I lay in bed last night, guessing it was about 11pm, telling my body to wake myself up at 7:00 in the morning. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t late, as Mum Jane wanted to leave at 8 o’clock, but my iPod was dead and it was my alarm clock. My body listened, and I awoke with a youthful excitement at 6:45 (one of the few times in my life I’ve been early for something) to prepare for a day visiting Mum Jane’s home.
The crisp, “wintry” morning air tempted me to try my cornflakes with warm milk poured over them, rather than my usual chilled milk. It was warm, but got a little too soggy too quickly. I downed a cup of coffee, which I find has an odd, almost chemical-like aftertaste—surprising for a country that I would have considered to roast rather good coffee. But maybe Kenyans, themselves, don’t tend to drink that kind—I’m not sure. Either way, it did the trick and I grabbed my jacket, slung the tripod over my shoulder as Lindsey settled herself with the video camera and off we went with Mum Jane at our side.
At the corner of Ngong Road and Kerrarapon Road—the street that leads back to where Hekima Place is situated, we caught a matatu to Ngong market, which is the end of the line going either way for most of the matatus in the area. We stopped here so that Mum Jane could by some fresh vegetables for our visit and for the rest of her days off. We walked past vendors eager to make an early sale, through the rows and rows of women set up with their menagerie laid out on sacks on the dirt ground and through even more rows of displays sheltered by tarp or hay-thatched roofs. We weaved in and out of the stands, brightly decorated with the ripening avocadoes, bananas, tomatoes, skumaweki, spinach, onions, mangoes, carrots, and pea pods. A vendor looked up from sifting through her industrial sacks of beans and lentils and maize kernels freshly plucked off of the cobs to offer us a good price. We politely declined and kept walking to a stand with a young man, probably in his twenties, sitting at a stand not unlike the others we had passed along the way.
Other men and women sat nearby at their respective stands, waiting for customers as they sipped their morning chai. Mum Jane began talking to the young man—in Kikuyu or Swahili, I’m not sure—and spoke to someone on her cell phone, whom I later learned was the young man’s mother and owner of the stand, in the same language. As she explained for us later, Mum Jane always buys from the same stand because by being a regular customer she not only gets a better deal but she can also buy on monthly credit. At the end of every month, she pays for all of the produce she has purchased from that stand. She had to call the young man’s mother because she, and not the son, is the one who knows her as a regular, reliable customer. Mum Jane bought a bag each of potatoes, carrots, and pea pods, as well as some tomatoes and onions. Then we headed on our way again.
As we walked to the market area where all the buses and matatus stop, Mum Jane explained to us that it would be 30ksh (equivalent to about 35 US cents) each to Kiserian, where she lives, as it is a fixed price. On the other hand, our ride from Karen to Ngong Market can vary quite a bit—anywhere from 10ksh to 30ksh (although sometimes they’ll even try to charge 40ksh). I tried to find out if there was some sort of organization that fixed the price, but my impression was that the drivers on that route just don’t ever change the price for different people or different times, and it’s just that simple. Matatu services are privately provided and I doubt there is any organizing body among them.
We rode the matatu into Kiserian and got off on a fairly busy dirt-covered street lined with shops. We walked over a footbridge, about five or six 4-inch planks wide, to cross the two-foot wide open sewer that ran up and down the length of the road, dividing the shops from the travel-way. Mum Jane purchased two bags of chicken feed and placed them in a “paper bag”—which was actually a plastic grocery bag—that she had brought with her and we continued on. Occasionally people rode by on bikes and more rarely in cars, but most made their journeys this morning, as usual, by foot. As we walked down one particular street, we passed donkeys pulling carts of goods up the hill. At the bottom of the hill, where the road elbowed, there was a giant heap of garbage with six or seven donkeys grazing on top and several more scattered at the circumference.
We walked through a government-owned quarry where women and men sat on plots that they rented, chiseling at huge blocks of stone, which others hand-mined from the ground, to make gravel or building bricks. In the distance a woman bent over as she tended to many rows of maize and other crops. Just beyond her were white metal stakes and wire fencing that marked off the government-owned land that in years to come will be covered in water from a dam that has slowly begun to be built. The dam will stop up the water supply from one of the seasonal rivers in the area. Once it is built, though, all of the people who rent quarry or farm land will have to find another means of earning their livelihoods. And goodness knows what the environmental affects will be. I remember learning in Ghana about all of the controversies still surrounding the construction of the Volta Dam in the sixties. Fortunately here, it sounds like all of the land has already been fairly purchased from the people who lived there. But the environmental consequences are yet to be seen. But hopefully the benefits—particularly in the long rum—will outweigh any negative effects.
As we trekked the winding path up the gentle slope, I looked out over the lush, green, rolling hills. Kiserian is truly a beautiful region. This is the Rift Valley. This is, quite literally, where civilization and mankind had its roots. This is where it all began. This is where we all began. Mankind must truly be blessed with a vivid imagination to have imagined a place more beautiful than here, to want to leave this Eden. It’s difficult to imagine how much we, as a species and as a world conscience, have grown since life began in this area. But also, we must remember how much we have not changed, how much we are all still the same people, the same lineages, the same blood, the same beings. We are brothers and sisters—determined not by the color of our skin but by the ancient parents who bore us way back when. This is where we come from. This is who we were. This is who we are. And this who we will forever be. Let us not forget that we are bound to one another in the best possible way, that we are all pieces that make up one being; one entity; one past, present, and future. We began our existence together, and we must continue to walk together as brothers and sisters, as mothers and fathers. Hand in hand.
This scene of Eden quickly vanished as the path narrowed and became lined with cacti. When we emerged we found ourselves walking along a wider path with small houses and plenty of bushes lining the way. Suddenly everywhere we walked we heard whispers and shouts of “Mazungu! MAZUNGU!”—White person! WHITE PERSON! And then little faces appearing, repeating over and over “How are you? How are you?” “How are you?” clearly being the only English phrase these kids had learned yet, our responses of “Fine, thanks, how are you?” were typically met with another high-pitched and outrageously adorable “HOW ARE YOU?!”
We reached Mum Jane’s cottage. Hers was one in a line of about 6 or 7 end-to-end residences. We entered a gate in her fence that protected her dwelling and kitchen garden from intruders. On the right when we entered was the latrine—smaller than a port-a-potty with no toilet furnishings, just a hole in the middle and room for your feet on either side. Toilet paper—optional in many homes—hung on the door.
We entered a single room furnished with a couch, a chair, and a coffee table, all covered in pink fabric, on which she had stitched a small green design. A small charcoal cooker, the same width as the pot that sat upon it, was on the floor, but she took it outside near her garden to continue cooking. The pot of water on top of the beans and corn that were already cooking was steaming—her twenty year old son who recently came from their hometown (near the border of Tanzania) to attend a vocational tech school and find a job as an electrician had started the food for us that morning. There were 5-gallon buckets that had previously held Toss laundry detergent but now held water stacked all along one wall. She had a few sets of dishes that I could see, some pots and pans, her sewing machine (as she is a tailor both at Hekima Place and sometimes for her neighbors), and a black-and-white analog television that receives one channel. Her electricity was working, but it doesn’t always. She explained that the electricity is about to be rationed, so she’ll either have it during the day or during the night, but she doesn’t know which—the electricity companies will decide and it will be different for every village.
Off of this room there was a door, which led to her sleeping room, though we did not see it. On the other side, though with no door access from the living room, was her son’s living room. The living room was about 10feet by 12 feet, and their sleeping rooms were no bigger and probably even a little smaller. The three rooms together were in an L-shape. Outside the rooms just past the latrine was her kitchen garden—about 6’x6’. Here she grew maize and pumpkin—and some mchicha grows wildly. She also had a small chicken coop with a rooster, 2 adult hens, and 4 little chicks. She gathers the eggs they produce and when they mature she either eats them herself or sells them—sometimes to Hekima Place and sometimes to others.
Her home was very modest but very quaint. We didn’t drink the water because we weren’t sure how clean it was. She told us she has to store it in the buckets because she has a tap right outside (right behind the latrine, actually), but it doesn’t always spout water so she has to store up.
For lunch we ate 1-2-3 githeri, which is githeri that is boiled and not “fried” (basically cooked with oil instead of water). The “Kenyan” way to eat—as the girls in Maisha will explain when telling you why it’s better to be a Kenyan than a mazungu at their dinner debate—is with your hands, and that’s exactly how 1-2-3 githeri is eaten. It’s called 1-2-3 for the way you mix the salt in with it before you eat it. After putting the githeri—usually beans, maize, and potatoes, though this time just beans and maize—in a bowl and adding salt, you hold the bowl and gently shake it 1, 2, 3 times and then turn it half-way around in your hands and shake it again 1, 2, 3 times to get the salt mixed in. After she mixed our githeri and served our bowls, we walked outside and she poured water over our hands over top of a plant outside her door so that we could wash up. Then we dug into our lunch with our fingers leading the way. It was very good—and very fun to eat with our hands!
