Passing Time

When we got back from our epic trek up Mt. Kenya, we were absolutely exhausted.  I pretty much hit my bed right away but first there were some new people to meet.  As we entered the house, Paddy and I were greeted by two gigantic bearded men.  Their names are Nolan and Steven and their story is awesome.  After a bit of exchanging of pleasantries, we eventually launched into a discussion about their impressive trip.  The two of them bought motorbikes in USA and shipped them over to Cape Town, South Africa.  They are currently midway through their journey up Africa, heading for Jordan in the Middle East. (They must be no-good dirty Marxists.  High-five for the first person to get that reference)  I have always wanted to do something like that, a massive road trip, so it was really cool to talk to them and see how something like that could actually be pulled off.  They’ve been on the road for over a month now and have ridden through some of the craziest areas in the world.  Steven is a dual-citizen (American/British) but Nolan is just American and so his trip is a bit trickier.  As I’m sure you all know, Americans don’t have the greatest reputation all over the world, and most of Africa treats them like scum.  They need to go through Sudan for part of their trip, so Steven is using his British passport for that leg, but Nolan does not have the luxury of choice.  As an American, getting an entry visa to Sudan is next to impossible, so he had to embark on some light forgery.  He was very careful to not actually break any laws, but what he’s trying to pull off is still very sketchy.  He wrote up an official-looking letter and placed the American seal on the top, and is attempting to pass it off as an official request for entry by the American government.  The Sudanese embassy in Kenya jerked him around for a while so his future is still uncertain, but they will apparently be trying this is every country they ride through before Sudan.  I hope to hear from them soon because I’m really curious to find out if it works.  Otherwise, well, he’s kind of screwed I suppose.

The next week or so consisted of more of the same at Grace Academy, but Paddy managed to get a game arranged for our little soccer team over the weekend.  On Sunday, the day of the game, we were meant to arrive at the field at 2:00PM but, of course, it was nearly 3:30PM by the time we actually left the orphanage (African time is starting to really piss me off).  It was pouring during most of the game, it kind of reminded me of soccer as a kid back home, good times.  I was expecting to get absolutely destroyed seeing as our team had no idea how to play positions or play it wide etc. but, surprisingly, we made a very good showing.  All of our players somehow managed to stay in their general areas, and while most of the play was quite sloppy, a lot of it was very organized and well-conceived.  Most of the passes were actually along the ground, as the few long balls that they played were swallowed up by the other team’s massive central defenders (they had to have been like 16 haha so unfair).  We ended up losing 2-0 which was a disappointment for the kids, but I was honestly expecting a slaughter so I was quite pleased.  We could have easily scored a couple of goals, and one that the other team scored was complete crap.  Overall, it was a very good first game, and the opposing coach said he was quite impressed.  He said he would like to invite us to the next tournament held in the area.  I probably won’t be around for that but I hope that there will be volunteers arriving in the next little while to replace Paddy and me.

Another story of interest since the last update is Adam’s encounter with a matatu.  Adam is this really tall guy from Canada (Winnipeg, specifically, go Jets!).  When he showed up to Regina’s house this past week he had stiches on his head.  We were all “holy shit intense! How did that happen?”  He kind of bashfully looked away and mumbled something under his breath. We made him repeat and speak up and I immediately understood why he was so embarrassed: he walked into a parked matatu, end of story.  So he has a big scar on his head now.  Cool story bro, right?  I know. ANYWAY

Last weekend was pretty entertaining.  For the first time since I’ve been here, a group of us decided to go out drinking.  It started out pretty low key with some dinner at Junction (the mall) but we decided it would be fun to go get a couple drinks.  We tried to get into this sports bar in the mall but they had an age-restriction, you had to be over 25 to get in (what the hell?).  Well SCREW EM we said, that place would have been too expensive anyway.  We instead decided to go to this dingy, rickety bar on the way back home and I don’t think they’ve ever seen a white person in there, let alone nine.  We were quickly segregated to a little corner (racist) but it was cool because it felt like a VIP section haha.  We sat there pretty much the whole night consuming Tusker’s.  In hindsight it was great that we were denied from that uppity sports bar in the mall, because for nine of us to get wasted (and I do mean wasted) it cost a grand total of 6000Ksh, about $60.  I even tipped our waiter, why not.  Anyway, before too long we started playing drinking games (two of the most fun I’ve ever played, I’m bringing them home) and the whole bar seemed really interested in what was making us all yell every couple minutes.  I think when we first entered the bar the Kenyans were a little bit pissed off that the mzungus had invaded, but by the end of the night they were loving it.  We ended up ordering shots (you know Adrian is drunk when he orders a round of tequila, gross) and things got a little bit more interesting.  We played a drinking game and agreed that the loser would have to go serenade this guy.  Paddy lost and obliged, treating us all to a very sexy song and dance routine.  That started the previously non-existent dance floor and the rest of the night was a huge dance party, all races allowed (aww look at us, breaking down boundaries).  A great time was had by all and at about 1:00AM we left.  Against all of our advice, Paddy decided it would be a good idea to go meet Jenga in downtown Nairobi (Jenga is the son of our host mum; he lives at the house with us).  The area that we were in was pretty safe, but being white and belligerent in downtown Nairobi, and alone, is generally a bad idea.  Case in point: Paddy got mugged three times that night.  Yes, three times.  I can’t believe I was considering going with him.  We kept telling him not to go but he had lost the drinking game we were playing three consecutive times and had made up his mind.  He ended up getting home at about seven in the morning, somehow having only had his iPod stolen, no cash or anything.  As for me, I did the smart (ish) thing and just walked home from the bar. There was a group of eight of us but those of you that know drunken me will be sure that I didn’t stick with the group.  No, I put my iPod on and basically ran home, shouting lines from Kanye West’s My Beautiful Dark Twisdted Fantasy all the way home.  I’m sure I woke some Kenyans up and, in hindsight, I kind of feel badly about that, but the sight of me stumbling home at close to 2:00AM through what is essentially a slum shouting “YOU KNOW THAT SHIT IS, FUKIN RIDIKALUS” at the top of my lungs was probably pretty hilarious.  Luckily for me, I remained un-mugged (like I said, our area is pretty safe and the walk home was about fifteen minutes).  Shit, I would have mugged me.  Stupid pink jacket, slurring rap lines, whiter than sin, eww.

