Life in the Closet

In at least two recent catch-up conversations with other PCV’s, a question has been presented to me with the same wording that created a rather dubious double-take: “Are you out of the closet yet?”

Of course they were referring to my extravagant life-style within the Health Centre’s newly-built utility closet, but the question none-the-less left me raising an eye-brow for five seconds before it dawned on me to exactly what they were talking about.

The sentiment left me realizing I haven’t discussed my current living situation, nor posted pictures. Therefore I thought it a necessary next topic, and thus I present,

The Closet:

This is where I sleep.

The "Office"

 

Where I cook.

This be the “bathroom”

(Choo and water are located outside. This is the water tank and the outside of my closet)

The conversations also left me with the inspiration for the new title of the blog.  Therefore I present "Life in the Closet"

There is Something About Blood

I honestly don’t know what it is, but some of my favourite fruits are “Blood” fruits. Back in California is was the Blood Orange. Sure a regular orange is delicious but the Blood orange is AMAZING! When my parents planted a Blood Orange tree I was ecstatic!

One of my favourite fruits so far here in Kenya is the Pashoni ya Damu a.k.a. the Blood Passion fruit. I think half of the allure of the fruit is it’s aesthetics, the beautiful drops of red within the yellow fleshy part of the fruit.

It looks like this:

And oh mama is it delicious! I mean passion fruits are good and all, but they are a weird texture and have a unique after taste. The Blood pashioni is a whole ‘nother relm of delicious.

All of It Yours

Give up your heart. Hold it within your empty hands.
It’s the sum, the sea, of who you are.
Your hopes, your dreams, all the things and “whos” you love.
All your disgraces, your fears, and “sorrys” for the things you’ve done.

Give up your days. They are like grains of sand.
Look at them. They’re the sea, the sum, of who you’ve been.
Every hour, steal it. Every hour, feel it.
Every day, every dollar, it just washes away.

You just have to reach out and take it.
It’s yours. All of it yours.
Run to the Ocean. Feel it’s currents push and pull.
Let it’s power embrace you, take you, sweep the old you away.

The valley low, make it your home.
This I know. You can see the glory in the world.
Step up to the mountain top. Sing for the hope that you have.
Here and now, embody the things that you believe

Don’t have care about what happens to you know.
Just be changed, somehow find the change.
Look to the sky and be free.
Don’t build temples and walls to hold yourself in.

The Explorer's Heart

The path softly crunches beneath my feet. It’s gentle moan assuring me that it supports me. Each step though, a risk, the unevenness threatening to do me damage, but I like it. It is a game to be played, not but a challenge to overcome.

The sun’s piercing rays lick at my skin, beaming down with the promise of life and punishment. The carefree clouds float lazily across the vast spans of the African sky. Twisting, forming and reforming their delicate shapes, as they move the spirit with the beauty of their dance. Leaving the heart to groan with the longing for the promise of freedom their movements represent.

The sweetest of smells assaults my nose and clouds my brain with its overwhelming allure. The seas of grass shake their long appendages at me, trying to point me in the opposite direction. The wind that blows them whips across my face. Each soft touch of grace whispers with encouragement.

Moving through the underbrush, I let the strange alien succulent’s needles to scratch at my flesh. It is a masochistic enjoyment, as my cells part to give way to bushes sharp protectants. It is a reminder that I am alive, a form of penance.

A brilliant, black and white bird’s song carries me to the peak, giving musical theme to my journey. I crest the rise of the earth and the air escapes my lungs. The awe before my countenance is wide and vast, beckoning with the promise of adventure.

Wildebeest graze far below, dotted beneath the canopied arms of the acacia, moving slowly towards the lusty interior that spans between the legs of the foothills. Completely unaware and unthreated by the humbled presence above them.

Chance Encounters

I love walking. Especially around this area because it is so green and beautiful, it just puts me at ease. Several of my new Kenyan friends have commented on and, of course, had to have a good laugh about my affinity for walking.

There is also another, less advertised reason for my walking. It is a great way to be able to interact with people. Especially in the settlements even more interior than Ngorika, people want to greet me and ask what the heck a white guy is doing
way out here.

Today my walking led to a chance encounter that turned out to be more brilliant than a simple conversation/greeting. I was troddling along when I hear “tssst tsst, come to us!” Now usually I ignore people when they due the “tsssst” to grab your attention because it just grates on my nerves but some feeling within me told me to stop and see what they wanted. When I hit reverse I see that it is a man and a woman (and when I got closer another man deep within the hole) working to dig a well. I stop and chat for a little when I quickly find out that one man is a carver and road worker and the other is a mason.