After lunch we walked a little way to see if we could buy some milk for tea. The first place—just a kiosk next to someone’s home—didn’t have any milk. These vendors typically buy their milk from wholesale and then resell it at their respective shops. We weren’t sure if we’d be able to find any, but Mum Jane asked some ladies standing nearby and they told her another place where we could get some. So we went there—another little kiosk—and purchased about a pint and a half of milk, which comes in a clear, thin plastic bag. This milk, like the milk the girls drink at Hekima Place, is neither pasteurized or homogenized, which is fine because it’s just used for tea so it gets boiled before we drink it.
We went back, again amidst bursts of “How are you?!” and the accompanying laughter, and Mum Jane boiled the milk outside on her cooker and added the tea leaves and sugar. We drank our tea in the living room, chatted, and watched a little bit of TV. I noticed that while we sat there the same news show repeated three times before switching to a report on healthy habits that included using a mini trampoline for exercising—which didn’t really seem to be geared at the average Kenyan. But then again, the average Kenyan wouldn’t be sitting at home at this time of day watching TV. Mum Jane explained that it would be rare for her neighbors to be home at this time unless they were out of a job or had an off day like she did. (The resident mums work four days on, two days off.) There was also a show documenting some sort of Maasai celebration--the people on the TV were slaughtering a goat and dancing. The Maasai women are apparently very well known for their jumping abilities--and they did a lot of jumping in their dances.
Around 4:00 we decided we should head back. It’s not safe to ride the matatus afer dark (which happens around 6:45-7) and we had told Gladys we’d be back by 6, which was dinner time. We walked back to town, even though we could have caught a matatu by the road a lot closer to her house. We wanted to walk though and we did some filming of the countryside. When we got back to town, Mum Jane wanted to introduce us to her best friend, Nancy, who was a hairdresser—or, as they say, a saloonist. She was doing someone else’s hair when we came in, so we sat down and talked to her while she finished plaiting (braiding) an older woman’s hair. Then she said she wanted to touch Lindsey’s hair because she’d never touched a mazungu’s hair before. Mum Jane said that Nancy had never even actually talked to a mazungu before. So Lindsey sat in the chair and Nancy brushed her hair and redid her single braid in the back. Then she did the same to my hair and helped me tie my scarf on my head.
Kiserian is a pretty rural area, and now that I think about it I don’t even recall seeing any other wazungu (plural of mazungu) there. At one point, later as we were walking, a car with a couple wazungu in it passed us, and Mum Jane said they looked very surprised to see us. Afterwards Nancy came with us to get some sodas at a little grocery store, and she told me that she grew up and had lived here in this area all her life. She went to school here, though her children go to school a little farther away. But her husband is from this area too. She was very sweet and invited me to come back and visit her and she would make me mokimo, which is mashed potatoes and skuma (or apparently anything green) with corn in it—it’s delicious! : ) She also offered to show me how to make mandazi, which is like a donut only not nearly as sweet and with no icing or fancy toppings. It’s very good, especially at tea time.
It started getting late so Lindsey and I hopped onto a matatu—of course, the same 30ksh rate as what brought us here. Then we grabbed another matatu from Ngong market back to our stop at Shade Hotel, which is right past Kerrarapon road. The sun was starting to go down but it was still light out. We made it back a little after 6, so they’d all started eating, but they had saved us some food. All in all, it was a really great day. I learned so much and got to experience a more average Kenyan day, which was really wonderful.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
We are all the same...We love and we laugh, we hurt and we cry, we live and we die...
Today I listened to a "This American Life" episode that featured a friendship of two 12-year-old girls. Andy suggested we listen to it since Lindsey and I are probably going to end up focusing on one or two friendships between the girls here at Hekima Place for our documentary. The episode is about two transgender children who have the chance to meet and become instant BFFs. (It's a really interesting episode...I recommend it if you have a little spare time... http://www.thisamericanlife.org/Radio_Episode.aspx?sched=1283) Their friendship and their dialogue is simple and jovial, typical of the kind of friendship any of us had when we were that age. But their connection is more unique and in some ways stronger than what they've had with other kids their age because, for each of them, the other is the first other transgender child they've met. There's a commonality there that ties them together, that helps them feel more accepted and less isolated in a world that constantly--sometimes inadvertently and all too often deliberately-- isolates them.
Similarly, we've found that there are friendships here that, while typical of the type of friendship any kid might have, seems to hold a deeper, underlying truth about these girls. There's a sense of belonging that these girls can give to each other. And what makes their friendship unique and their bond strong has several layers. On the one hand, these girls need a best friend and a trusting relationship more than most their age. They've lost the relationships on which they are supposed to most rely—their family—because of untimely deaths, debilitating disease, and crippling poverty. We all need someone to trust, someone to spend one-on-one time with, and someone to love us unconditionally—and these girls find that best in the friendships they build here.
So this is supposed to be a documentary about social justice, right? A documentary about friendship? Where's the issue of justice?
Well maybe the justice of the situation is in the fact that Hekima Place gives them the environment they need to build those relationships. Here is a place filled with trust and stability and people who won't be going anywhere anytime soon.
Or maybe it's in the way the mums and uncles teach them to open up their hearts and to love each other even though they've been so hurt in the past. Here is a place where we preach love and give hugs and accept you just the way you are.
We are all the same.
We are not different from one another.
We all belong to one family.
We love and we laugh, we hurt and we cry, we live and we die.
Care for us and accept us. We are all human beings. We are normal. We have hands. We have feet. We can walk, we can talk—and we have needs just like everyone else. Don't be afraid of us.
We are all the same.
--We Are All the Same: A story of a boy's courage and a mother's love, by Jim Wooten
Maybe it's just in the fact that the best way to cope with such unfathomable losses is just by finding someone who can be there for you and for whom you can be there. All you need is love.
Maybe it's in all of these places and more.
Similarly, we've found that there are friendships here that, while typical of the type of friendship any kid might have, seems to hold a deeper, underlying truth about these girls. There's a sense of belonging that these girls can give to each other. And what makes their friendship unique and their bond strong has several layers. On the one hand, these girls need a best friend and a trusting relationship more than most their age. They've lost the relationships on which they are supposed to most rely—their family—because of untimely deaths, debilitating disease, and crippling poverty. We all need someone to trust, someone to spend one-on-one time with, and someone to love us unconditionally—and these girls find that best in the friendships they build here.
So this is supposed to be a documentary about social justice, right? A documentary about friendship? Where's the issue of justice?
Well maybe the justice of the situation is in the fact that Hekima Place gives them the environment they need to build those relationships. Here is a place filled with trust and stability and people who won't be going anywhere anytime soon.
Or maybe it's in the way the mums and uncles teach them to open up their hearts and to love each other even though they've been so hurt in the past. Here is a place where we preach love and give hugs and accept you just the way you are.
We are all the same.
We are not different from one another.
We all belong to one family.
We love and we laugh, we hurt and we cry, we live and we die.
Care for us and accept us. We are all human beings. We are normal. We have hands. We have feet. We can walk, we can talk—and we have needs just like everyone else. Don't be afraid of us.
We are all the same.
--We Are All the Same: A story of a boy's courage and a mother's love, by Jim Wooten
Maybe it's just in the fact that the best way to cope with such unfathomable losses is just by finding someone who can be there for you and for whom you can be there. All you need is love.
Maybe it's in all of these places and more.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Away in a manger
Today I started reading The Poisonwood Bible. It's pretty good so far. It takes place in the Congo in the early 1960s. It's interesting though because it brings up a lot of issues of colonialism and Western cultural arrogance. There's a lot we (and by "we" I include the whole world) don't understand about the countless cultures that exist in this world...and a lot we don't even try to understand. Yet for hundreds, probably even thousands, of years, we (here I mostly mean Western cultures but goodness knows probably every other culture has done it too—but the victor writes history, right?) have gone barging into various countries and regions to "civilize" the "lesser" cultures.