The next day a group of us had planned to visit a place called Fourteen Falls near Thika.  Pretty much everyone but Paddy was still up for it.  When I woke him up to see if he was still down, he opened his bloodshot eyes, grunted, and rolled back over, asleep.  He had had a bad night, we understood.  Five of us ended up going.  It’s a really cool place, the Nairobi equivalent of the Nanaimo River.  We had to hire a guide (who was trying to screw us into paying way too much, but we laid the smack down) who helped us across the fast moving river.  We hung out there for a couple hours, did some swimming and some cliff jumping.  It was literally exactly like a day at the Nanaimo River.  Right down to the weed smoking.  My summer’s in Nanaimo used to consist of going to the river, getting baked, and going swimming.  Well, the Kenyans here had pretty much the same setup and the whole place was ripe with the smell of ganja.  We didn’t participate in the drug-smoking (for what I hope are obvious reasons) but it reminded me of home so hard.  It was a full day and we ended up getting back home pretty late, but it was tonnes of fun and I think I’ll go back soon.

On Monday, Adam, Paddy and I went to play golf at this very nice course on the outskirts of the city.  It was easily the nicest course I’ve ever played and Adam got us a very good price.  I didn’t think I’d be coming to Kenya and playing golf, let alone one as amazing as this, but there I was.  We had to rent clubs (obviously) and so they required us to have caddies.  We argued with them because holy awkward, but to no avail.  It was club policy, or something.  I’ve never had a caddy before and I kind of felt like a dick just handing this guy (Peter) my club after taking a shot, but it was cool I suppose.  We were also absolutely wiped by the end of the round so it was probably a good thing that we didn’t have to carry our own clubs.  I started out playing pretty well actually.  It was a very difficult course, with strategically placed water hazards and sand traps, but I managed to keep my shots in the fairway for the most part and I actually hit some greens in regulation.  I pulled in a 45 on the front-nine, a very good score for someone with my skill level and for not having played golf in a long time.  The wheels came off on the back-nine though.  I shot a 51 on the back (45-51 = 96, how’s that for inconsistency?) but my original goal was to break 100 so I suppose I was happy with that.  The 18^th hole was beautiful, but its green was completely surrounded by water.  I’ve never played a course with a feature like that, it was pretty intimidating. After a very good drive, I was lying 160 yards away, so I couldn’t possibly lay-up.  I decided to go for the daunting green, to my demise.  I took a 7-iron, scared of not being able to muscle an 8 over the water, and promptly hit it fat.  I knew the second I made contact that I was in the water.  I should have played it safe because I started the hole one shot up on Adam.  In the end, I made a 7 and he carded a 5, so I lost by one shot.  He went 48-47 = 95.  The 51 on the back killed me.  It was a great day though and I was pleasantly surprised that I still knew how to play golf, sort of.

One last thing I forgot to fit in somewhere: some doctors came to the school last week to hold a free medical clinic for the staff and so I got tested for HIV/Aids, why not.  Good news ladies: I’m clean.  Form a line please.

Anyway, that’s the last couple of weeks or so through the eyes of Adrian.  This weekend we head to the coast, specifically Mombasa, for what should be a fun-filled couple days of beach and drunken shenanigans.  I hope you’re all doing well.  Until next time, peace out.

8900 Miles From Home, 4200 Metres From Sea Level

Alright I’ll cut right to the chase: I didn’t make it to the top.  I am very sorry for the crushing disappointment that you are all experiencing right now.  I’ll wait while you deal with that.

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Over it?  Good, now here are the details.  It ended up being only Paddy and I making the trip, two others were supposed to join us but they decided against it. We were supposed to get picked up at 8:00 AM but they have this thing in Kenya called ‘African time’ and it was about 10:30 by the time we actually got picked up.  It was kind of annoying but not entirely unexpected so we dealt, we dealt.  We had to drive about three hours to get to the city of Nanyuki and on the way we crossed the equator going north.  I’ve been to the equator before, when I was in Ecuador, so I knew what was coming.  This guy did a demonstration where he showed that the water goes rotates down a drain in a different direction depending on what hemisphere you are in, and doesn’t rotate at all if you’re on the equator.  It was pretty cool, but I’d seen it before. (Oh and one of you jerks, probably Kevin, said that it was “bullshit” and “faked” and that that doesn’t actually happen when I came back from South America and I sort of believed you.  But yeah you’re wrong haha.  ANYWAY) The guy then tried to sell us a certificate for 500 Ksh and we said no, but tipped him a bit.  That’s the thing about Kenya: you can’t do anything just to do it, there’s always someone who wants to grab some money off you.  Which brings me to the shops, my god.  Those of you that have read my previous posts will know how pissed off I get with pushy shopkeepers, but the guys at the masai market were nothing compared to the guys at the equator.  There were dozens of shops, full of the same tacky shit that I’d seen a hundred times before, and they cornered us in their stores, literally begging us to buy stuff.  It was really upsetting and Paddy and I kept wanting to get away but they weren’t having any of that.  We eventually bought a couple pieces of crap each and got the hell out of there, but not before another guy tried to push the most ridiculous “trades” on me.  He wanted my watch.  He wanted my bracelet with the flags of the countries I’ve been to (um, no way fuck you).  He wanted my shirt.  He wanted my Canadian dollars.  It was very unpleasant.

