The road less traveled

I have net gotten lost on the Kenyan roads, I swear. Ok, well, I have, just not forever. Ha. Its not that I have been forgetting to write, I have been in Mombassa and have not had internet and computer access. No worries, I am here to update you now on some fun times. So, phew, it’s been a whole week. Ok, we shall go day by day: Friday, June 15 The day was pretty chill, I believe Peter and I walked around town and even visited the University of Nairobi, which was interesting to see; especially in comparison to both their high school systems and our higher education systems. Later in the evening we went out for a night of fun with Sandra, Tony, and a few a Sandra’s international co-workers Daz (Indonesia), Teselem (Ethiopia) and Terry (Ecuador/California). We had a wonderful dinner and the of course made our way to the dance floor and well, Tony and I made our way to the bar for some Tusker. Dinner conversation was filled with learning about cultures, comparing travel stories and just really getting to know each other; we really enjoyed ourselves. Better yet it was 90’s night in the club, so the old school really brought the best out in all of us and by best I mean moves. ha ha. We got home a bit late, and I crashed as I had to be up early for… Saturday, June 16 Mombassa time, I rode a coach bus from Nairobi to Mombassa on just a few hours of sleep. I figured the ride would be a bit smoother on a coach bus, but I was wrong, plus I have a huge fear of getting mugged (yes, even on a bus), so I didn’t sleep. However, I was next to a very pleasant woman, Joyce and we conversed until she got off in Voi. Alright, I don’t think I’ve described to you Kenya’s roads. You know how you feel about taxes, you just LOOOOOOVEEEE complaining about them. You know it’s true, we all do. Well Kenya’s do so about roads. Why you ask? Because they are like riding the back of my dad’s pick-up on the trails up north; but it doesn’t slow traffic, as they still go 60-70 mph. I mean like potholes the size your bathtub. It’s so bad that people don’t know where the roads end and start, so they use sidewalks, driveways, grass, whatever they need to get through. It’s like a mad house. There are no traffic laws. Wait, I take that back. There is one, Click It or TICKET is enforced. You are fined (must bribe) the officer 1000 shillings (like $15) or go to jail if they catch you. Other than that it’s a free for all. Yall think Chicago is bad, uf, New Yorkers and Brits have NOTHING on Nairobi drivers. I mean they literally come within centimeters of hitting pedestrians. Oh, and crosswalks, what’s that??!!?! Here in Kenya, you do what ya want. No, really, you risk you life each time your bolt across the street. So the government is “fixing” the roads, but its taking ages and so the citizens rightfully are complaining. And now the Chinese are even helping build roads. Oh no, don’t get me started on the Chinese in Africa. Anyway, ok, hopefully you have a picture of all of this. So 9 or so hours later I arrive in Mombassa, a beautiful city. However, my ears are shrieking with past warnings of what has happened to Americans in Mombassa, as they have a high crime rate. Mombassa is a coastal town and has a very mixed population of Indians, Swahilis, Muslims, various tribes, I mean really everyone has settled here, plus it’s a huge tourist destination. So I have yet to meet the family I am staying with, but I see a man waving at me from the bus, so with a sign of ease I wave back. I relax, grab my bag and get off the bus only to find that there are about 10 men waving at me acting as if they are my best friends. So I ask “And you are?” “Simon, where can I take you?” he responds. Dumb Anna doesn’t realize that he is waving because he wants to give me a taxi ride. Ohhhh yes, I laugh to myself, then say no, I’m good, thank you though. After the short laughter the sudden realization of CRAP I’m in a huge city without anyone I know and have lots of valuable things on me, I’m a target waiting to be mugged. So I call Harold and he is like “ohh, you are here sooo early, we shall leave now”, (which I later learn is typical coastal fashion). The nice taxi driver, Simon then tells dumb dumb Anna to go sit somewhere and NOT stand in the middle to the sidewalk where she WILL get mugged, raped and maybe killed. So I go wait for about 30 min in bus station, where I see that the manager is actually running a mugging business, having small children bring him back the goods they’ve pick pocketed. The little boy can probably hear my heart beating, but I keep a stern “don’t mess with me” look on my face to distract him. Finally they arrive, Harold and Beatrice. Oh, they were wonderful! I go back to their home where I meet their 4 year old Brandon and sister Linah. Then, it’s BED TIME for this girl. Sunday, June 17 5:01AM AHHHHHHH, Is everything ok, is it a natural disaster, WTFFFFFFFFFF. I almost wet the bed, I’m not sure what is happening, something is wrong; there is a warning, there is a loud speaker announcing what is going wrong, but I cant understand it, its in a different language. Wait, the man isn’t speaking, he’s, he’s almost singing. Why is no one else up? I grab for my glasses, look out the window, no one, nothing. Maybe I’m dreaming; I fall back asleep. 