A Glimpse at Corruption

The root of Kenya is corruption. I wish I could say it isn’t so, but its all around, in the government, law enforcement, religion down to the community development NGO we were working for. My guess is that there is so much fear of living that horrific impoverished lifestyle, that corruption has become secretly acceptable.

It is said that the very best job in Kenya is to be a Pastor. The only hope some people have to hang on to is God. They believe with all their heart that He will come through for them. With that they are willing to give everything they can spare to the local church. That comes in very handy for the Pastor. I have yet to see one that isn’t looking spiffy in a nice suit, clean and well groomed. Other volunteers were placed living with the Pastors and their families and their accommodations were just short of living in the U.S. There may not have been running water in a 6 to 10 room house but there was always a house-hand to flood flush the toilet for them. 

As a realist, I wonder how or why these people keep giving when they don’t see the money coming back down to repay their children, provide food when they’re hungry, build shelter and keep them safe, when that small bit extra could make a difference in their today. Then I see... when you have nowhere to go and don’t know where to turn, you have to have something to hang onto. Faith. 

Where has the blog gone...

Where has the blog gone....

I do apologize to those of you who keep track of my where abouts, health, safety and most importantly, adventures; through my blog. This piece of my blog could not be updated until I successfully joined paths with my parents. Knowing how on edge my Mom was while I was gone, all the while putting on her brave face reminding herself that she raised a strong, capable daughter; I knew it would make her shudder to hear the highs and lows of each of my days. 

Protecting the mindset of my friends and family was a large part of my lack of communication, but not completely. Modern luxuries like internet and electricity was a battle that I wasn’t willing to fight for when settling in and living a Kenyan lifestyle.  I captured many of my thoughts and experiences in a handwritten journal during my stay. Hopefully I can paint an objective picture of life in Kenya for others to understand, but from my very few conversations I’ve had with the outside world, its not really a place that anyone can comprehend. And, to be honest, I have sat down to write this blog many of times but could never come up with the words to describe my experience and fully portray the horrific life so many of them lead and how they touched my heart. 

Being a white person in Kenya isn’t exactly the easiest trait to deal with. Even the Kenyans will say, “you don’t look white, you look as green as money”. No matter who you get to know and how much you like them there is always the line of trust that you never really can be sure of. As much as it may disgust you at times, the underling reason is desperation. There has been so much desperation in the eyes of the common Kenyan for so long that all morals have been discarded and survival is the number one priority. For mothers that could be prostitution for as little as 25cents U.S., but for a Kenyan that is food on the table for the family. Pit pocketing, robbing, rape and murder are not uncommon stories to be heard as they have very little regard for human life. Yes, I heard many of those stories from locals and also from volunteers, and I thanked my lucky stars everyday that I had not encountered such situations, then hoped for the best for the next day. 

Vurmilia School

School is hard for me to get through everyday. I love the kids as always but struggle with the teaching methods of our local Kenyan teachers. Its not just here, it is common throughout Kenya from what I have learned to discipline the children by beating them. Most commonly when they get an answer wrong or hesitate with confusion. Sometimes it is a wack on the hands or butt with a whipping stick other times it is a slap to the back of the head and always some form of verbal abuse. My least favorite is, “you are wasting our time”. These kids came to learn, if they already knew all the answers... they wouldn’t need to be in school. 

After my first week of viewing this, not feeling like I could be involved in class at all, confused on where my place was, I knew it wasn’t my right to tell them that their years of customs were offensive to me. I decided to step outside of the classroom, bringing the less developed kids along with me. I know that it is only a temporary fix but I figured it saves them a few stern strikes a day, gives them some one on one time, hopefully allowing them to catch up a bit and prevent abuse in the future. 

Knowing that I have to accept cultural differences I have inquired about the way the children are reprimanded. The common census is that there is no point in babying them now as they will be in for a rude awakening when they are ready to go onto a proper school. 

Thursday was an exam day. Helping out by writing the name of each child on the top of their exam, I have only become familiar with their baptismal names (John, Mary, Jacob, Elijah, Ruth), they also have swahili names. After finishing my small job, Teacher Joyce asked me to also put the Swahili name on their paper. Not knowing any of them, I asked her what each was, and when I didn’t spell it correctly she had the audacity to give me a light smack on the back of the head and take the pen from me. Taking me completely off guard, I wasn’t prepared to tell her how I felt about that until class had started and the moment was gone. To say the least we are not getting off to a great start. She however, is unaware of how inappropriate that is in my opinion but I will not make a rift that would extract from my time with the kids. They are who is truly important. 

Garbage Slum

You can know they exist, you can look at pictures or hear stories but there are no words to describe the reality of a garbage slum. Peoples entire livelihood depending on the trash from surrounding areas. 

I had my first visit to the Gioto Garbage slum where over 6,000 people live. It sounds awful but it is worse than even imaginable. The smell that permeates the area is so vile it makes your stomach turn and your head hurt. Mounds of trash piled everywhere with people of all ages, from small children to the elderly digging through them to find anything they can live off of. Scraps of food, materials to build their homes with, anything that could be crafted and sold. 

How does anyone get to this point in life? The stories that came from just a few of the families that lived there were dreadful. A single mom with 14 kids. She became pregnant at the age of 11 after being raped. Trying to support her baby led her to prostitution, the outcome being 13 more kids and infected with AIDS. Now she is immobile and it is her kids that are digging through the trash to find food. 

Profile surveys of the kids that have been done by past volunteers show many of them go months without being bathed, weeks without clean water and actual food (such as rice, beans or porridge), and most beaten daily. The majority of children are conceived from rape and most already infected with AIDS. 