Anyway, that night we stayed in a hotel and it was to be our last decent sleep for the next four days.  We picked up our guide on the way and he showed us a list of things we would need for the hike.  We had none of it.  I mean, I guess it’s kind of our fault for being unprepared, but you’d think that they’d tell you this sort of stuff beforehand.  I didn’t come to Kenya with winter clothing, why would I?  So we had to rent jackets, hats, gloves, boots, etc.  I was also explicitly told that I would not need to bring my sleeping bag, so I didn’t.  But guess what?  It turns out that I should have because I ended up having to rent one for like 1000Ksh, I was pretty pissed off.  What was pretty funny though was the hats that our guide rented for us.  We didn’t go with him, but when he came back and showed us our gear it was mostly ok.  The toques that he picked up for us though had the logo of the Chelsea football club on them.  Now, Paddy hates Chelsea. He hates them.  The look on his face when he saw what he would have to wear for a four-day hike was priceless.  He said “I’m not wearing that” and I would not have been surprised if he wasn’t kidding.  He sucked it up though, turned it inside out, and wore it embarrassingly.

The next day we left for the entrance of the park, somehow managing to cram all the extra stuff in our bags (I had to tie my jackets to the outside and stuff my shoes full of underwear).  On the first day, we only had to hike for something like two and a half hours.  We ended up at a camp at an altitude of about 3400 metres.  We arrived at about 4:00 PM and there was literally nothing to do.  It was also really cold.  We shivered and drank obscene quantities of tea while we waited for our dinner, then tried to kill time by playing cards.  Sleeping was next to impossible, as the lodging was absolutely dreadful.  Besides being cold, which honestly wasn’t that much of a bother, the beds were awful.  They went to the trouble of building bunks and putting mattresses on them, but for some reason they stopped there.  No sheets or covers or pillows or anything.  The sleeping bag was definitely required.  I don’t know about you guys but I can’t sleep without a pillow.  It’s just not doable.  The entire night consisted of brief stints of 30-minute sleeps due to exhaustion but I never got any quality shut-eye on account of being so friggin uncomfortable. It was one of the most miserable nights of my life (but that was nothing compared to the next one).

I was happy when the day started the next day if only because I was pleased to finally have something to do, to occupy the time.  It was to be approximately a six-hour hike to the next camp so we started early, at 7:00 AM.  On the way up we stopped to talk to a group who was on their way down, and got to hear about the terrible weather they had to endure.  I guess we got lucky because these guys had to do the six-hour hike in driving rain, and even got some hail.  Our weather was nothing but clear skies the whole time, and thank the lord because if you added rain into the mix then this would have been the official worst day of my life.  Don’t get me wrong, the views were beautiful and it was a really cool experience, but at about the half-way point, my legs turned to jelly.  I literally could not walk for more than two minutes without my right knee beginning to give out.  It was absolutely miserable.  I mean, I wasn’t overly tired or anything, that wasn’t it at all, my legs were just too weak to carry myself.  The porters took some of my load for me so that my bag would be lighter and that helped a bit.  Still, the second half of the hike (the easier half) took me about four hours.  I literally hobbled into camp.  I’m really pleased that this only happened at the halfway bit, after all the uphill sections, because I literally don’t think I would have made it up those hills with my legs in that state.  I couldn’t figure out what it was, but in the end I decided that it’s because I’ve gotten way heavier (fatter) in the last year or so without gaining any strength in my legs.  So basically, my legs weren’t used to carrying a fatass around, and they quit halfway through the hike.  That’s what I get for being a lazy sack of shit for the past year, so it goes.

So we eventually made it to the camp, surprisingly at the estimated time of 1:00 PM.  We did the first half in about two hours and were on pace to get there very early, but my embarrassing breakdown erased that.  It was at that camp that I had a talk with our guide and we decided I wouldn’t make the push for the peak.  We were meant to leave at 3:00 AM the next morning so as to get to the top for the sunrise, but the last bit was the steepest and most physically demanding.  We both decided there was no possible way that I was going to make it.  The thin air also started to take its toll as my breathing became very heavy near the end.  This surprised me because when I was in South America and everyone around me was bitching about the altitude, I felt fine the entire time.  I guess I was just in better shape back then.  So after another, even more miserable, night of intermittent sleep, Paddy and the guide left for the top at 3:00 AM while I waited for them to come back.  I’m a little disappointed in myself for not being able to go with them, but I did make it to 4200 metres, which is really high.  Our camp was also right under the peaks and I got a very good view of all of them (there are multiple peaks; the main, highest one is too much for 99% of people).

They got back to camp at about 8:00 AM, a little earlier than expected.  We ate breakfast and set on back down the trail.  My legs had been given ample time to recover by that point (sort of) and it was much easier going down, so all was good.  There were still some very difficult sections, but we did the whole walk in 3 hours and 15 minutes.  Just as we were about to arrive at the camp, I realized that my bag had opened and some stuff had fallen out.  I was really pissed off but wasn’t about to go back for it.  One of the porters felt bad though and against my demands, he ran back up the trail to find my jacket.  It turned out to be not too far away and he found it quickly so in the end, I’m glad he went back.  He wasn’t able to find my Chelsea hat though and it was just starting to rain.  Paddy must have been pleased to hear that one of the hats was being disrespected by getting covered in mud.