Just because something is different and just because it seems to me or to you to be less efficient or effective or moral or whatever, doesn't mean it is. Or maybe it is, but I guarantee there's a reason behind the method. Or maybe there isn't. But different does not inherently require us to categorize into "good" and "bad" or "better" and "worse". Not everything is that black and white—in fact, I'd venture to say that nothing is that black and white. Everything has its value. Just like everyone has his or her value. We have to learn to not be so quick to judge—I have to not be so quick to judge (even now)--which is something that I think we're taught to do from a young age—for better and for worse. We're taught that the quicker your wit and the quicker your tongue, the quicker you'll get ahead. But there's a lot to be seen from the back, too. So maybe being in front isn't where we need to be all the time. Or it's not where everyone needs to be. And if you're not "in front" it doesn't mean you have to try to get to the front. My point is that we just need to learn to accept and value people and accept and value the way they live their lives.
Of course, this doesn’t mean that we shouldn't challenge each other or challenge the actions and attitudes of others--or ourselves. But it does mean that we should seek to understand before we do that. It's a much slower process, but if you or I want to do any good—for others or ourselves—we have to take that time. Haraka haraka haina baraka. Hurry hurry brings no blessings. It's a Kenyan proverb we ought to take to heart. A proverb I ought to take to heart.
Oh I went on a tangent and forgot the rest of the day! So anyway, today I made a manger and carried a bail of hay on my back…you know, the regular daily routine ; )
Ok it might have technically been straw… The manger was for Baby Jesus aka Baby Johnny—age 2(ish), with his mother Mary aka MaryAnn—age 9, the Little Drummer Girl aka Florence—age 3, and five angels—ages 5-8—dressed in white First Communion dresses, halos, and hand-crafted wings. The scene was the first Christmas, staged for photos for this year's Christmas cards from Hekima Place. In the first setup, we had a laundry basket with a beautiful Kenyan kanga (cloth you might use as a wrap-around skirt, to cover something, or anything else, really) covering the basket, with straw—freshly dried by one of the uncles this week for this express purpose!—and Baby Jesus laid carefully inside. The Little Drummer Girl kneeled nearby, drumming on a little drum one of the volunteers purchased as a souvenir. In the other scene, we had Baby Jesus held by Mary, sitting on a bed of straw, with one little angel right behind her holding a large gold star and four more angels further back holding the letters N-O-E-L. We took the pictures with the videocamera and we'll get some stills from the video footage so that we can get ones where they're all smiling, which of course was a challenge. : )
We also interviewed Kristie today. Kristie was one of the five volunteers who came as a group at the same time as Lindsey and me and who is leaving on Sunday. Kristie came here last summer, too, so she has had a longer relationship with Hekima Place and the girls here. I filmed; Lindsey interviewed. It was short but sweet and should be perfect for the promo piece we're doing for Hekima. We're going to have a short clip about volunteering at Hekima Place so that when Mum Kate is talking to people she can encourage them to come volunteer here!
A big part of what Mum Kate and Hekima Place want to achieve is a better understanding in the US and other parts of the world of Kenyan culture, of the terrible consequences of AIDS, of women's and girls' issues in this part of the world, and of what we--as Americans or Canadians or people of whatever nationality, and simply as fellow human beings--can and must do for our brothers and sisters around the world. Part of how she does this is by encouraging people--whether you're a student, a lawyer, a soccer coach, or a retired man or woman--to come here and work with these kids and work at the school where they go. It's great for the kids because they get more individualized attention--in school and in play--than the mums and uncles can afford to give them in their busy days.
But also, as I'm learning now, these girls have so much more to give to the volunteers than we could possibly give to them. They are so willing to open their hearts to us, even though they've had countless volunteers here before who've come and gone. They have a strength and a loving trust in them that I strive for and I think a lot of us yearn for. They're truly remarkable young women and I can't wait to see what wonderful and incredible things they do with their lives.
Some people come into our lives and quickly go.
Others stay for awhile and leave footprints on our hearts
And we are never ever the same.
They've also started a program here that connects the girls with a Big Sister who writes letters to them and sends them cards and presents on their birthdays and holidays. This helps create a stronger bond for those individuals who are Big Sisters (and there are a few Big Brothers, too) to the circumstances and the lives of these girls. It also helps create a cultural bridge for the girls, here, as well, who as a result get a glimpse into an outside adult's perspective, culture, and life. So we want to help Mum Kate continue this tradition of cultural and social outreach through the film.
After the interview, we walked to town to get food for dinner (because Saturday nights are chicken and rice) and to get the Christmas pictures put on a CD. It's such a nice walk into town, so we try to do it as often as we can now! It takes about an hour, but it really doesn't seem that long. Lindsey and I usually get into some sort of philosophical or strangely hypothetical (sometimes really goofy) conversation so the time passes quickly. : )
We walk along the side of the road which is a dirt footpath that in some parts seems deliberate but in other parts has clearly just been worn down by frequent pedestrians. Early in the walk, if you look down the hill on either side of the road you can see a stream. Gladys has told us that there are often baptisms in the stream. One Sunday on the way back from church we actually saw a baptismal processional headed towards the stream. Fortunately, even though it's nearly winter here, it was a pretty warm day in the high 70s or low 80s by that time.
Later on the walk we pass the Giant Eagle Church, which looks more like a giant picnic with its huge white tents and black-, red-, and green-colored billboard advertising the times of its services and the full names of its pastors. On Sundays this place is packed with cars, all day long pulling in and out when the back-to-back services begin and end.
Further along the walk there is a bus stop with a little bus stop shelter similar to what you might see in the US but with dirt underfoot instead of a cement sidewalk. Also, while you might be less likely to see a professional businessperson in a suit on a bus in the States, here a suited man--or woman--is a regular on the matatus. This bus stop is a regular stop for the matatus and buses along this route (the 111 route that goes up and down Ngong Road from Karen Town Centre all the way into Nairobi, so I'm told, though I've yet to the end in that direction).
There's a kiosk not too far beyond that whose outside walls are bright green with the logos advertising Safaricom internet and phone services. The woman inside sells Coca-Colas and bananas and meat seasonings and various other supplies you might need to pick up on your way home.
When we got to town we bought fresh broccoli and eggplant and mushrooms because, while I do love the food here and haven't gotten sick of any of it yet, Lindsey and I have both just been craving more vegetables. We eat a lot of greens--skuma--in the meals the mums prepare, and the girls help us prepare mchicha and some other green whose name I can't recall and that I would doubtfully be able to spell--both wild greens from the shamba--when there's meat for dinner, and Lindsey and I eat a lot of tomatoes and avocadoes (fresh guacamole too!) on our own, but it's still not enough! They just eat so many starchy foods here. We have githeri for lunch on the weekends and occasionally for dinner--githeri is basically potatoes and beans (like pinto or red beans) and maize (big and chewy corn that is oh so good) with some onions and fresh cilantro (or maybe some other fresh herb). It's good, but starchy. Other meals include:
- Pasta (which they only call "spaghetti" and won't know what you're talking about if you call it pasta or noodles) and minced meat (which of course I don't eat) and sometimes cabbage (delicious! but oily) too
- Rice and chicken (every Saturday night...so LJM and I either bring some veggies over with me or just eat in Amani separately)
- Rice and lentils or green grams (which are basically just lentils...there may be some difference but I can't tell)
- Rice and a bean/some cabbage mixture
- Spaghetti and bean mixture
- Rice and Skuma (greens)
- Ugali (thick pasty/doughy mixture made from maize (did I mention they call corn maize?)--I think...now I can't remember...I'll double check on that) and skuma
- Chapatti (fried flat bread) with bean mixture and/or skuma
-Rice and boiled fish w/tomatoes (again, of course, I don't eat the fish...oh and P.S. it still has some bones in it a lot of times) and skuma
So the good news is that we get a lot of protein here...they get meat/fish about 4 times a week. That actually, apparently, is upsetting for some of the girls because Mum Kate says a lot of them suffer from a sort of survivor's guilt. Most of these girls have brothers, sisters, cousins, grandparents (some even have parents), and other relatives outside of Hekima Place who not only don't get meat 4x a week but rarely have more than one meal a day. And before they came here, a lot of these girls only had one or two meals a day, which probably had meager nutritional value. So it's understandable that when dinner is being served and there's a big chicken leg in or a big helping of minced meat in front of you, it's not just food--it's a pressing reminder that your family, your loved ones, are probably not as fortunate right now. They might be eating, but it's not too likely that they're getting the meat and protein their bodies need. And plus, they like meat. Meat is tasty. It's a treat, in a lot of ways, in addition to being nutritional. And it's a privilege and a provision they didn't have nearly as much when they were at home. Some girls, when they go home on school breaks, end up losing quite a bit of weight. One girl actually lost 5kg, which is about 11 pounds, in one week at home. I don't even know how that's even possible. Needless to say, when she got back to Hekima Place they looked into her home situation--I'm not sure if she still goes back or not but I know she would only be allowed to go back if the mums here were certain that she would not have anything like that happen again.