5:30AM The rooster is crowing, the kids are playing, the church ladies are singing. WTF. This is a coastal town I thought they didn’t rise till like noon. Well, apparently not on Sundays. So I lay in bed awake for the next 2 hours. Finally I hear life in the house, I get up, shower (cold water- no need for coffee), and have breakfast with the family. We head to Tumani Children’s Home, an orphanage for HIV/AIDS infected and affected children started in 2001. We were given a tour and then, AND THEN we got to play with the kids. Oh I was I heaven! I’m telling you, these kids, straight from heaven. Oh, they were little angels. We stayed for a few hours and I found it so hard to leave, but they had to eat. Then we ate lunch and went into town to see Fort Jesus, the Old Court and Old Town Mombassa. It was wonderful, as they explained the history, culture and heritage behind everything. We headed to the beach for some drinks but were detoured as President Kibaki was in town, so we found a nice place on the water and just enjoyed ourselves. From there we headed back, had dinner and then I attempted to catch up on sleep. Ohhh, and let me clarify, the natural disaster that I thought was occurring; it was actually just a Mosque, as they have prayer 5x a day. Yes, another culture shock for me. Monday, June 18 Today Linah, the neighbor’s son, Abubakar and I traveled to BOMU Medical Center, which is funded mainly by USAID (PEPFAR) and Alicia Keyes. Yes, the same Alicia Keyes you know. We first met with Clinician Said and then he introduced used to Admin. Chaudury, who spoke with for quiet some time; or rather I spoke with for quiet sometime. We spoke politics, health issues, poverty, etc. Since they are funded by USAID it’s interesting, to me, to know what they get out of it, how many patients they service, if they have good equipment, if they have enough aid, if they have to write reports, if anyone does follow-ups, etc. So I had a lot of questions for him. I don’t know how I got to meet with him; I don’t know how I get to meet with any of these important people, as I insist that I don’t. I’m sure he had much better things to do. I’m not sure what it is that they think is worth spending their time on me; I think its part of the welcoming culture, and that’s something I’ve learned to embrace. Admin. Chaudray did two things for us; he set us up for an in-depth tour of the clinic and scheduled a meeting at a clinic in a worse part of town the next day with another woman. The tour was amazing. Having worked in a hospital, I was really comparing the supplies, the procedures, the policies, etc. Not that there is one way to do things, but rather that I know (relatively) what above/below par supplies are and it was wonderful to see that the facility really did the best of supplies. Granted they had very few for the number of clients they served, they still do a thorough job a servicing their clientele. When we returned we had lunch, Linah and I chatted about university life and then we traveled to where I would be staying for the next few days. There I met Jackie, Barbara and baby Abby. We didn’t do much, settled in, met the neighbors, had dinner and the rested. I must note that I have had lunch and showered in between writing, so I suggest you do the same, or you may snooze off. Tuesday, June 19 I was up around 7:30, got ready and was set to go by 8. However, as I had been learned on my trip, coastal life is different than African time. There is African time, which is like 30 minutes late and then there is coastal life which is, whenever I feel like it. Yes, yes, I know what you are thinking, this is how I live my life, but I do so in a manner that gets things done, not one that spends an hour eating breakfast and then two hours talking to the neighbor boy and then another hour just walking around. It is as if there is no concept of time, this my friends, is where I almost had my first anxiety attack. I felt it coming on, I really did. Heart was slowing beating stronger, breathing getting heavier, sweating a bit- but just from the face; I think I had a mini anxiety attack. So Jackie and I leave ohh, around 11:15 (after my anxiety attack), and head to Haller Park where we see animals of all sorts, we then miss seeing the SOS School (because of time constraints) and head to