I arrived in Nairobi, a large, vibrant city (based solely on
the eight or so hours I spent there). I had a hotel room where I showered and
slept a few hours before being driven back to the airport for a flight to
Eldoret, a smaller but still very vibrant city. But it was differently vibrant.
There was a lot of activity and many markets and shops with locals showing
their wares. There were also people driving herds of cattle across the main
highway. It made this West Virginia boy feel oddly comfortable. Most people not
on foot were using bicycles and small motorcycles. They were sort of like dirt
bikes, but the way they loaded these things up you could tell they had at least
a little power. Piles and piles of crates, bags, and just random objects would
be stacked, often several feet into the air on the back of these bikes. The
physics of keeping some of the loads intact was impressive, but I never saw one
tip over. How they managed to stay upright while also navigating the narrow,
pothole laden streets is beyond me.
It was with great relief that I arrived at the home of our
host and met up with the rest of my travel companions. Despite being separated
from them, they were extremely helpful in getting my flight to Eldoret re-booked
and making sure I had a place to stay in Nairobi. But I was very happy to
be with everyone and back on schedule.
A brief introduction to VPA from my perspective. This
organization has been involved in rural Kenya for a number of years. The
services they provide are too numerous for me to list, but it includes a
primary school (roughly elementary through middle school) and a high school, as
well as resources for some of the local families. As part of our visits to the
VPA schools, we walked around the village and met some of the families of the
children. All of the homes were similar structures, using hand made bricks or
concrete blocks, sometimes with wood framing and maybe a sheet metal roof.
Though it was not raining during our time in the village, leaking has to be a
recurring problem. But the theme of our visits was that these families and
children were overcoming serious obstacles, just to be able to attend school.
Many of them were without their fathers, which comes with even more serious
consequences in Kenya. Widows are not treated equally, particularly as it comes
to land ownership, so even maintaining a home can be a challenge. The mothers,
grandmothers, and other family members we spoke to were all very happy that
their children were given the opportunity to go to school.
In this part of the country, everything around me is a
combination of lush green vegetation, contrasted with red, wet clay. Barely a
paved road, and few markets or storefronts. Nearly everyone is on foot, with
the occasional motorcycle (we really enjoyed the Swahili “boda boda”) coming
along. I saw a few trucks and a tractor, but most of the time people got where
they were going on their own two feet. Often they were carrying loads:
firewood, produce, and one large piece of sheet metal among those I can recall.
They were very struck by our whiteness. I know from my hosts that they have
seen white people before, but it is also a rare and clearly momentous event.
Children would usually smile or laugh and wave at us. Even many of the adults
seemed to have a bemused expression on their faces.
This was doubly true when three of us took a turn as
passengers on the backs of those boda bodas. One of our hosts, Davis, arranged
for them to transport us to a local high school for various activities, because
his vehicle would not accommodate the whole group. I was one of the lucky
three. Riding on the back of a motorcycle took me back to younger days, when my
close friend Nate would encourage me to risk life and limb by climbing onto the
back of his bike. He would have felt right at home here. The ride itself was
surprisingly smooth, especially considering the rough terrain. And man did the
locals love it. We got waves, cheers, thumbs up, and lots of very confused and
interested looks. It was terrific. It was brought to our attention later in the
day the sharp contrast between our frequent view of motorcycles in the US as
luxury items, as opposed to here where they are a means of income and a near
necessity for traveling long distances in a short period of time. Context like
this is particularly important in trying to describe life in the U.S. to my new
Kenyan friends. When one of our fellow travelers told the group how much he
spent on his motorcycle (roughly converted to Kenyan shillings), children and
adults alike were awestruck.
Earlier on the day of the great boda boda escapade, we
attended a church service hosted on the campus of the high school. It was a 3-hour marathon that included some of
the best a capella singing I’ve ever heard. I’ve been to a lot of churches in my
life, many with full bands and various instrumental performers. They can’t beat
a few hundred African kids with rhythm and enthusiasm. The minister gave a very
long sermon, in which he seemed to touch on pretty much the entirety of the
Bible. It was an impressive feat, though I definitely left with some questions
about his fidelity to doctrine. I remind myself that this is what happens when
cultures collide. The singing is what I’ll remember most though.
After the service, we were treated to a tour of the local
high school campus. This includes some classrooms and dormitories, as all of
the children live on site during the school year. Later in the day they would
provide a pretty impressive chemistry demonstration and we were able to spend
some time talking with the children in smaller groups. During lunch, I was
talking to two of the high school girls. They had many questions about the United
States and about my life personally. They asked really interesting questions
about language, music, and culture in general. They were enthralled with the
camera on my phone, and we spent a good bit of time taking selfies. They also
took more traditional photos, with one of them instructing me to jump so she
could get an “action shot.” It’s hilarious. All the kids were the same way, and
I think by the end of the day students of the school had probably taken more
pictures with our cameras and phones than we had.
During this conversation, Jasmine, the more direct of the
two, asked me what my worst moment in life was. We learned later that they ask
this question often, in part because they like to hear stories of people
overcoming adversity. The directness of the question (without a hint of
rudeness, by the way), took me so off guard that I answered truthfully. I
talked about the recent loss of my dad and how hard it has been on me. I also
talked about my family, especially my siblings, and how we have tried our best
to take care of each other. Without my asking, Jasmine told me that her worst
moment was also the loss of her father, which occurred when she was in 3rd
grade. It was the oddest and most unexpected sort of bonding experience. It was
also a reminder that death, separation from family, and traumatic loss in
general are so much more a part of the life around here. Many of these children
are at this school because there are no resources in their community to help
them. They may not be in school at all if this opportunity were not present. It
didn’t make me feel any better about losing my dad, but it was probably the
most I’ve connected with someone about it other than my siblings.