Anyway, after dinner, we had quite the celebration for the volunteers who were leaving. This farewell party was a bit different than the previous ones we've had. We were in Maisha this time, and girls in each of the grades got up together and sang a song or two of their choice for the volunteers. Then the mums did one and even us volunteers (including the ones who are leaving) did one—we sang "Lean On Me". It was more like a talent show than anything else! As far as I could tell, all of the songs the girls sang were of some religious context (of course, some were in Swahili, but I think I heard "Bwana", which means "Father", a lot in those songs so it's fair to guess those we're Christian songs as well).
[Sidenote: They're pretty openly religious—mostly Christian—here, similar to the Southeastern US, though I wouldn't say they're quite as openly religious as the people were in Ghana. In Ghana, all of the shops and kiosks had religious names (like "In His Name Fruits & Veges" or "Praise God Electronics"), whereas here, none of them seem to have religious names. We did see one, once, called Mustard Seed Grocery, which only subtly alludes to a story of faith in the Bible.]
After that we had a few speeches from each of the houses, and then one from one of the mums, myself--on behalf of the rest of us volunteers who weren't leaving, and Gladys (who, I may or may not have mentioned, is serving as the executive director while Mum Kate is in the US). Then Gladys gave each of the girls a Kenyan name from a Kenyan tribe. (Lindsey and I will get one, too, when we have our farewell party!) Then each of the five girls leaving made a little speech...I admit, I cried during two of the girls' speeches. It was so sad thinking about the fact that I'm going to have to leave soon and I just got plain emotional from them talking about how remarkable these girls are--because it's so true--and how much the girls here have touched their lives--because they've touched mine so much, too.
After that we went to Baraka to watch a movie. I was allowed to choose the movie since it was my birthday this week, but I decided to let Mum Jane pick the movie since I guessed (correctly) that she probably never gets to choose the movie. She picked Mona Lisa Smile. : ) I think she was really excited, too, to get to pick it. : ) The movie was PG-13, but it strikes me how much more we expose kids that age in America to than they expose kids here to. There were some parts--content and language-wise--that just were not appropriate for these girls, who range in age from 11 or 12 to 14 or 15. This movie would be commonplace for kids in the US--most kids by those ages have seen far worse in movies...but scenes talking about birth control just seemed wildly inappropriate here. Maybe it would be inappropriate in the US too and I just don't spend that much time with young teenagers in the US...but it seems like American teenagers are exposed to a lot more than these teens. (That might be a totally different story, though, if these girls weren't here. And I can't even begin to tell you the horrific things these girls have experienced and seen in person in their few years of life so far...I guess maybe kids are seeing and hearing and doing things they shouldn't at such a young age everywhere...)
Well, that's all for now. That was a pretty long post...
Kwaheri. (Goodbye....Oh yeah, Gladys has been helping Lindsey and I with our Swahili, too!)
Just because something is different and just because it seems to me or to you to be less efficient or effective or moral or whatever, doesn't mean it is. Or maybe it is, but I guarantee there's a reason behind the method. Or maybe there isn't. But different does not inherently require us to categorize into "good" and "bad" or "better" and "worse". Not everything is that black and white—in fact, I'd venture to say that nothing is that black and white. Everything has its value. Just like everyone has his or her value. We have to learn to not be so quick to judge—I have to not be so quick to judge (even now)--which is something that I think we're taught to do from a young age—for better and for worse. We're taught that the quicker your wit and the quicker your tongue, the quicker you'll get ahead. But there's a lot to be seen from the back, too. So maybe being in front isn't where we need to be all the time. Or it's not where everyone needs to be. And if you're not "in front" it doesn't mean you have to try to get to the front. My point is that we just need to learn to accept and value people and accept and value the way they live their lives.
Of course, this doesn’t mean that we shouldn't challenge each other or challenge the actions and attitudes of others--or ourselves. But it does mean that we should seek to understand before we do that. It's a much slower process, but if you or I want to do any good—for others or ourselves—we have to take that time. Haraka haraka haina baraka. Hurry hurry brings no blessings. It's a Kenyan proverb we ought to take to heart. A proverb I ought to take to heart.
Oh I went on a tangent and forgot the rest of the day! So anyway, today I made a manger and carried a bail of hay on my back…you know, the regular daily routine ; )
Ok it might have technically been straw… The manger was for Baby Jesus aka Baby Johnny—age 2(ish), with his mother Mary aka MaryAnn—age 9, the Little Drummer Girl aka Florence—age 3, and five angels—ages 5-8—dressed in white First Communion dresses, halos, and hand-crafted wings. The scene was the first Christmas, staged for photos for this year's Christmas cards from Hekima Place. In the first setup, we had a laundry basket with a beautiful Kenyan kanga (cloth you might use as a wrap-around skirt, to cover something, or anything else, really) covering the basket, with straw—freshly dried by one of the uncles this week for this express purpose!—and Baby Jesus laid carefully inside. The Little Drummer Girl kneeled nearby, drumming on a little drum one of the volunteers purchased as a souvenir. In the other scene, we had Baby Jesus held by Mary, sitting on a bed of straw, with one little angel right behind her holding a large gold star and four more angels further back holding the letters N-O-E-L. We took the pictures with the videocamera and we'll get some stills from the video footage so that we can get ones where they're all smiling, which of course was a challenge. : )
We also interviewed Kristie today. Kristie was one of the five volunteers who came as a group at the same time as Lindsey and me and who is leaving on Sunday. Kristie came here last summer, too, so she has had a longer relationship with Hekima Place and the girls here. I filmed; Lindsey interviewed. It was short but sweet and should be perfect for the promo piece we're doing for Hekima. We're going to have a short clip about volunteering at Hekima Place so that when Mum Kate is talking to people she can encourage them to come volunteer here!
A big part of what Mum Kate and Hekima Place want to achieve is a better understanding in the US and other parts of the world of Kenyan culture, of the terrible consequences of AIDS, of women's and girls' issues in this part of the world, and of what we--as Americans or Canadians or people of whatever nationality, and simply as fellow human beings--can and must do for our brothers and sisters around the world. Part of how she does this is by encouraging people--whether you're a student, a lawyer, a soccer coach, or a retired man or woman--to come here and work with these kids and work at the school where they go. It's great for the kids because they get more individualized attention--in school and in play--than the mums and uncles can afford to give them in their busy days.
But also, as I'm learning now, these girls have so much more to give to the volunteers than we could possibly give to them. They are so willing to open their hearts to us, even though they've had countless volunteers here before who've come and gone. They have a strength and a loving trust in them that I strive for and I think a lot of us yearn for. They're truly remarkable young women and I can't wait to see what wonderful and incredible things they do with their lives.
Some people come into our lives and quickly go.
Others stay for awhile and leave footprints on our hearts
And we are never ever the same.
They've also started a program here that connects the girls with a Big Sister who writes letters to them and sends them cards and presents on their birthdays and holidays. This helps create a stronger bond for those individuals who are Big Sisters (and there are a few Big Brothers, too) to the circumstances and the lives of these girls. It also helps create a cultural bridge for the girls, here, as well, who as a result get a glimpse into an outside adult's perspective, culture, and life. So we want to help Mum Kate continue this tradition of cultural and social outreach through the film.
After the interview, we walked to town to get food for dinner (because Saturday nights are chicken and rice) and to get the Christmas pictures put on a CD. It's such a nice walk into town, so we try to do it as often as we can now! It takes about an hour, but it really doesn't seem that long. Lindsey and I usually get into some sort of philosophical or strangely hypothetical (sometimes really goofy) conversation so the time passes quickly. : )
We walk along the side of the road which is a dirt footpath that in some parts seems deliberate but in other parts has clearly just been worn down by frequent pedestrians. Early in the walk, if you look down the hill on either side of the road you can see a stream. Gladys has told us that there are often baptisms in the stream. One Sunday on the way back from church we actually saw a baptismal processional headed towards the stream. Fortunately, even though it's nearly winter here, it was a pretty warm day in the high 70s or low 80s by that time.
Later on the walk we pass the Giant Eagle Church, which looks more like a giant picnic with its huge white tents and black-, red-, and green-colored billboard advertising the times of its services and the full names of its pastors. On Sundays this place is packed with cars, all day long pulling in and out when the back-to-back services begin and end.
Further along the walk there is a bus stop with a little bus stop shelter similar to what you might see in the US but with dirt underfoot instead of a cement sidewalk. Also, while you might be less likely to see a professional businessperson in a suit on a bus in the States, here a suited man--or woman--is a regular on the matatus. This bus stop is a regular stop for the matatus and buses along this route (the 111 route that goes up and down Ngong Road from Karen Town Centre all the way into Nairobi, so I'm told, though I've yet to the end in that direction).