meet Zakia, the appt. the BOMU Admin had set up. Jackie wasn’t so much one for directions and since I don’t speak Swahili, we were having issues. She also didn’t really like talking to strangers, so I would have to insist (in a polite way) that we ask this person and that we leave early. I felt really bad, as I don’t think she wanted to go here and I offered to just get a cab and go by myself, but she said it was ok. She we traveled for about an hour and after getting lost a few times we found our way, and we were even early… in MOMBASA! That’s like an oxy-moron here. So we waited, and let me tell you, my first born child is going to be named after this woman. Zakia holds herself with grace, power and more heart that I have ever seen; she is a walking mother Teresa that has a story to tell, and I was there to listen. Her life and mission unfolded to us as we walked through the slums to meet her clients. She tracks over 200 HIV/AIDS patients mainly in the slums to make sure they are on meds, eating well, and doing ok. She is also a leader of women’s groups, educational groups, a Red Cross volunteer, a HIV/AIDS speaker, a mentor, a mother of 3, a woman of faith, she has started various Community Based Organizations and she works hard each and every day to make the world a better place. This woman is a hero of mine. She is the hope so many people look for each day, she is the life that people hang on to and she bread that people feed from when they are hungry, and this woman is unbelievable. After meeting a few of her clients and talking her to as we walked, she invited us into her home where we talked further. I could have listened forever. She has a spark that lights up the room and I hope that one day I do even half the good she has done. Oh, she was amazing. The rest of the trip was ok. We went back to the house, met with the family, talked politics, life, education, etc and then off to bed, as I needed to get up for my bus ride. I must not forget this, this is especially for Ryan, but really for everyone. Ryan, I would have taken a picture, but my digi would have been snatched faster than you can say Favre. I saw a Packer shirt! Yes, I did, on the streets of Mombassa. It was a teenage boy and he was sporting a Tasmanian Devil Green and Gold stylish shirt. Don’t act you never had one, we all did. Ha ha. So even though I didn’t bring the kids GB Favre jerseys they still have the pride over here, or at least the one kid did. Wednesday, June 20 Bussssssss rideee, all day! However, I must write that even while riding a bus, learning does occur. Not just from talking to the people near me, but from watching the landscape. First and foremost, it gives me a chance to read the entire newspaper. If you ever want to learn about a foreign country, all you have to do is read the newspaper, it will give you the most accurate picture of society. Also, I actually learned a lot on this bus ride, while watching the road construction. For every one worker, it seemed like they had 10 supervisors, what a waste, I thought. The I realized that this company was one of two things, hired by the Chinese or government contracted; meaning that their paychecks are going to come regardless if they get 2 inches or 2 miles of the road complete as there is no accountability. Which led me to (and I can’t believe I’m going to say this) appreciate business. When corruption is built into government, the only systematic function to fix things is business; the people must act for them selves. I cant even begin to think how many professors tried to teach me that lesson, but I always said “NO, big business is bad for the small shop keeper and hurts the people and the government” and I could go on to list many reasons why. And I still could, but now, I see, that there are some places that are crying out for business. NOW, I’m not saying I LOVE BIG BUSINESS and that it’s the solution to the worlds problems, its not at all, but sooner or later the 3rd world has to be self-sufficient and if their governments don’t straighten-up, business is a second accountable solution, in some cases. Also, we always say “the UN is a waste, they do nothing”; back up that truck. In the developed world, we don’t see the effects of the policy they write, because we automatically sign onto most of the international governing bodies, but in developing countries the media, the people and the activists hold onto the every word of organizations like the UN, World Bank, IMF, World Vision, etc. In fact, maybe we should even realize that we have signed but not implemented all of them, particularly ones affecting the environment and global warming. Ok, so this is what I do on bus rides, think too much.  