We were supposed to sleep at that camp again, but the guide mentioned that there was an option to instead just finish the hike and get the hell out of there.  We gladly took that option because the thought of another night in those hell beds was too much to handle.  It meant a very long, tiring day and a late arrival back in Nairobi, but we were both up for it.  We’re still both talking about how horrible the thought of spending another night in those lodging would have been.  We were originally meant to take a matatu (a van with way too many people crammed in it) from Nanyuki back to Nairobi which would have taken at least three hours.  Our guide worked some magic though and rustled up a private car for us and we didn’t have to pay any extra for it. Now let me tell you, I’ve seen my fair share of crazy driving here; the drivers in Kenya are ridiculous.  But this guy took it to a whole other level.  He was INSANE.  It was about a three hour drive back to town, but that’s only because of traffic near the city.  Our guy drove way too fast the entire way, and coming from me that’s saying quite a bit; I rip it up in my car back home.  It was like an extreme sport for him.  If there was any gap to pass at all, he went for it.  There were three or four separate times when I actually thought we were going to crash into oncoming traffic because he was ripping down the wrong side of the road, trying to pass a truck or something.  He even ended up stuck on the wrong side of a barrier once and the cars on that side were not pleased at all.  It was a crazy experience, but he got us back to town quickly, and I was grateful for that.

All-in-all, it was a very interesting experience.  I’m glad that I did it, but definitely would not do it again and would probably not even recommend it to fellow travellers.  It was some of the most intense physical activity I’ve ever done and the lodging was comparable to the holocaust (ok that’s overdoing it but you get what I’m going for).  The scenery was awesome though, and even though I didn’t get to the top, it’s pretty cool to spend a night at 4200 metres from sea level.

*Sorry that this seems rushed, I just really wanted to get it written and posted but I’m too tired to care right now.  I’ll edit/proofread it tomorrow and may revise it later but for now here it is.  A new post should be up in the next couple of days because it’s been a week since I got down form the top and lots of interesting stuff has happened but for now, I hope you enjoyed.  Peace out.

*EDIT: Apparently Kevin may be right http://www.ems.psu.edu/~fraser/Bad/BadCoriolis.html I still don't get why they bother but hey whattyaknow

A Quick One While I'm Away

It’ll be a month tomorrow that I’ve been in the so-called “Dark Continent” and there has been a lot to process.  There have been highs, there have been lows, and I expect that this is only the beginning of the roller-coaster.  I’m heading off to climb Mt. Kenya tomorrow which will take five days.  So even though I just posted a couple updates a few days ago, I’m going to empty my mind onto the page before I go, so enjoy my sixth entry.

Surprisingly, the least interesting/exciting part of the journey thus far has been the volunteer placement.  The people there do great work and it’s nice to help out, but it’s definitely not clicking with me like I had hoped it would.  I only end up teaching music for about ninety minutes each day and only after suffering through the mind-numbingly boring class that I have been placed in.  I feel useless when I’m in that class (class 2, about 7-8 years old); the teacher there is usually looking for something for me to do rather than actually needing my help.  The music section of the day is a little bit better if only because I get to play with a guitar for a while.  At first it looked as though I had a group of pretty keen musicians to teach each day, but Pastor Regina has started sending three different kids my way.  Only one of them is actually putting any effort into learning, the other two just take the opportunity to mess about.  I originally had this dream of teaching a bunch of kids a simple song on guitar and having them play it for the staff on my last day, but there are only a few that I can actually see that being a possibility for anymore, and most of them don’t come to music class anymore.  I’ve been told by Regina that the three kids I have are doing really poorly in their academics and so she’s hoping that they can learn another useful skill by coming to me in the afternoons.  It sounds nice on paper but in reality they just have severe ADHD or some other learning disability and it carries over to music class as well.  I’ve tried to teach them the seven simple open-chords (hoping to eventually teach them a simple song in the key of ‘G’ like ‘Redemption Song’ or ‘Wish You Were Here’) but they can’t be bothered to remember the fingerings and each day is like starting fresh with most of them.  I even drew out the fingerings for said chords in the simplest way I could think of on a sheet of paper and had it photocopied so that the kids could study at home, or at least occasionally glance at it and have the shapes ingrained in their minds, but it’s been (almost entirely) to no avail.  Don’t get me wrong, the placement is still pretty cool, but it’s easily the part of the day I’m excited the least for. 

What is nice though is that Paddy’s soccer team (with Adrian as assistant coach yeeeeeeee) is actually looking like it will be game ready in a few weeks.  We really want to organize a game against another school and are both hoping that future volunteers follow our lead so that eventually something with more organization is formed.  There are dozens of schools in the immediate area that could easily form a league of some sort.  These kids are dying for that sort of outlet for their energy and creativity as well.  Growing up, constantly being on soccer teams was a huge part of what shaped me as a person.  It’s true that organized sports teach kids teamwork, humility, and discipline, all very important things for young people to learn.  It’s really upsetting seeing all the wasted energy that these kids exert; an organized soccer league would do wonders for them.  At practice a couple weeks ago we were approached by someone who is volunteering in Kibera (the gigantic slum in the middle of Nairobi) that was interested in organizing a game against his in-the-works team, so let’s hope that pans out.  As far as our team goes, we are starting to get an idea of who could play where.  Teaching positions is going to be a massive struggle, but certain kids were born to play very specific roles.  We have a great goalkeeper, a couple natural defenders (although one of them is going to be pissed that he won’t be a striker) and some very clever could-be midfielders.  I’m really hoping that we can get these guys into shape, both physically and mentally, in time to see them paly a proper game before we go.  That would make all this worthwhile.