There's a kiosk not too far beyond that whose outside walls are bright green with the logos advertising Safaricom internet and phone services. The woman inside sells Coca-Colas and bananas and meat seasonings and various other supplies you might need to pick up on your way home.
When we got to town we bought fresh broccoli and eggplant and mushrooms because, while I do love the food here and haven't gotten sick of any of it yet, Lindsey and I have both just been craving more vegetables. We eat a lot of greens--skuma--in the meals the mums prepare, and the girls help us prepare mchicha and some other green whose name I can't recall and that I would doubtfully be able to spell--both wild greens from the shamba--when there's meat for dinner, and Lindsey and I eat a lot of tomatoes and avocadoes (fresh guacamole too!) on our own, but it's still not enough! They just eat so many starchy foods here. We have githeri for lunch on the weekends and occasionally for dinner--githeri is basically potatoes and beans (like pinto or red beans) and maize (big and chewy corn that is oh so good) with some onions and fresh cilantro (or maybe some other fresh herb). It's good, but starchy. Other meals include:
- Pasta (which they only call "spaghetti" and won't know what you're talking about if you call it pasta or noodles) and minced meat (which of course I don't eat) and sometimes cabbage (delicious! but oily) too
- Rice and chicken (every Saturday night...so LJM and I either bring some veggies over with me or just eat in Amani separately)
- Rice and lentils or green grams (which are basically just lentils...there may be some difference but I can't tell)
- Rice and a bean/some cabbage mixture
- Spaghetti and bean mixture
- Rice and Skuma (greens)
- Ugali (thick pasty/doughy mixture made from maize (did I mention they call corn maize?)--I think...now I can't remember...I'll double check on that) and skuma
- Chapatti (fried flat bread) with bean mixture and/or skuma
-Rice and boiled fish w/tomatoes (again, of course, I don't eat the fish...oh and P.S. it still has some bones in it a lot of times) and skuma
So the good news is that we get a lot of protein here...they get meat/fish about 4 times a week. That actually, apparently, is upsetting for some of the girls because Mum Kate says a lot of them suffer from a sort of survivor's guilt. Most of these girls have brothers, sisters, cousins, grandparents (some even have parents), and other relatives outside of Hekima Place who not only don't get meat 4x a week but rarely have more than one meal a day. And before they came here, a lot of these girls only had one or two meals a day, which probably had meager nutritional value. So it's understandable that when dinner is being served and there's a big chicken leg in or a big helping of minced meat in front of you, it's not just food--it's a pressing reminder that your family, your loved ones, are probably not as fortunate right now. They might be eating, but it's not too likely that they're getting the meat and protein their bodies need. And plus, they like meat. Meat is tasty. It's a treat, in a lot of ways, in addition to being nutritional. And it's a privilege and a provision they didn't have nearly as much when they were at home. Some girls, when they go home on school breaks, end up losing quite a bit of weight. One girl actually lost 5kg, which is about 11 pounds, in one week at home. I don't even know how that's even possible. Needless to say, when she got back to Hekima Place they looked into her home situation--I'm not sure if she still goes back or not but I know she would only be allowed to go back if the mums here were certain that she would not have anything like that happen again.
Anyway, after dinner, we had quite the celebration for the volunteers who were leaving. This farewell party was a bit different than the previous ones we've had. We were in Maisha this time, and girls in each of the grades got up together and sang a song or two of their choice for the volunteers. Then the mums did one and even us volunteers (including the ones who are leaving) did one—we sang "Lean On Me". It was more like a talent show than anything else! As far as I could tell, all of the songs the girls sang were of some religious context (of course, some were in Swahili, but I think I heard "Bwana", which means "Father", a lot in those songs so it's fair to guess those we're Christian songs as well).
[Sidenote: They're pretty openly religious—mostly Christian—here, similar to the Southeastern US, though I wouldn't say they're quite as openly religious as the people were in Ghana. In Ghana, all of the shops and kiosks had religious names (like "In His Name Fruits & Veges" or "Praise God Electronics"), whereas here, none of them seem to have religious names. We did see one, once, called Mustard Seed Grocery, which only subtly alludes to a story of faith in the Bible.]
After that we had a few speeches from each of the houses, and then one from one of the mums, myself--on behalf of the rest of us volunteers who weren't leaving, and Gladys (who, I may or may not have mentioned, is serving as the executive director while Mum Kate is in the US). Then Gladys gave each of the girls a Kenyan name from a Kenyan tribe. (Lindsey and I will get one, too, when we have our farewell party!) Then each of the five girls leaving made a little speech...I admit, I cried during two of the girls' speeches. It was so sad thinking about the fact that I'm going to have to leave soon and I just got plain emotional from them talking about how remarkable these girls are--because it's so true--and how much the girls here have touched their lives--because they've touched mine so much, too.
After that we went to Baraka to watch a movie. I was allowed to choose the movie since it was my birthday this week, but I decided to let Mum Jane pick the movie since I guessed (correctly) that she probably never gets to choose the movie. She picked Mona Lisa Smile. : ) I think she was really excited, too, to get to pick it. : ) The movie was PG-13, but it strikes me how much more we expose kids that age in America to than they expose kids here to. There were some parts--content and language-wise--that just were not appropriate for these girls, who range in age from 11 or 12 to 14 or 15. This movie would be commonplace for kids in the US--most kids by those ages have seen far worse in movies...but scenes talking about birth control just seemed wildly inappropriate here. Maybe it would be inappropriate in the US too and I just don't spend that much time with young teenagers in the US...but it seems like American teenagers are exposed to a lot more than these teens. (That might be a totally different story, though, if these girls weren't here. And I can't even begin to tell you the horrific things these girls have experienced and seen in person in their few years of life so far...I guess maybe kids are seeing and hearing and doing things they shouldn't at such a young age everywhere...)
Well, that's all for now. That was a pretty long post...
Kwaheri. (Goodbye....Oh yeah, Gladys has been helping Lindsey and I with our Swahili, too!)
Friday, June 19, 2009
A very happy birthday x 2!
Today most of the girls did not have school because they had a midterm break. In fact, all of the girls who were away at boarding school came back for 4-5 days because they were on break, as well! So we got to meet those girls, but unfortunately I didn't really get to see them much today because they were in Tumaini and I was eating in Baraka. I did get to see them a little bit at my joint birthday celebration with Johnny though!
During the day today I played with the girls A LOT. I played hopscotch with the younger girls and sang songs as they jumped rope. I used to know so many jump-rope songs--now I can only remember one or two! :( I don't think I took a single break from the girls from around 11am til I came back to go to bed!
Meanwhile, Lindsey did some interviewing and filming with Beth and Mercy, two of the girls whose friendship we're considering making our documentary about. We decided it would be best to split up when we interview the girls because when both of us are there it draws more attention to the camera and it seems to make them less comfortable. So I'm going to do the same thing with them at a later point.
Birthdays here are usually celebrated on the Saturday after your actual birthday, but since the volunteers from Ohio are having their farewell party on Saturday night (because they're leaving Sunday in the early evening), Johnny and I had our celebration tonight! After I had dinner in Baraka, I went over to Maisha house and we all sang and danced for awhile before bringing out the cake. Johnny and I cut the cake together (which was a bit haphazard on his part!) and served everyone cake and vanilla ice cream. The cake here is not quite as sweet as what you'd get in the US. It's very dense, like a pound cake. It's more like a very sweet bread. I like it better that way, personally! The icing is very sweet though, of course! All the people who live in the house where the person whose birthday it is get to eat cake. There is one cake and we cut it up into pretty small pieces--about 2"x2"x3"...but just enough to make you happy : ) And then everyone gets a good amount of ice cream--sometimes vanilla, sometimes strawberry...I don't think we've ever had chocolate. By the time it all gets served to everyone, though, half or more of it is melted though...but it still tastes great with the cake! : ) Johnny helped himself to about a half cup of pure icing by dragging his fingers in the cake pan throughout the whole party : ) After we welcomed everyone to begin enjoying their cake and ice cream so that it didn't melt anymore, the girls who were left (Maisha girls plus three girls from Baraka) went around and gave Johnny and I birthday wishes.
I was wished many a time to have more birthdays than I currently have candles on my cake, a phrase/wish they tend to give a lot. It seems to be a popular Kenyan phrase. Many of the girls thanked me for choosing to be here in Kenya on my birthday and for celebrating with them. I was wished to be a doctor, a saloonist (hair stylist), a pilot, a nurse (by Kathleen because I'm caring), and a pastor (by Mum Helen because I'm kind).