Ding.

My interest alert goes off and excited level goes up. Why, do you ask? Because one of the major issues I have come to notice here in Ngorika is that unless you have a little extra pesa in your pocket (and even then sometimes) most people use the three stone cooking method. It is literally three stones put closer together, fire in the middle, and pot on top. This is highly less effective fuel wise aaaaand produces a lot of smoke. Upper respiratory infections are a high in the area.

The problem I have been encountering with further enquiry is that ant hill soil is hard to come by and much more expensive to purchase in this area and because of the many quarries in the area the use of brick is little to none, yet still much more expensive than many are able to afford.

Long story short he has offered to assist in creating a more cost effective means of creating the improved stones with resources available! He gave me his contact information and I left sunburned, yet satisfied that my little walk had proved to me more valuable than I could have imagined.

When Frustration Leads to Murder

Well not murder exactly.

This is a story about how an accumulation of personal issues led me to murder a chicken against my better judgment.

There are a couple things I like about my personality; I have a wide variety in things that I love, and as such I like to remain relatively unpredictable or surprise people because they don’t expect me to have done, or enjoy, one thing or another.

There are also a couple things that I hate about my personality; I have an insatiable need to prove people wrong when they doubt my abilities. This is doubled when my masculinity is brought into question.

This weekend I was over at a family’s place that I have recently become friends with. As with many interactions with Kenyans, this visit was full of “In your place (America) do you have, do, use ______?” This particular time we were going to prepare dinner and the son upon being asked to go slaughter a chicken asked, “In America do you slaughter chickens?” Which lead to an argument about whether I have ever killed anything, and ended with a statement of absolute assuredness that I have not, and would never, kill anything, followed by my angrily grabbing the chicken by the head and proceeding to take off it’s head in one clean stroke. (To the slack jawed gaping mouths of 6 Kenyans and 11 chickens)

Internally I wanted to vomit but for the sake of saving face and upholding my pride and honour, I continued to pluck and gut the chicken with not so much as a grimace.

Lessons learned: - Chickens can still cluck without a head
-The scales on their feet peel off like snake shedding it’s skin
- It’s ok to let people doubt you, they’ll get over it, but even so, there is odd satisfaction in proving that a Mazunguu can do (almost) anything a Kenyan can.

Donkey Blues

Donkeys are the bomb.

They are so useful here in Kenya; keep down the lawn, great source of transport, and excellent for labour purposes and they are so mopey it’s cute.

Yesterday, as I was walking home from Nyaitoga (a “nearby” community) and witnessed a poor donkey with a ridiculous load slip and fall over into a ditch. The owner was in a slight panic and I rushed over to see what I could do to help.

It was at just a wrong angle that even when we released its load from around it, it couldn’t wriggle to its feet. We were trying to help it by pushing its back end around so it was more downhill, when it freaked a little, and kicking, made contact with my thigh.

Needless to say it hurt, no broken skin, but the fattiest bruise is probably going to show up. We managed to get the donkey up, and I proceeded limping the last 5 km home.

Just another crazy day in Kenya.

Consolidation... Practice

In case of an emergency within Kenya, the Peace Corps has in place a drill to consolidate all volunteers into secure locations around the country. This last weekend was a practice so that we know how, for what prices, and how long it takes to get to our designated city.

My designated city is a town called Nanyuki at the foot of Mount Kenya. Seems really exciting to see this part of Kenya and travel right? Not completely. While this was the general feeling I had, I get extremely carsick and Matatus are the worst possible agitator of said sickness and the trip to Nanyuki is about 5-7 hours by Matatu. =(

This generally wouldn’t bother me too much except there is another consolidation group that meets in Nakuru (which is only 40 minutes from my site) and I actually have to go to Nakuru to transit to Nanyuki. So the thought that there is a less torturous consolidation point is disappointing, but what can you do?

We all make it to Nanyuki and proceed to Old House which is the Hotel/conference centre where we are to stay. It is really nice! It has a rustic-y wood feel and plenty of green space to walk around w/o shoes (which is not possible most places unless you want to get some sort of parasite or bacteria up in your feet), which for someone who loves the feeling of grass between their toes is AMAZING.

The only sad thing was that we were only to stay one night, so little time to recover physically before having to do the nauseating matatu trek all over again. But two free meals, a soft bed and a SHOWER and of course time with fellow volunteers was definitely something that I needed.

Just A Little KuKu

Herein lies the story of a most peculiar occurrence during one of my opportunities to teach at a women’s group.