This past weekend we kept it pretty low key, or I did anyway on account of feeling pretty sick (more on that later).  Pretty much the only thing I got up to was yet another trip to the Masai Market.  I’m a pro now and don’t get hassled at all.  I acted as a friend’s husband a few times to get the various pushy locals off her back. It made me feel like a straight-up gangster.  I’m the least-intimidating person that I know so it’s pretty fun for me to get to act all hard every once in a while.  After kicking around the market for a while we crossed the street to the Hilton Arcade (which I previously hadn’t heard of) to check out their selection of apparently cheaply priced souvenirs.  Guess what? Nearly everything that you could find in the Masai market can be found in the two tiny shops of the Hilton Arcade but at waaaaay lower prices.  My friend Smijai was feeling pretty good about himself for haggling this one proprietor in the jungle of the Masai market into selling him a knife for 600Ksh, until we found a box full of the same knives in the Hilton Arcade going for 100Ksh each.  We were pretty pissed off that we hadn’t known about this place earlier because their prices were basically as low as you could possibly hope to pay by expert haggling in the market, quite possibly lower.  We let our rage subside and picked up tonnes of junk for dirt cheap.  I’ve nearly finished my Christmas shopping.  All that’s left is to try to find a way to send it back home without paying an arm and a leg.

On Wednesday, most of the Fadhili volunteers (myself included) headed up to Nakuru for a medical camp.  Smijai did a great job organizing it all with the volunteers and Smij, if you’re reading this, we all thank-you profusely for your amazing work.  They expected something like 800 Kenyans from the surrounding slums (garbage slum included) to show up but in the end the actual number was less than 300.  This resulted in not much for us to do, which couldn’t have been predicted so it was in no way Smijai or Pastor Anthony’s fault.  In the morning I was busy at the “pharmacy” portioning out various drugs.  After lunch I was placed at the intake table, taking people’s temperatures.  As the day wound down and we had less and less to do, we decided to have a bit of fun.  Paddy decided it would be a good idea to get tested for HIV, just for a laugh.  The doctor explained to him that the strip of paper upon which the blood sample was placed would produce two lines for a positive result and one for a negative.  What he failed to communicate to Paddy though was that it would take about ten minutes for the correct reading to appear.  About a minute after the finger-prick, there were two lines on the paper and Paddy freaked the fuck out.  The doctor then explained that he had to wait but he spent the next ten minutes stressing out.  I only heard this second-hand (obviously not allowed in the room for something like that) but it sounded absolutely hilarious.  He isn’t HIV positive, don’t worry ladies, but it was a pretty funny scare.  What was genuinely alarming was that his blood pressure is waaaaay too high.  That’s probably mainly due to his body trying to fight off a throat-infection, but he’s still pretty worried about it (as I would be).  We all had a turn on the blood-pressure/pulse-measuring dealie (oooooh I’m so technical) just as we were killing time, waiting for the vans to take us back to Nairobi.  This one guy, Chomlee, who works for Fadhili, is half-Jamaican/half-Kenyan or something like that and is apparently the most chilled-out mother-effer you’ve ever met; his pulse was 55 bpm.  That’s gotta be too low, right?  Elle, a fellow volunteer, nearly maxed out the machine with a reading of 105 bpm.  We all spent a good couple of minutes laughing at how her heart beats twice for every one beat of Chomlee’s heart.  All-in-all it was a very fun day and it was nice to be able to help out with something like that.  These people living in the various slums are in desperate need of more access to reliable medical attention and this camp was a start.  We hope to eventually be able to hold them more often than the current frequency of once a month.

My mysterious illness became more prominent as the week dragged on, forcing me to miss several days at the orphanage.  At first I was worried that it was the side-effect of my anti-malaria medication starting to kick in: photosensitivity (it’s been really hot and there have been few clouds in the sky lately).  Well today it got bad enough that I decided to go get checked out by a doctor.  I got a blood test (okay) and had to provide a stool sample (hahahaha what?).  I didn’t have to go at all though.  I mean, I’ve done urine tests before and it’s relatively easy to make yourself go pee when you don’t have to, but how do you force a poo?  (Fair warning: this is gonna get kinda gross.) I sat there for minutes trying to produce some…uhh… “stool” for the lab techs and in the end I was worried that the sample would be too small. I used this little device that they had given me to scrape some off the toilet paper.  Walking back through the hospital with a bag containing a plastic capsule filled with my own shit was a pretty weird experience to say the least. (Hahaha sorry. /disgusting details).  Guess what?  I have amoebiasis!  Wooooo go me!  It’s not serious or anything, it’s actually quite common for tourists to get.  It comes from their dirty tap water which I could have ingested a small amount of any number of ways.  Washed vegetables, damp, just-washed dishes, using the tap water to rinse off my toothbrush etc. etc.  Anyway it is what it is and I have to take four different pills three times a day for the next five days then I’ll be good as new.  Paying for a doctor consultation, blood test, and prescriptions made me really appreciate how good we have it in Canada.  I’ve never paid for anything like that (not directly anyway).  I think that my traveller’s medical insurance might cover it actually so I should remember to try and get reimbursed for that.

There’s not really much else to report.  This is just a quick little update.  I head off to hike Mt. Kenya tomorrow which I am very excited for.  Expect a detailed account of my trek in a week or so but until then, keep it real everybody.

And Now For Something Completely Different

Our journey into some of the more depressing areas of Eastern Africa took up Friday and Saturday, leaving us with Sunday to process it all.  A few of the other volunteers and I decided that we needed something tangible to do rather than just sit around feeling depressed and guilty so we took Kush (works for Fadhili, the organization we’re working for in Kenya) up on his offer to drive us around to visit the various animal sanctuaries and other attractions to be found in Nairobi.  In hindsight it perhaps would have been better to have found our own way around as we each had to pay 1100Ksh ($11 ish) to the driver, but it was an all day excursion and finding buses to take out to the outskirts of Nairobi and then back to downtown would have been kind of a pain.

We started by visiting a giraffe sanctuary somewhere near the middle of nowhere at the very edges of the city proper.  Of all the animal sanctuaries we visited, this was the best.  We got to get really close to the giraffes and even got to kiss them (most action I’ve had in months, shit).  Now of course I mean we just fed them pellets from our mouths.  There was no bestiality, don’t worry (ok minimal bestiality).  For sure reason the ATM didn’t let me take cash out that morning which was kind of a pain because the gift shop had some really cool souvenirs at surprisingly cheap prices. I had my eye on a chess set but that turned out to be $120, woah fuck off.  Everything else was reasonable however, but, alas, I did not have cash to throw around.  I’ll be back though, and I did manage to get some shopping done at the Masai market later in the day, so it’s all good.