After the well-wishing, the girls adamantly demanded, "WE WANT TO SEE THE PRESENTS! WE WANT TO SEE THE PRESENTS!" Johnny opened up the jacket, pants, shirt, and car that Lindsey and I had gotten him earlier in the week. He LOVES the car. : ) To my surprise, I had some presents too! I got a Snickers, some strawberry gummies, and tic tacs! : ) Of course, all the girls tried to convince me to give them some afterwards, but I didn't give in...until later...
It was a very sweet celebration and one of the best birthdays I've had. : )
For the Maisha girls' movie night tonight, we watched Catch that Kid…not that great of a movie… But I get to choose the movie tomorrow night for Baraka girls!
Oh, and then Lindsey and I made homemade hot chocolate for the volunteers…we boiled milk, melted milk chocolate bars, added the rest of our cinnamon honey and a sprinkling of cayenne pepper for some added spice! It was tasty : )
During the day today I played with the girls A LOT. I played hopscotch with the younger girls and sang songs as they jumped rope. I used to know so many jump-rope songs--now I can only remember one or two! :( I don't think I took a single break from the girls from around 11am til I came back to go to bed!
Meanwhile, Lindsey did some interviewing and filming with Beth and Mercy, two of the girls whose friendship we're considering making our documentary about. We decided it would be best to split up when we interview the girls because when both of us are there it draws more attention to the camera and it seems to make them less comfortable. So I'm going to do the same thing with them at a later point.
Birthdays here are usually celebrated on the Saturday after your actual birthday, but since the volunteers from Ohio are having their farewell party on Saturday night (because they're leaving Sunday in the early evening), Johnny and I had our celebration tonight! After I had dinner in Baraka, I went over to Maisha house and we all sang and danced for awhile before bringing out the cake. Johnny and I cut the cake together (which was a bit haphazard on his part!) and served everyone cake and vanilla ice cream. The cake here is not quite as sweet as what you'd get in the US. It's very dense, like a pound cake. It's more like a very sweet bread. I like it better that way, personally! The icing is very sweet though, of course! All the people who live in the house where the person whose birthday it is get to eat cake. There is one cake and we cut it up into pretty small pieces--about 2"x2"x3"...but just enough to make you happy : ) And then everyone gets a good amount of ice cream--sometimes vanilla, sometimes strawberry...I don't think we've ever had chocolate. By the time it all gets served to everyone, though, half or more of it is melted though...but it still tastes great with the cake! : ) Johnny helped himself to about a half cup of pure icing by dragging his fingers in the cake pan throughout the whole party : ) After we welcomed everyone to begin enjoying their cake and ice cream so that it didn't melt anymore, the girls who were left (Maisha girls plus three girls from Baraka) went around and gave Johnny and I birthday wishes.
I was wished many a time to have more birthdays than I currently have candles on my cake, a phrase/wish they tend to give a lot. It seems to be a popular Kenyan phrase. Many of the girls thanked me for choosing to be here in Kenya on my birthday and for celebrating with them. I was wished to be a doctor, a saloonist (hair stylist), a pilot, a nurse (by Kathleen because I'm caring), and a pastor (by Mum Helen because I'm kind).
After the well-wishing, the girls adamantly demanded, "WE WANT TO SEE THE PRESENTS! WE WANT TO SEE THE PRESENTS!" Johnny opened up the jacket, pants, shirt, and car that Lindsey and I had gotten him earlier in the week. He LOVES the car. : ) To my surprise, I had some presents too! I got a Snickers, some strawberry gummies, and tic tacs! : ) Of course, all the girls tried to convince me to give them some afterwards, but I didn't give in...until later...
It was a very sweet celebration and one of the best birthdays I've had. : )
For the Maisha girls' movie night tonight, we watched Catch that Kid…not that great of a movie… But I get to choose the movie tomorrow night for Baraka girls!
Oh, and then Lindsey and I made homemade hot chocolate for the volunteers…we boiled milk, melted milk chocolate bars, added the rest of our cinnamon honey and a sprinkling of cayenne pepper for some added spice! It was tasty : )
Thursday, June 18, 2009
A Luhya Death
Today, while I was helping to make chapatti--a fried flour flat bread, similar to Indian naan-- and chatting with the mums in Baraka, we heard loud screaming and wailing from next door. The mums ran out of the house and I followed to see what was the matter. After a brief moment, one of the mums came back and said that the mother of the woman next door had died. Mum Jane explained that the woman was Luhya, and one of the Luhya traditions is that when a family member dies, the family members must scream and yell and wail loudly. Part of the reason is to express the grief inevitably felt, which seems healthy, in my opinion, and would ensure that people do not suppress such heavy emotions. (I made a comment about males in our society often being taught to hide sadness and tears in our society, and Gladys said it was the same way in Kikuyu society but I guess not in Luhyah tradition.) Gladys mentioned later that it was also a traditional means of appealing to and pleasing the gods when someone dies.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Feels like home...
Today after church we interviewed three of the girls here, who are biological sisters, along with their mom and their grandfather who were visiting them for a few hours in the afternoon. The girls are ages 11, 7, and 4 and have been here at Hekima Place for about a year.
When they still lived with their mother, they lived in a slum nearby under the support of their grandfather and mother. However, the grandfather has been out of a job for quite some time and their mother, who has AIDS, had been in and out of the hospital quite a bit for awhile because of illness. As a result, the two oldest girls had been taken to a children’s home. This children’s home, however, was poorly run, was dirty, and did not afford the girls the time they needed to do their homework for school. The woman who was paying to sponsor these two girls, as well as three other girls at this orphanage, came to visit the home and was appalled by the conditions. So, at that point, she found out about Hekima Place and asked for these five girls to be admitted here. So that is how those girls came to be here.
One day, though, the mother came to visit her two oldest daughters and brought her youngest daughter with her. At this time, the mother was suffering from a drug-resistant strand of tuberculosis. Tuberculosis is highly contagious and the drug-resistant strands can be, as you can imagine, very difficult to treat since they are resistant to many of the first-line treatments (www.xdrtb.org). When Kate, the director of Hekima Place, saw the mother with her very young child, she talked to her and explained that she would allow her daughter to live at Hekima Place with her sisters because she did not want this little girl to have to be exposed to this difficult illness. The mother, heroically in my mind, agreed to leave her daughter in Kate’s care. Clearly, this would be the best option for the little girl’s health and opportunities in the future, but the strength the mother had to have to be willing to so selflessly give up her baby girl is admirable. Nobody would ever want to have to make that decision—I can’t imagine how difficult it would be for a mother to let go of watching her daughter growing up every day and of being the main role model in her daughter’s life—but to be able to do so when you have to and to be able to conclude that the best thing for your own child is to, essentially, not be raised by you, is courageous.
Seeing these girls—these three precious girls whose smiles warm your heart—and hearing their story and their mother’s story causes me to wonder how we can allow the world to exist where children are better off not being raised by their own parents, who are otherwise fit to be caregivers other than the fact that they do not have the right financial resources or access to a healthy environment. There’s something wrong with this picture. All over Kenya, loving and gentle parents are having their families torn apart because they’re dying of preventable and/or treatable diseases, because they can’t get a job or can’t afford to live somewhere with clean water or sanitation. It’s just, simply, not fair. Each person’s situation is unique and far more complicated than we often realize. But we just have to take the time to understand.
Understand all and forgive all.
Well, we interviewed the girls with their mom and their grandfather. The mother and grandfather spoke some English, but we decided it might be easier to just let them speak Swahili or their mother tongue, Luhyah, and to have the oldest daughter translate for them. That didn’t seem to help, though.
This was, simply put, the most challenging interview we’ve done so far. The language barrier was just too difficult to overcome. We’d been getting really brief answers before with other guardians because of language difficulties, so we thought having a translator would make it easier. But the oldest daughter is still only 11 and still really learning English and Swahili and doesn’t really seem to remember much of her mother tongue, Luhyah. (The language hurdles these girls and kids all over Kenya and much of the African continent have to overcome is truly unfortunate. But I’ll talk about that some other time. )
Then, on top of the language barriers, it appeared that the mother and grandfather were hesitant to say anything other than that they are “so happy the girls are here at Hekima,” which makes sense because they saw us as two people who work for the place that is taking care of their girls. They would, naturally, be hesitant to say anything that could in any way jeopardize the care of their girls at Hekima Place. Even though it would be natural to be worried about her daughters, to miss them sometimes, to be concerned that they’re growing up without their mother’s constant presence—all of which may or may not be part of this particular mother’s thought process—she might be hesitant to articulate those thoughts for fear that Hekima Place would interpret that in a negative way.