I got home, gave Sandy a big hug, talked about my trip and her week and crashed. Thursday, June 21 I slept in… hheeeeeyy. Yah, super nice. I unpacked, got organized, did some reading, got caught up on emails, walked around a bit and just relaxed. Peter came over; we had a nice visit and then headed to town. In town I went to the ATM (where I almost lost my card, bc I forgot my pin), and then went to Nakumatt (our equivalent of Pick n’ Save). Oh, I miss grocery shopping, I really do. So that was nice. Since I hadn’t been home and since Sandy and Tony are so wonderful I decided to cook them a nice meal. So I spent 3 hours in the kitchen, jamming out and cooking. It’s the weirdest things that make me feel at home, but this did. So we had some a wonderful meal and enjoyed ourselves. I’m thinking about finding a sugar daddy and becoming a chief here in Nairobi, you know Tom Cruise Cocktail style.  I really like the fresh fruits and veggies and oh how you can play with them while cooking. Did you ever think mangos would taste good in pasta? It does! Friday, June 22, 2007 OH MY GOODNESS, I LOVE TO LEARN! Today I went to Mugungo (sp?) clinic with 11 journalists who were doing a story on 2nd line anti-viral treatments for HIV/AIDS patients. The clinic specializes in caring for only women commercial sex workers. Yes, go ahead and re-read that, it’s true. Controversial, maybe, but the bottom line of it all is that hookers or not, they are people too and they are more likely to be infected. The clinic is mainly sponsored by the University of Nairobi and is small, but serves a large population. We got to ask questions to both the nurses and the doctor on staff, and we also got a tour. You may have heard about this clinic if you watch BBC, CNN, MSNBC, etc. as a few years back they have a group of sex workers who were basically immune to diseases regardless of exposure. The clinic does a lot of research of the clients, but does not reveal its direct findings (i.e., the Doc couldn’t tell us). There was never really an outcome from there story, as to what it was that prevented them from getting infected, but I’m sure there is an answer some where. There were two great angles to this day, one was obviously learning about the clinic and the second was seeing stories through the eyes of the media, as I was following 11 radio journalists. After the clinic I went to the market where I filled the whole fridge for less than 200 ksh ($4). Yah, fresh fruits and veggies like nobodies business and they let you try them, and you can bargain and if you want to just stare, you can do that too.  I went to the market with David, who pretty much did the bargaining, as many of the farmers don’t speak English and well, I’m not good at bargaining. Tonight we are having a bit of a gathering, a party if you will, for Nancy, who is leaving for Australia to get her masters in nursing. Then tomorrow we are going to a Gala sponsored by the Ministry of Health, which would be like our Dept. of Health (govt), and then Monday I’m at Nyumbani. Through this whole week, I have learned a lot, but most importantly is something that I strive everyday to work at. Stop judging and start helping. I don’t know the path each person walked to get where they are today, but because they may be at a crossroads does not give me the right to judge them, all I can do is open my heart, lend a hand and offer to do what I can. This lesson is most importantly learned when we get a taste of our own medicine. So often people are over charging me, looking at me as a rich tourist, judging me by the color of my skin, and it hurts, not only in terms of money, but emotionally. By no means has my life been given to me on a silver platter and so many assume that simply because I’m an American, I learned that it hurts to be judged. I’ve had to work hard ever step of the way to get where I am and guess what, maybe they have as well. Chances are, they have had it worse as their country is infested with disease, stricken by poverty and crime and run by a corrupt government which fosters a dysfunctional economy. Who am I to judge them or anyone else. It doesn’t matter who they are, hookers, beggars, business workers, bankers, farmers, homeless; no one has the right to judge another, not for creed, country, wealth, status, education, sexuality, age, employment, anything really. We don’t have the right to judge because we are all human, we are all children of God, we all have a place in this world and there is something good we can do for each other everyday. So I always try to remember what it feels like to be judged, step back, realize the strength in each and every person and smile to let that person know that I’m not there to judge, only to listen and lend a hand if needed. I miss everyone tons, but I really am learning so much and having the time of my life. Thanks so much for all of your love and support. Peace and love