Kenya holds the top 3 garbage slums in the world. The largest is home to 171,000 people outside of Nairobi. I’m not even ready to think of a city built on trash and hate to think that many people have no other choices. We (Fadhili organization) try to do as much as possible to get the children out of this lifestyle by raising money to send them to boarding school and for those not as lucky we supply as many as possible with clean water and a meal. Its not nearly enough to make a dent but its a step in the right direction. 

First Weekend In Kenya

No matter where I am, I continue to do the same types of things that I love to do, the scenery around me just changed and it has the ability to make a world of difference (no pun intended). 

My first weekend in Kenya I spent hiking and biking through Hells Gate National park. Meeting some new faces from multiple different projects, a group of us were guided through by a couple of high spirited Kenyons. We started by biking 7 km, but not your average ride to enjoy some exercise, fresh air and landscape. This was an unexpected National Geographic bike ride. Not many details were given out when signing up for this excursion other than the opportunity to bike through the canyon and hike to a natural hot springs created by volcanic activity. The idea of a hot bath in the stream was enough for me to sigh up, the view and activity was an added bonus I knew I would really enjoy.

I started the ride at the front of our pac, as we had a few virgin bikers.  Only a few minutes into our ride I found myself shouting to the others like a child at the zoo, “zebras!!!!!” Ten feet in front of me a herd of adults and babies were grazing in the field and before I knew it they were migrating across the road just a few feet in front of me. We continued our ride into the canyon when I heard someone else had spotted a giraffe. Stopping to look around, sure enough at the top of the canyon wall above us a giraffe was grazing the trees along the edge with a friend not far behind. It was a moment of ahhh, looking around thinking that these animals were as common and at home as deer would be in the yards of Craig Colorado. Through out the rest of our tour we saw gazelles, warthogs, ostrich and furry monkeys as big as a golden retriever. We had quite the outing for just a day trip jaunt.

New Project

After my fist week on my new project I am starting to get familiar with some of the people, kids and daily life of this community. Although so many of them are able to put on a smiling warm face everyday the conditions aren’t pretty and they know it. Kids will be kids knowing no other life, they run and play, sing and dance and adore every minute you spend with them. 

It is just the beginning of the rainy season here in Kenya. The days are hot and humid and the rain starts to poor in late afternoon, sometimes not stopping until morning. The first day I really enjoyed it. Not only did it seem refreshing and cleansing but I they needed the water desperately. After a couple nights of the rain, walking through camp made it more apparent that the rain is much needed for food but also very damaging to the only home they have.

The tents are made out of a thin plastic and tarps. After 3 years they are starting to show lots of wear and tear from the weather. Talking to people they say they haven’t slept in days. They joke about needing a boat instead of a bed. Mothers spend the nights protecting their young from the cold and trying to keep them as dry as possible. Most tents have anywhere from 3 people to a family of 7 or 8 in one, which leaves little room to scramble for the dry spots. 

The house I am living in has taken a little adjustment time. No electricity makes for very dark evenings listening to the rain pound on a tin roof. Mice keep us company during the night. Roosters make for very early mornings and the chickens on the couch make for a great welcoming comity at breakfast. Our house is not closed in so they come and go as they please. Checking to see if this was a normal occurrence, I was informed that they just come in to lay their eggs and go, however that is far more timely that I would have ever guessed. The food is simple but eatable with a Kenyon kick, sugar. 

At the end of the day looking at the difference between my accommodations here making my life at home look so plush, a short distance away I am reminded that I am still living such a large life. I go to bed every night with a full stomach and wake up to bread and tea. I have no worry of water destroying everything I have or taking a toll on my health. I have an education to share with others and at any point in time the ability to change my dissatisfactions. I hate that others live with such rough conditions and suffer so much but love the ability to put things into perspective. 

IDP Camp

I arrived at my placement today. Yes, even a shocker for me. I was prepared for the slums, but did not think that I would be living so close to them. I am about 15 steps away from the Vurmilia IDP camp. 

I think the people who dropped me off at my location were waiting for a shocking expression as the said “welcome home”. Although my mind was racing I played it off as though I would have expected nothing more. I do not live like I am in an IDP camp but not too far off. My house is nothing more than a cement block house and a tin roof. There is not only no running water but only one large tank for the whole camp. If you thought that the toilets I was using in Thailand were a stretch they are still a step ahead of the hole in the ground here shared by many. We are allotted a cold bucket shower about once a week and a sparing cup of water to wash up our face and hands daily. As of now I have not showered (not by choice this time) since Saturday night in Chiang Mai. I am now writing on Wednesday and have traveled three hours on a bus, through 4 airports and 3 countries. 

IDP stands for Internally Displaced People. Which translates into people who are refugees of their own country. Where ever they were living, in the slums or in nearby towns, fled during the political clashes that led to large amounts of violence and riots. Homes and churches being burnt down with people inside, rape, and torture such as cutting off body parts are a few of the horrific stories I have heard. Many of these people have an education and businesses that were lost. People that are now living in this IDP camp next to me in very small tents that leaks in the rain, without much food or water and few opportunities for education or work were once on track to overcoming so many of the typical African obstacles. 

The government compensated each family with 10,000 shillings (80 shillings to 1USD = $125). These families put their money together to buy a piece of land that they could feel safe on. They purchased this land in 2008 and since then many families have moved to this land as non-registered  IDPs, meaning the government has no record of them and they received no compensation. Now there are 158 tents on this plot and a small school built by volunteers. Some people have a small garden although the conditions aren’t well, the women make baskets and jewelry, but being so far from a town there is not much market for them. What very little they do have is self-sustainable with very few resources.

I’m not exactly sure were to start on this project, it is more mind boggling and overwhelming than I had imagined. I hope to tell you in the future that we have changed a few lives here and give them some hope for the future.