Next was an elephant/rhino sanctuary.  I think that it’s probably a really cool place but it was super crowded and the hordes of people took away from the experience a bit.  We arrived right at feeding time, which might have had something to do with the crowd, but it was still cool to see.  This place was a sanctuary for animals that had been orphaned by poachers and for me, it was really interesting/disturbing to read some of the facts they had posted.  Long story short: fuck poachers.  Fuck them in their greasy little faces.  Anyway, we stayed for long enough to see the elephants getting fed and to check out the baby rhino for a bit, but we all agreed that it wasn’t that exciting there and left pretty quickly.  I did, however, get to see an American woman argue with someone in the gift shop area about the exchange rate of the Kenyan Shilling to the American Dollar which was pretty entertaining.  She was getting royally screwed, which was kind of sad to see from a staff member of an otherwise excellent organization, but she had the good sense to walk away.  I mean come on dude, you work for a group of people who rescue animals orphaned by poaching, show some morality.  

The next stop was a sanctuary for crocodiles and a few other random animals (a couple camels, an ostrich, and a giraffe).  This place was really expensive and, honestly, I didn’t feel too good about being there.  It felt like less of a sanctuary and more of a zoo.  Our tour guide (who we didn’t need really) kept poking the sleeping crocodiles to make them react.  It was cool seeing them snap at the stick or whatever but honestly it kind of pissed me off.  That was short lived though so I didn’t have to make an ass of myself by saying something.   On the other side we got to hold a baby crocodile, which was sketchy as hell.  I had to make sure to keep my thumb right on top of his head so he didn’t try to bite my hand off, and I have no doubt in my mind that he easily could have.  He didn’t seem to mind us handling him so I felt ok about that, but all things considered I definitely wish that they didn’t mess with the animals there just for the tourist’s amusement.  I mean, seeing dozens of full-sized crocodiles from five feet away is exciting enough, I don’t need them getting pissy with the guides just for my entertainment.   We took a tour around the rest of the park where we were pressured to ride a camel for 200Ksh.  We passed because, uh, yeah who cares.  If I’m going to ride a camel (which I wouldn’t anyway) I’d do it across a desert on an epic journey or something, not for a few minutes around a dinky little pond.  The pond in question was shaped like Africa though so that’s pretty cool I suppose.  As the tour came to an end I was a little worried that our guide was going to ask for a tip.  Now this would have been insanely awkward because we paid 800Ksh each to get in which was way too much to begin with, so I was not about to tip this guy.  Thankfully he didn’t and we moved on.

After lunch we headed into the heart of downtown Nairobi to see the Masai market and the monkey park.  Those who have been following my posts will have read about my first experience in the Masai market and how pushy the people were, leading to an ultimately unsatisfactory visit.  Well I was ready for it this time and managed to get rid of the overly polite, self-proclaimed “tour guides” rather quickly and had a much more pleasant time as a result.  I even bought some stuff.  I guess I can’t say what because they’re Christmas presents but let me just say that I got a good haul.  The biggest thing I bought was from this hilarious older man who was fat and needed a cane to walk.  Paddy did most of the haggling as he had his eye on the same thing but it was still quite fun.  He had a great attitude about haggling prices, unlike most of the proprietors who acted offended when you tried to low-ball them.  At the end, we each ended up paying 750Ksh for the item(s) in question, down from 2500.  Not bad, but we definitely could have done better.  There was a woman on the opposite side of the market who we had worked down to 500 for virtually the exact same item, but this guy was sweet and we wanted to give him our business.  That’s the thing that these people don’t realize (oh god “these people” sounds so racist, not what I mean though) about interacting with us mzungus: at the end of the day, we’d rather give our cash to someone who is genuine and enjoyable to do business with.  Sure, we could have saved a couple of bucks by buying the pieces from that other woman, but she was a bitch and rubbed us the wrong way.  So, no moolah for her.  Live and learn (except they don’t, and the same people who were over-the-top pushy will be just as pushy the next time around).  Overall, trip number two to the Masai market was a success.

Our last stop of the day was to the monkey park, an open space where you can hang out with monkeys and feed them peanuts in the heart of downtown Nairobi.  I thought it would be a big enclosure or something but no, it was just a park where monkeys hang out.  They’re free to come and go as they please.  We each bought two small bags of peanuts at 20Ksh at the entrance and headed in to the park.  Now, monkeys are smart, really really smart.  I was warned that they recognized the packaging of the peanuts but was still played like a fool.  After about two minutes, I was out of peanuts.  One guy stole my entire second package within the first thirty seconds.  They’re sneaky man, I tell you.  Regardless, it was still a lot of fun and I will definitely be back.  We spent fifteen minutes or so hanging out with the monkeys, trying to get them up on our shoulders with varying levels of success.  We all would have loved to have spent longer there but Kush and the driver were getting antsy and so we had to leave.  It kind of pissed me off to be honest; we each paid them 1100Ksh (five of us) so we should have been allowed to take our time.  I will go back later though without guides and spend a couple hours there.

So, that’s Sunday.  Not as exciting as Friday and Saturday, I’ll grant you that, but it was nice and low-key which was just what we all needed.  All in all, it was an absolutely exhausting weekend but I’ve never experienced so much in such a little time.  I feel that, between seeing the slums for a couple of days and hanging around Nairobi for a day, I saw the real Kenya.  It’s an interesting country to say the least, and one with numerous problems plaguing it. 