So, all in all, kind of a total disaster as far as getting anything usable for our documentary or the promo piece.
But hey, disaster can make great art, right? Well, maybe. We’ll see. Who knows, what seemed like the most difficult moments during the interview could end up being really telling in themselves. One scene in particular stands out: Lindsey asked the middle daughter if she liked Hekima Place, but she stays silent even as the mother and grandfather constantly plead with her, in both Swahili and English, "say 'yes', say 'yes'." She wouldn't say a word. Silence is golden?
We’ve thought about possibly focusing our documentary on the fact that even though Hekima Place is such a wonderful home and provides so much love and support and opportunity for these girls, the girls would still, in many ways, prefer to be at home. Not because their homes are so much better but just because their homes are, just that, their own homes. Home is the place we all want to be at the end of the day when we lay our heads to rest. How many of us can remember the homesick feeling we got the first time we spent a night away from home or the first time we went to summer camp? You’re there with your best friends having the time of your life, but ultimately, when the lights go out and you’re waiting to drift off to sleep, your thoughts start to wander and suddenly a deep pit builds in your stomach and your whole body feels uneasy and you just want to be in your own bed with your own pillow, cuddled up with your favorite teddy bear from when you were just a little toddler but that has secretly remained your security blanket for those stormy, shadowy nights when you’ve just gotten done watching a scary movie and at every flash of lightning you swear you saw someone outside your window. It’s that feeling that if you could just walk out of your room and see your mom and dad seated at the kitchen table going over some bills or paperwork, they’d be able to make you a cup of Sleepy Time tea with drizzled honey and give you a hug and everything would be all better. But it’s not about your Cinderella sheets or your favorite teddy bear Oatmeal or the Sleepy Time tea. It’s about those people who’ve always been there since you were too young to hold your head up on your own and who rocked you to sleep at night. It's about the people who gave birth to you and the people who raised you and the people who were supposed to be there with you until you were old enough to take care of yourself and have a family of your own. It’s about the sense of home that is deeper than time or place. It’s about the security of unconditional love and of the familial ties that give us a sense of belonging and a glimpse into our past and a confidence in our future.
Yes, we can find that other places and in other people. People do it, I know. We can work to recreate that invaluable connection with other people…but it takes time. And it takes effort. And Hekima Place truly does seem to understand that and truly does work very hard to create the security and unconditional love these girls need. But it takes time. No matter how incredible this place is and how much better these girls’ lives will be if they stay here than if they were to stay at home or with their relatives, there’s still that longing to be home--home with their families, home where the heart is. Even though I’ve heard many of them say how incredibly grateful they are to be here and how Hekima Place has quite literally transformed their lives—and I believe it, too—they’re still kids who just wanted their mommy and daddy to tuck them in at night and tell them that everything will be okay when they're going through rough times. It's nothing against Hekima Place, at all. It’s merely testimony to the strength of family and the desperate need we have to maintain our familial bonds and the urgency of the global village to do something to preserve the lives of the people in these families.Yes, we have to do something about these 12 million orphans in sub-Saharan Africa. We need places like Hekima Place for the 12 million already orphaned. But we also need to do something about the millions more who are going to be orphans if we don't stop the unnecessary spread of HIV.
But Lindsey's not sure if we have the talent at this point to communicate all that in a 15 minute film. And given my complete lack of experience in documentary film up until now, I think it's safe to say that if she can't do it then neither can I. We’re just afraid we might end up portraying Hekima Place in a bad light..which is quite honestly the very last thing we would ever want to do because this place truly is incredible and these girls truly are blessed and they do know that. So if Hekima came off in a bad light it would be dishonest on our part.
But we’ll keep searching. All in all an interesting day, though.
The three girls’ mom invited us to come visit her at her home in Kibera--the largest slum in East Africa, just a short drive away in the capital city-- in a couple weeks so we’ll do that and interview her again, this time with Gladys as the translator. Hopefully that will go better.
Peace.
When they still lived with their mother, they lived in a slum nearby under the support of their grandfather and mother. However, the grandfather has been out of a job for quite some time and their mother, who has AIDS, had been in and out of the hospital quite a bit for awhile because of illness. As a result, the two oldest girls had been taken to a children’s home. This children’s home, however, was poorly run, was dirty, and did not afford the girls the time they needed to do their homework for school. The woman who was paying to sponsor these two girls, as well as three other girls at this orphanage, came to visit the home and was appalled by the conditions. So, at that point, she found out about Hekima Place and asked for these five girls to be admitted here. So that is how those girls came to be here.
One day, though, the mother came to visit her two oldest daughters and brought her youngest daughter with her. At this time, the mother was suffering from a drug-resistant strand of tuberculosis. Tuberculosis is highly contagious and the drug-resistant strands can be, as you can imagine, very difficult to treat since they are resistant to many of the first-line treatments (www.xdrtb.org). When Kate, the director of Hekima Place, saw the mother with her very young child, she talked to her and explained that she would allow her daughter to live at Hekima Place with her sisters because she did not want this little girl to have to be exposed to this difficult illness. The mother, heroically in my mind, agreed to leave her daughter in Kate’s care. Clearly, this would be the best option for the little girl’s health and opportunities in the future, but the strength the mother had to have to be willing to so selflessly give up her baby girl is admirable. Nobody would ever want to have to make that decision—I can’t imagine how difficult it would be for a mother to let go of watching her daughter growing up every day and of being the main role model in her daughter’s life—but to be able to do so when you have to and to be able to conclude that the best thing for your own child is to, essentially, not be raised by you, is courageous.
Seeing these girls—these three precious girls whose smiles warm your heart—and hearing their story and their mother’s story causes me to wonder how we can allow the world to exist where children are better off not being raised by their own parents, who are otherwise fit to be caregivers other than the fact that they do not have the right financial resources or access to a healthy environment. There’s something wrong with this picture. All over Kenya, loving and gentle parents are having their families torn apart because they’re dying of preventable and/or treatable diseases, because they can’t get a job or can’t afford to live somewhere with clean water or sanitation. It’s just, simply, not fair. Each person’s situation is unique and far more complicated than we often realize. But we just have to take the time to understand.
Understand all and forgive all.
Well, we interviewed the girls with their mom and their grandfather. The mother and grandfather spoke some English, but we decided it might be easier to just let them speak Swahili or their mother tongue, Luhyah, and to have the oldest daughter translate for them. That didn’t seem to help, though.
This was, simply put, the most challenging interview we’ve done so far. The language barrier was just too difficult to overcome. We’d been getting really brief answers before with other guardians because of language difficulties, so we thought having a translator would make it easier. But the oldest daughter is still only 11 and still really learning English and Swahili and doesn’t really seem to remember much of her mother tongue, Luhyah. (The language hurdles these girls and kids all over Kenya and much of the African continent have to overcome is truly unfortunate. But I’ll talk about that some other time. )
Then, on top of the language barriers, it appeared that the mother and grandfather were hesitant to say anything other than that they are “so happy the girls are here at Hekima,” which makes sense because they saw us as two people who work for the place that is taking care of their girls. They would, naturally, be hesitant to say anything that could in any way jeopardize the care of their girls at Hekima Place. Even though it would be natural to be worried about her daughters, to miss them sometimes, to be concerned that they’re growing up without their mother’s constant presence—all of which may or may not be part of this particular mother’s thought process—she might be hesitant to articulate those thoughts for fear that Hekima Place would interpret that in a negative way.
So, all in all, kind of a total disaster as far as getting anything usable for our documentary or the promo piece.
But hey, disaster can make great art, right? Well, maybe. We’ll see. Who knows, what seemed like the most difficult moments during the interview could end up being really telling in themselves. One scene in particular stands out: Lindsey asked the middle daughter if she liked Hekima Place, but she stays silent even as the mother and grandfather constantly plead with her, in both Swahili and English, "say 'yes', say 'yes'." She wouldn't say a word. Silence is golden?
