Kenya – Village Project Africa

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 3^rd 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.

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 8^th 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. 

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. 

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.

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

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.