This next weekend I will hopefully be climbing Mt. Kenya so the next post should be pretty cool (I hope).  I don’t have the money to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro (the cheapest I could find was $1200, no thanks) but apparently Mt. Kenya is almost at big and really underrated so I’m happy about that.

As always, I hope you enjoyed my ramblings.  Until next time my peoples. Thanks for reading.

To Hell and Back

DISCLAIMER: If you don’t get a little bit emotional reading some of this then you are either a robot or Kevin Beerman.

It’s been a little while since my last post and I’ve been meaning to write this one for a while.  I’ve sat down and attempted to get my thoughts out onto paper a handful of times in the past week or so but I’ve never been successful because last weekend was just too much to process.  We’re all aware to a certain extent of the extreme poverty and living conditions that exist around the third-world but absolutely nothing can prepare you for coming face-to-face with it.  I’m a pretty cynical person, especially when it comes to humanity and the way that we treat each other/our planet/animals but even the worst I could imagine is nothing next to the lives that some of these people in Kenya somehow struggle though day in, day out.  I of course knew what I was getting into when I signed up to volunteer in Africa; I knew that I would see some real shit.  But, like I said, there is nothing that can prepare you for a trip to the Nakuru garbage slum.

Before we get to that though, let’s take Frank Turner’s advice and begin at the beginning.  I signed up to do the IVHQ organized “outreach weekend” for the 24-25^th of September.  There were two vans full of volunteers embarking on the trip to some of the most impoverished areas in Eastern Africa (probably the world).  On the first day we visited the KCC slum, named after the KCC Milk factory right behind it.  The KCC slum was the smallest and least depressing slum we visited; perhaps that’s why we stopped there first.  We met an incredibly inspiring volunteer from New Zealand (his name eludes me currently) who has been there since 2009.  He originally came to Kenya on a short volunteer trip, similar to the one I am on now, but after seeing the lack of opportunity for the kids living in the KCC slum, he set up a program and has stayed for two years (and counting) to see it through.  When he first got there, the nearest school was something like a 45-minute walk away and not worth the cost/effort for the kids and their families.  Most kids were lucky to still be in school by the time they hit double-digits and were therefore trapped in an endless cycle of poverty and disease.  What the incredible young man has done at KCC is inspiring to say the least.  He has built a school that, while still far from perfect in his eyes, is close, safe, and adequate for the educational needs of young children.  He is still working on the school and hopes to one day expand it to be able to accommodate more children (it only fits 80 or so currently) and also to be able to accommodate children over a certain age.  Before he arrived at KCC there were no programs in place whatsoever but it is now a somewhat popular placement for IVHQ volunteers coming to Kenya.  It is truly inspiring to see what one person can accomplish if they set their mind on it and commit to seeing it through.  I don’t think I’ll be staying in Africa for two years to set up something similar but he has definitely given me a little bit of inspiration that I can take home and apply to my life.

We walked around the slum and observed the reality of these people’s daily struggles.  There is also a “women’s empowerment” program set up there; rape and other various forms of abuse are huge issues in African slums.  They were gracious enough to allow us to interrupt one of their meetings so that we could see how it is that they attempted to make life better for the women of the KCC slum.  They showed us the crafts that they make from old strips of paper and glue and even taught us how to do it.  I tried to roll a bead three separate times, only succeeding on my final attempt, and only succeeding in my eyes (I suck at crafts, hard).  I hadn’t brought my money with me otherwise I would have thrown them some business, but many of the other volunteers bought gifts from them.  On our walk back to the school we stopped to entertain some kids who loved having their pictures taken.  It was pretty alright until some kid punched me right in the nuts.  My friends Smijai and Amber gave him a stern talking to but he did it again.  I mean I know they hate “westerners” there and I can definitely understand why, but why did he target me specifically.  Do I give off an “evil white person” vibe or something?  I really hope not.

When we got back to the school we played with the kids for probably an hour.  It was amazing.  Patrick, currently the only volunteer placed there, had brought tonnes of sporting equipment from back home and the kids loved it.  I spent the next little while playing soccer, baseball, frisbee etc. with them.  I also read a class of the younger kids a few books.  They didn’t understand English and so the teacher had to translate what I was saying into Swahili but they seemed to enjoy it nonetheless.  It was a wonderful experience to see the joy in the kid’s eyes as they played with real soccer balls and not just plastic bags fashioned into irregular shaped balls. 

The next day, after a night at a hotel which apparently had hot showers (mine seemed to be the only room that didn’t have one, three weeks without a hot shower and counting /first-world problems) we spent some time in the morning portioning out flour and fat to distribute at the slums we were to visit that day.  It was messy, but luckily for me I was covered in flour by the end and not fat.  I got the cushy job: scooping flour into bags.  The first slum we visited was the IDP camp which started after the 2007/2008 violence that tore the country in two and saw thousands of people brutally murdered, raped, or orphaned.  I don’t follow international politics very closely like I used to, but here’s the sparknotes: the 2007 Kenyan General Election was a forgone conclusion before the votes were in.  Everyone knew that the opposition was going to win; the current government’s moment in the sun was up.  But, of course, the election was compromised by the corruption of the government and, much to the dismay of the majority of Kenyans, the government “won.”  Cries of scandal and corruption rose from all around the country, but the government refused to admit anything had been done wrong.  The opposition was furious and demanded a re-count or a completely fresh election but no such thing occurred.  People took to the streets and began rioting (pay attention Vancouverites: this is what a “real” riot is caused by, not losing a fucking hockey game).  Things quickly turned ugly and before too long, the machetes were out.  Neighbours were murdering their life-long friends over political differences and psychopaths were roaming the streets, using the unrest as an excuse to ruin families.  Hundreds of children were orphaned. Thousands were brutally murdered.  Many women were kidnapped and raped, often by groups of more than ten men and often for extended periods of time.  (So, how are those troubles that you have feeling now?  Not so bad hey?)  The final result was that thousands of people had literally nowhere to go, many young people not even having living relatives to turn to.  So began the IDP camp near Naivasha (IDP stands for “Internally Displaced Person” which is a fancy way of saying “woah, you got fucked over by your own country, hard”).  These people grouped together, far away from the major road to avoid more violence and heartbreak, and began helping each other get their lives together again.  After the dust settled, the government set up a program to give these IDPs a meagre amount of money for their troubles, maxing out at about $100.  Think about that: your family has been slaughtered by machete in front of you while a group of men took turns raping you and your reward for enduring that hardship was enough money to last a month, maybe.  What made me really angry (but didn’t exact surprise me) was hearing that most of these people didn’t even get their cut of the money because greedy, corrupt government officials took advantage of the situation and stole from the fund set aside to help those effected by the violence.  Evil.  That’s all I can say.