We’ve thought about possibly focusing our documentary on the fact that even though Hekima Place is such a wonderful home and provides so much love and support and opportunity for these girls, the girls would still, in many ways, prefer to be at home. Not because their homes are so much better but just because their homes are, just that, their own homes. Home is the place we all want to be at the end of the day when we lay our heads to rest. How many of us can remember the homesick feeling we got the first time we spent a night away from home or the first time we went to summer camp? You’re there with your best friends having the time of your life, but ultimately, when the lights go out and you’re waiting to drift off to sleep, your thoughts start to wander and suddenly a deep pit builds in your stomach and your whole body feels uneasy and you just want to be in your own bed with your own pillow, cuddled up with your favorite teddy bear from when you were just a little toddler but that has secretly remained your security blanket for those stormy, shadowy nights when you’ve just gotten done watching a scary movie and at every flash of lightning you swear you saw someone outside your window. It’s that feeling that if you could just walk out of your room and see your mom and dad seated at the kitchen table going over some bills or paperwork, they’d be able to make you a cup of Sleepy Time tea with drizzled honey and give you a hug and everything would be all better. But it’s not about your Cinderella sheets or your favorite teddy bear Oatmeal or the Sleepy Time tea. It’s about those people who’ve always been there since you were too young to hold your head up on your own and who rocked you to sleep at night. It's about the people who gave birth to you and the people who raised you and the people who were supposed to be there with you until you were old enough to take care of yourself and have a family of your own. It’s about the sense of home that is deeper than time or place. It’s about the security of unconditional love and of the familial ties that give us a sense of belonging and a glimpse into our past and a confidence in our future.
Yes, we can find that other places and in other people. People do it, I know. We can work to recreate that invaluable connection with other people…but it takes time. And it takes effort. And Hekima Place truly does seem to understand that and truly does work very hard to create the security and unconditional love these girls need. But it takes time. No matter how incredible this place is and how much better these girls’ lives will be if they stay here than if they were to stay at home or with their relatives, there’s still that longing to be home--home with their families, home where the heart is. Even though I’ve heard many of them say how incredibly grateful they are to be here and how Hekima Place has quite literally transformed their lives—and I believe it, too—they’re still kids who just wanted their mommy and daddy to tuck them in at night and tell them that everything will be okay when they're going through rough times. It's nothing against Hekima Place, at all. It’s merely testimony to the strength of family and the desperate need we have to maintain our familial bonds and the urgency of the global village to do something to preserve the lives of the people in these families.Yes, we have to do something about these 12 million orphans in sub-Saharan Africa. We need places like Hekima Place for the 12 million already orphaned. But we also need to do something about the millions more who are going to be orphans if we don't stop the unnecessary spread of HIV.
But Lindsey's not sure if we have the talent at this point to communicate all that in a 15 minute film. And given my complete lack of experience in documentary film up until now, I think it's safe to say that if she can't do it then neither can I. We’re just afraid we might end up portraying Hekima Place in a bad light..which is quite honestly the very last thing we would ever want to do because this place truly is incredible and these girls truly are blessed and they do know that. So if Hekima came off in a bad light it would be dishonest on our part.
But we’ll keep searching. All in all an interesting day, though.
The three girls’ mom invited us to come visit her at her home in Kibera--the largest slum in East Africa, just a short drive away in the capital city-- in a couple weeks so we’ll do that and interview her again, this time with Gladys as the translator. Hopefully that will go better.
Peace.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
A true celebration of the day you were born...
The manner of giving is worth more than the gift. -Pierre Cornielle
Today, we celebrated Dorothy's birthday. Dorothy lives in Maisha with the youngest girls and turned 13 yesterday. Birthdays here are always celebrated on Saturday, though. A birthday celebration at Hekima Place is a celebration, indeed.
After dinner, all of the girls from the other houses march/dance into the house singing songs about birthdays and Jesus and hugs and happiness. As the birthday girl sits at the table with her cake and a couple buckets of ice cream, the other girls dance around the room with her at the center. She smiles as 50-some people--her sisters, her mums, and her new volunteer friends--shower her with love and congratulations on completing 13 heart-warming and resilient years of life. After at least 4 or 5 songs led by various girls in the room, the girls from Baraka and Tumaini return to their houses. Meanwhile, the birthday girl proceeds to cut her cake to the sound of the other Maisha girls chanting "Ka-taaa ka-ta ka-ta, ka-taaa ka-ta ka-ta, ..."
After the appointed Master of Ceremony girl requests permission for everyone to begin eating, she calls on various girls, mums, and volunteers to give a short speech for the birthday girl.
Little three-year old Frida stands up on her bench and looks over at Dorothy. "Thank you for your birthday and I wish you to be a doctor."
Short but sweet words from a little girl to her big sister whose goal is to become a doctor when she finishes school. The words that follow from other loved ones, big and small, are filled with love and sincerity for a dear friend and sister, with gratitude for this girl's existence in their life, with hope and encouragement for a bright and joyful future. Words that aren't spoken enough but words that literally inject life and love and meaning and belonging into your days. I've honestly never seen such a genuine celebration of the birth of an individual, a celebration of the person she has become, a glorification of the love and goodness she brings to the world around her. Balloons and streamers, party dresses and games of tag, goody bags and fancy paper...at best, they can imply that we're happy and grateful for someone in our life. But nothing can be sure to let someone know that we love them and know that we can't imagine our lives without them better than explicitly saying the words, "I love you. I'm so grateful to have you in my life."
We all need that. These girls most of all. They've lost the sense of security so many of us take for granted that comes from simply having the people who rocked you on your day of birth still be there to wish you happy birthday when you reach 5, when you reach double-digits, when you reach your teens, when you leave your teens. Many of them have felt the rejection, either by choice or through the forces of poverty and disease, of other family members whose care they came under when the dearest people in that child's life--her parents-- passed on.
I've wondered how a mom, here, can find within herself the ability to love these girls when they have their own biological children waiting at home. But the depth of the human heart continues to amaze me. Mum Helen, with a sincerity and sweetness in her voice, looked Dorothy in the eyes from across the table and told her, "Happy Birthday Dorothy. I want you to know that I love you and I love the way you help out and the way you interact with your sisters. I can see how you've truly made a difference in your sister Virginia's life. I'm so grateful to have you in my life. I know you want to be a doctor when you grow up, and I know that you'll achieve that. And I wish you the very best." I can't forget the tearful joy in Dorothy's eyes as she received these blessings and loving words.
Today, we celebrated Dorothy's birthday. Dorothy lives in Maisha with the youngest girls and turned 13 yesterday. Birthdays here are always celebrated on Saturday, though. A birthday celebration at Hekima Place is a celebration, indeed.
After dinner, all of the girls from the other houses march/dance into the house singing songs about birthdays and Jesus and hugs and happiness. As the birthday girl sits at the table with her cake and a couple buckets of ice cream, the other girls dance around the room with her at the center. She smiles as 50-some people--her sisters, her mums, and her new volunteer friends--shower her with love and congratulations on completing 13 heart-warming and resilient years of life. After at least 4 or 5 songs led by various girls in the room, the girls from Baraka and Tumaini return to their houses. Meanwhile, the birthday girl proceeds to cut her cake to the sound of the other Maisha girls chanting "Ka-taaa ka-ta ka-ta, ka-taaa ka-ta ka-ta, ..."
After the appointed Master of Ceremony girl requests permission for everyone to begin eating, she calls on various girls, mums, and volunteers to give a short speech for the birthday girl.
Little three-year old Frida stands up on her bench and looks over at Dorothy. "Thank you for your birthday and I wish you to be a doctor."
Short but sweet words from a little girl to her big sister whose goal is to become a doctor when she finishes school. The words that follow from other loved ones, big and small, are filled with love and sincerity for a dear friend and sister, with gratitude for this girl's existence in their life, with hope and encouragement for a bright and joyful future. Words that aren't spoken enough but words that literally inject life and love and meaning and belonging into your days. I've honestly never seen such a genuine celebration of the birth of an individual, a celebration of the person she has become, a glorification of the love and goodness she brings to the world around her. Balloons and streamers, party dresses and games of tag, goody bags and fancy paper...at best, they can imply that we're happy and grateful for someone in our life. But nothing can be sure to let someone know that we love them and know that we can't imagine our lives without them better than explicitly saying the words, "I love you. I'm so grateful to have you in my life."
We all need that. These girls most of all. They've lost the sense of security so many of us take for granted that comes from simply having the people who rocked you on your day of birth still be there to wish you happy birthday when you reach 5, when you reach double-digits, when you reach your teens, when you leave your teens. Many of them have felt the rejection, either by choice or through the forces of poverty and disease, of other family members whose care they came under when the dearest people in that child's life--her parents-- passed on.
I've wondered how a mom, here, can find within herself the ability to love these girls when they have their own biological children waiting at home. But the depth of the human heart continues to amaze me. Mum Helen, with a sincerity and sweetness in her voice, looked Dorothy in the eyes from across the table and told her, "Happy Birthday Dorothy. I want you to know that I love you and I love the way you help out and the way you interact with your sisters. I can see how you've truly made a difference in your sister Virginia's life. I'm so grateful to have you in my life. I know you want to be a doctor when you grow up, and I know that you'll achieve that. And I wish you the very best." I can't forget the tearful joy in Dorothy's eyes as she received these blessings and loving words.
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