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| Me trying to turn Jasmine into a Herd fan. I think it's working. |
The day
before, we were able to take the children we sponsor
(providing scholarship to the school and/or room and board in the dorm) to the local market to buy clothing. It was another fun
cultural experience, because people were now looking at us both as an anomaly,
but also as a source of income. I walked around with Clinton, the 8th
grade boy I’ve been sponsoring for the last few years, as he pulled clothes
from the local vendors and tried to see if they would fit him. The proprietors
were never far away, often talking with him directly in Swahili. I could tell
that he was already negotiating prices on my behalf, and it probably saved me a
few shillings. I was able to barter down a little further, but I feel certain
that anyone who sold anything to me had a very good day. The truth is that even
with a very marked up price, everything here is still so much cheaper than the
U.S. it hardly feels worth it to argue. By the end of the day, Clinton had an
entire wardrobe and a new backpack to put it in, and I was probably out about
$50. All in all, a pretty good day. One of our fellow travelers found a
motorcycle shop up the street with a cooler full of Coke and Fanta. Everyone in
our crew got one and we enjoyed it together. There was a group photo and lots
of smiles.
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| Clinton and I at the river near the market. |
Our last full day in the village we were treated to a great
show. The primary school has a dance team that performs traditional tribal
dances. They have full costumes, designed and made by their instructor, and
they tour around the country competing. The show was incredible. These very
soft-spoken children seemed transformed into confident, rehearsed, polished
performers. They followed their choreography beautifully. I’m no dance expert,
but I can say that with confidence because if they had not followed each step
precisely, someone would have been injured. We learned later that they practice
religiously, even if their teacher is not present. They are clearly very
dedicated. Clinton was also on the dance team, and he was very pleased that
they had the opportunity to entertain us. So was I.
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| One of the dances performed. This boy in the lead role was incredible. |
One of the things I’m most happy about on this trip is that
every time I’ve seen a ball I have tried to join in on the game. We played a
variation of a soccer game at the primary school, where one person was in the
middle of a circle and would kick the ball another person. The person in the
middle then went chasing around the circle until they could touch the ball
again. It was a great way for me to be reminded that I’m not good at soccer,
but the kids were so enthusiastic and amused. It was a wonderful time. The next
day at the high school, I was able to jump into a volleyball game. This time I
felt a bit more in my comfort zone, as I had at least played volleyball
recreationally before. Again, everyone was very encouraging of my performance,
even when I obviously sucked. The next day, back at the high school, I jumped
into a real soccer game. The ball was actually a creation of the kids there, a
little softer than a soccer ball and a little less predictable. They had a
single goal set up, and they played very much like a half-court pickup
basketball style where the defense would have to take the ball back before
taking a shot at the net. I picked up on that portion of the rules reasonably
well. My feet were not quite as cooperative, though I eventually approached a
degree of almost competence. That was combined with a clear goal of passing the
ball off as quickly as possible whenever it came my way. This led to my one
true athletic highlight of the trip, when I was able to kick the ball out of
the air to one of the other boys so he could score a goal. It made up for so
many efforts to kick the ball, only to watch it keep going through my legs. I owe
all my (limited) success to years of hacky sack…it’s about time that paid off.
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| Photo
credit to Allen Owens. Way to make me look good. |
We found ourselves still at the high school until into the
evening. Our hosts had not been present for much of the day, and we were left
to spend time with the kids and entertain ourselves. However, as it began to
get dark we started wondering how we were going to get home. Finally, we were
able to speak with Davis by phone very briefly (connection being what it is in
rural Kenya), and he assured us that someone was coming for us. Eventually five
of the boda bodas arrived. My traveling crew looked around and realized there
were nine of us. We were then told that we would be riding two to a bike, even
the three women in dresses. Everyone saddled up, ready for the next part of our
adventure. My cousin Lauren got on the bike behind me, and everyone else was
paired up. We started out on the most narrow dirt path, and at one point our
driver had to walk us through the mud with the bike still running. Eventually
we made it out to the main road and only had to avoid the potholes. As had
happened many times before, the locals were amazed and amused by all the white
people riding by them. We got many waves and greetings, and one of the loudest and
most purely joyful belly laughs I’ve ever heard, coming from a young girl along
our route. When we arrived back at home, our hosts were outside to greet us and
take pictures. Everyone was in high spirits, and we shared our evening meal and
best moments from the trip so far.
If you are so inclined, you can donate to Village Project Africa through the link provided. Please especially consider the brand new Nixon Vidolo Post-Secondary Education Scholarship, which will be used to help some of the high schoolers attend college!
Village Project Africa Donations
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| Lauren and I holding on for dear life. |
Tomorrow we return to Nairobi and prepare to start the next
phase of our journey, the Safari!
Quick aside before Safari. We arrived late to Nairobi to
share in a group dinner and a night of rest. We went to a restaurant in Nairobi
called “Carnivore.” It was a sort of Brazilian style steakhouse, where they had
a nominal soup and salad course before bringing around massive amounts of all
kinds of meat, carved off of a sword. What can I say, they get me. They put a
small flag on the table, which was to remain upright until the table “surrendered.”
We had a few drinks, and many, many laughs. We’ve been of a
consensus that the group we have is well-suited to travel together, and the
dinner was further proof of that. There was not much sleep to be had, but we
are all reasonably awake and at the airport, preparing for our flight to the Safari
camp. From what I’ve been told, the Safari begins the moment we land.
