country is not a terrorist.
New found confidence
I’m grateful for how confident I was in my own decision to make this trip and my relentless faith in God. Without my own trust in the world and confidence in myself, I may have believed the words of my peers when they told me not to go. I may have listened to the absent minded comments of my family and friends who offended me by calling one of my new homes a “terrorist country”. I would have missed out on the best experience of my life—watching a lioness hunt a water buffalo and return to lick her tiny babies. I wouldn’t have met the child I sponsor and love in Uganda. I wouldn’t have run wild with an unruly, ever-adventurous man who trusts the world as much as I do, if not more. I wouldn’t have danced to reggae all night long with strangers. I wouldn’t have seen Kenyan sunsets and sunrises. I would have missed out on educating the minds of my high school students with more than just education, but also care for knowledge, the importance of an education and a mother’s love that they miss while at boarding school.
If I would have given up and believed in those who told me not to go, I can’t imagine myself because Kenya changed me and lit a fire that isn’t going anywhere.
The Truth
I learned what I believe to be the truth about Kenya as a country and the importance of experiencing a new part of the world with my entire being and trusting it along with the intuition I’ve been cultivating in my heart to grow in a profound way that is almost inexplicable. After coming back to stateside, I realized that I don’t need material items. How could I get upset that a restaurant got my order wrong when a child in the slum of Kenya has a swollen belly from starvation? How can I spend hundreds of dollars on a new “date outfit” when that money could buy shoes for a whole school? Putting it into perspective, my standards for everything have changed. When I see a homeless man on the street in Seattle, I think to myself, “he has all of his limbs. He is clothed. He will be safe tonight”. In Kenya, I saw only three people begging (other than children often beg anytime they see a white person). One man had no legs, he sat on the sidewalk, dirty and quiet with a jar. One man was severely crippled, his legs contorting behind him from a disease that I don’t know. The last was shockingly skinny, dirty and looked extremely ill. Clearly people do not beg in Kenya like they do here. Here it’s out of convenience, there it’s absolute desperation. My standards for bathrooms are also extremely low now too. I went hiking last weekend with my mom and a woman in front of me in line for the port-a-potty told me how terrible it was inside. When I got in, I realized, families who live in the slums might not ever see a bathroom that nice.
Yes, Kenya is a third world country. There is extreme poverty that literally takes my breath away. When I was in the slums, I felt like it wasn’t real life, I began to feel guilty and embarrassed for the lifestyle I was raised in. When I saw happiness even in the most grotesque, wild dog infested, dirty shack lined slums, I broke down and decided that from then on my happiness would not be rooted in material items or money. Before traveling to Kenya, I wouldn’t necessarily call myself superficial or addicted to money but now, even more so, I’m just not impressed by either wealth or material objects. Instead I am impressed by the relentless happiness that erupts in even the most desperate circumstances. I am joyed by fearless love, raw humanity and faith.
I experienced two extremes clashed into one: the poorest people in the world living the richest lives I’ve ever seen and that is why I am forever inspired and forever changed by Kenya.
I cannot speak for all of Africa. We forget that Africa is enormous (its size misrepresented on maps). I cannot tell you to “travel to Africa because Africa is amazing.” But the three countries I did go to were each unique and special. Here are my tips and suggestions for traveling to Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania:
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