We were meeting in the living room of one of the women of the group. Now, in rural Kenya it is rather typical for animals, especially chickens, to come roaming through the house and then leave and nobody usually minds unless the animal is getting into or doing stuff it shouldn’t.

While I am teaching on proper hand-washing technique one such chicken marches into the living room and proceeds to sit between two women who are sitting on the couch. Though this is odd enough, the chicken proceeds to lay an egg. Yes, full on squawking, painful, awkward laying of an egg.

And nobody tries to shoo it out of move it. They just let it proceed with it’s business.

After about five minutes of complete distraction, and me trying to focus on the lesson without busting up laughing, it nonchalantly gets up and walks out the door like nothing ever happened.

Talk about child abandonment…

Stars

I wish I could describe the stars at several thousand feet.
The unpolluted, all-consuming wonder they bring.

Millions of pin-pricks twinkling with hope, pierce the inky blackness surrounding me.

The crisp, thin air that already labours my breathing, cannot compare to the manner with which they take my breath away.

The arm of the galaxy lazily floats transverse, a trail blazed by millions of years, a glimmering haze in the darkness.

Constellations I am not used to, dance their balled across the sky.
The ones un-named to me, them the western world has no myths for.

The howling and chirping of unfamiliar animals sing their melody but they cannot capture the symphony echoing from my heart.

Praise that would not be coherent in words, You, the stillness I rest in.

I wish I could describe the stars at several thousand feet.

Love's Purpose -- Pt. 2

This is why I want to step away from those types of love, and yet this is why I am not saddened so much if someone doesn’t love me as much as I love them:

1. The line dividing positive and negative should be low. The ideal is that it should take very little to bring pleasure, and much to bring displeasure. I want to find more satisfaction in loving rather than being love. This. Is. Hard. But I want my joys to be wrapped up in the giving instead of the receiving.

2. It is good to take a trip, it is better to have a partner. I have not come to understand this more than being here in Kenya. Being alone is SO HARD. Yet I feel every day that it is better for me to love while alone, than to not love at all. Sure I am on this leg of the journey physically alone, and it isn’t as great at sharing it with another, BUT it is infinitely better than not knowing at all.

3. An unreciprocated love is a window into G-d’s heart. In that moment that love is unreturned, we get a glimmer of G-d’s nature. The purpose for creating humanity was so that we might love and have a relationship with G-d. We choose (often times daily) not to share in that relationship, nevertheless G-d does not withdraw that love. When I feel unreturned love it sucks, but it reminds me of my selfishness and to choose Love.

4. Love shouldn’t stop when it is unreciprocated or the ‘times’ change. I don’t want to forget the pretty when it becomes ugly, the young when it becomes old, or richness when it is poor.

I want to remain lovable even if it is never returned; to keep my character and personality full of the things that satisfy what other people crave. If someone needs a kind word, I want to provide a refreshing sentence, and if someone is desperate for a shoulder to cry on, I want to be that shoulder. I want to keep having what other people need.

Case of the Ng'ombes

I’m assuming that it is because cows used to be (and with some ethnic groups still are) the source and expression of someone’s wealth, that they seem to become the topic of conversation quite readily.

A perfect example of this is Chief Mburu. Often times I get to go around with him to visit different parts of his jurisdiction and, honest to G-d, every time we stop by to visit a homestead, he, mind you not the property owners usually, insist we visit the cows.

“Look at these cows, they have some very good cows. Well bred, very good.” As we inspect every aspect of the cows holding area and feeding station, typically.

The best is when we’re on a completely different topic while walking passed a cow that is tethered close by. “Ashhh. Look at this! Bad breed. These owners shouldn’t be allowed to tether them like this, what it that male tries to breed with that very good female? It’s just not right I tell you.”

Gets me every time.

P.S. Where do little pointy-hatted bearded men and Clostridium Tetini (Tetnus) like to go swimming?

Lost; The Truth of What Makes a Man – By Tanim Awwal

I just rediscovered this poem, my fellow PCV and good friend Tanim, wrote for me. Check it:

Light is the Way that people pray
Yet easy burns the match that engulfs this bed of hay

Burnt becomes the skin, the flames will sickly sear
Hollow are their eyes, intently as they leer
Strung tight the rope, ready to embrace what they fear

Am I not their Christian brother?
Raised and loved as by a mother?
Hate me not for what I am
For lost is the truth of what makes a man

A Bitter Taste of Corruption

These last few weeks I have had the blessing of being taken under-wing by the Head Chief of the Ngorika area. This has been awesome for many reasons:

Firstly, he is an amazing leader. He refuses to use a pikipiki (motorbike) or take a car when visiting any part of his constituency. His reasons are that by walking he is able to greet and have conversations with individuals as he heads to his destination. People feel more comfortable coming up to him and discussing policies and issues.