We played a game of soccer with the kids and distributed the rations we had prepared and then headed of towards Nakuru to visit the infamous garbage slum.  The title of this post refers mainly to this; the Nakuru garbage slum is hell on Earth.  It is a massive dumping site where what seems like the vast majority of the garbage produced in Kenya ends up, but here’s the kicker: people live in it.  These people have literally nowhere else to go and so they live in a massive pile of garbage. As we were walking through we came across a garbage truck dumping its load and it is then that I saw what will never leave me.  People were fighting each other to get to where the trash was coming out of because they sift through the rotting, stinking waste for food.  Yeah, they eat the garbage, and it’s a pretty intense competition to get the best stuff.  I don’t really know how to elaborate on that so I’ll just let you imagine it: dozens of people pushing and shoving each other into the piles of shit and plastic to get front row for the delivery of goodies from the garbage truck.  It should be no surprise then that the rates of disease there are through the roof.  I’m talking unbelievable, jaw-dropping figures. The slum has been around since 1981 and some people have been living there (and I use “living” very loosely) for thirty fucking years.  I couldn’t stand thirty minutes of the stench but most of the people there don’t even know anything else.  Most of the kids there have literally no options in life and are forced to either run away or prostitute themselves.  The rate of prostitution is alarmingly high and girls start at a very young age.  But why do they have to do this?  Well there are a number of reasons but perhaps the most disturbing is that most (nearly all) of the men of the families that live in the slum do dick all.  They sit behind the massive pile of trash and get wasted/stoned, then come home in the evening and demand food, threatening to beat or rape the kids if they do not get any (yes you read that right, many of the men there are known to rape their own kids, nice guys).  There is one girl there, at least I think she’s still there, that pastor Anthony (our tour-guide) told us about.  At twelve she was kidnapped and held captive for nearly a month during which she was continually raped by a gang of at least ten men.  I didn’t even know what to do when I heard that.  My body went numb and the next few hours of my life felt like a dream; I literally kept pinching myself to make sure I wasn’t just in the worst nightmare ever.

So again, unsurprisingly, the rate of HIV/AIDS is alarmingly high.  Pastor Anthony said the “official” number was somewhere between 60 and 70%, but that he feared it was much higher.  I will be helping with a medical camp there on Wednesday which will involve doing blood tests for HIV so I guess I will find out.  The absolute worst part of all this though is that the government refuses to acknowledge that these people exist. It is a dumping site according to them, nothing more.  Every so often, they show up with their bulldozers and destroy the people’s homes.   These people run and hide but after a few days, having nowhere else to go, they are forced to return and rebuild in vain, with the knowledge that the bulldozers will be back in another few months.  The other slums, KCC and the IDP camp, are officially recognized as slums by the government so they receive some support.  They get very little compared to what they should, but it’s better than nothing, and that’s what the people in the garbage slum get: absolutely fucking nothing. 

Alright I’m a little depressed writing this and I think I’ve given all the information I can remember so let’s move on to something happy.  But shockingly, we aren’t leaving the garbage slum for this.  At our vans, before we left, the women of the slum showed us what they do with their time.  They make glorious, beautiful necklaces, bracelets, purses etc. etc. etc. from the garbage and try to sell it to volunteers when they come by.  After we had distributed the food we all bought lots of stuff, much more than we needed (I bought so much junk I didn’t want, Merry Christmas guys, don’t like your presents fine but it’s about where it came from and what the money went towards).  It shocked me how friendly and genuinely happy these women were and really made me take a good hard look at my life and the pointless crap that I worry about.  What happened when we were about to leave is the single most beautiful thing I have ever witnessed.  The citizens of the slum sang and danced with us to send us on our way.  Here’s the video.  While it does no justice to the sheer beauty of the moment I hope that you can appreciate why I was so touched:

These people were genuinely happy while living in the worst situation imaginable.  When life gives you lemons, right? Make some lemonade, paint that shit gold, do what you gotta do to make the most of your life.  I’m a little embarrassed that it took me travelling half way around the world for the sentiment of that overused phrase to sink in, so be it. I’ll get over it.  Never forget how lucky you are; we are all truly blessed to be living with clean water, good food, a permanent roof over our heads, and a decent shot at a good education.

I have been to hell and back, I truly believe that.  But the feelings that I take away from the experience are overwhelmingly positive.  I have seen the human spirit triumph over unimaginable evil and come out the other side singing and dancing.  Be happy with what you have and never again take your life for granted.

*If you are interested in helping out the people in this slum, and they desperately need it, contact Pastor Anthony.  An official website is in the works and will be finished soon. I will post the link but until then you can email him at njoshanthony@yahoo.com and ask what help you can offer.  More than anything, the kids need to get the hell out of there.  A sponsorship program is being set-up as I type.

**Please excuse the gratuitous profanity contained in the above post.  That’s my voice when I’m writing something that I’m angry about and I was really really angry about what I saw at the slums.