This leads to the second reason—he knows EVERYONE. I have met many leaders within the community and he is always explaining to people why they are seeing a White guy walking around their town. This gets my name and purpose out into the community which will be so valuable later on.

Lastly, he is constantly looking out for me and is just fun to be around. He always has a story for something that has happened and is an amazing source of cultural and social information for this area. Anyway, all this to lead into a story about one of my outings with him.

Last week he had obligation at the District headquarters in Nyahururu (yeah, say that 10x slow… nyah-who-rue-rue) and asked me to accompany him so he could show me some of the surrounding area. Along the way we were stopped at a Police Check-Point. There was some discussion and then I catch the stopping police officer rubbing his fingers and thumb together and gesture in my direction then hear; “He is with me and I am the Chief of Ngorika!... yeah, that is what I thought” and then we take off again. Then he turns to me and says “You know there are many, many bad police officers here in Kenya, that isn’t the last time you’ll see something like that.” Apparently the officer who stopped us saw me (as a Mazungu) and thought I had perhaps was paying them to transport me. As such, he was trying to black mail them into giving him something or else he would cite them for some made-up reason. Crazy. I could not possibly fathom what would have happened if I had not been with the Chief.

Since then I have been keeping my eyes out for other such instances of corruption. Many times I have seen the Matatu Touts placing money under the driver’s side door handle, under their ID, or in various other places when they are stopped at Police Checks so as to pay off the police officers to avoid fines for real or imagined law abuses.

It’s one of the many injustices that take place that leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I hope that the case never occurs again where I may have to face it first-hand and not have the Chief with me…

Getting Back in the Game: Low Ropes Style

Ever have those moments where you just have to sit back and say "Yes! That, that right there. That is why."? Yesterday, I got to have one of those moments.

We FINALLY got to meet with the Community Health Workers for Ngorika District. In Kenya, CHW's are volunteers trained by the gov't to go house to house to take health inventory, provide advice and preventative health knowledge, give some first aid, and make referrals to the Health Centres for serious cases. It's a huge task, and they do it for no compensation.

Part of my job here looks as if it will be to help revamp the CHW programme. Due to the hardships, unfulfilled promises of supplies, and lack of incentives, the group is now at about 20 from the original 50 volunteers.

First step: Make their monthly meetings worth the muti-kilometre trek it takes to get there. This is where my training from the best job ever with the SSU Low-Ropes Course came into play.

I decided to start them with a few aquaintance games and I have never heard a group of 30-50 year olds giggle and crack up laughing more in my entire life.

Afterwards my counterpart came up to me and said that she couldn't have thanked me enough for conducting the meeting in that way. "We have so many cares and responsibilities just to survive, I know each and everyone of us want to play and have fun like our children, we have simply forgotten how," She said.

And that's what makes it all worth it.

“Sicker than Syphilis” - Top Ten Rural Kenya to date

10. Honda hatchback mud-running (and not on purpose…we had to get home)

9. Children so embarrassed you said hi they hurt themselves: running into doorframes, slipping at falling face first into a puddle, falling backwards over a sheep lying down etc.

8. Donkey Cart Racing is better than Donkey Kong Racing –
“When work becomes a pain in the Ass”

7. Goats and Goiters – Excellent band name.

6. “I want to bathe you in cold water” –Amos
(meant that he wanted to pour water for us to wash our hands)

5. Chameleons make Kenyans flee – terrified of them…I don’t know why

4. Bucket Helmets – yes the handle was used as the chin strap

3. Worst: Having a runny nose in the choo.

2. Sicker than Syphilis – Yup this was printed on a T-shirt.

1. “I’m trying out bi-nogomy” – Jeannie
(Guy who was hitting on a fellow volunteer at matatu stage)

What Love Sometimes is; A Desire for Deepening Relationships -- Pt. 1

There are many times in my life where a relationship felt incomplete, where I would be left with the question, “Does this person have love for me?” The answer is; of course they do, but perhaps it just deep love being unreturned, the simple fact that my love for them might be greater than their love for me.

This brought me to wonder if this case is true for me. What causes me to have shallow love for others? A few realizations came to mind:

1. Often times love expressed is simply to fill an appetite. We are selfish creatures, only basically concerned with meeting our own needs; hanging out with someone to fulfill a need for entertainment, or doing a favour for someone, knowing they will return it someday. What if I was more concerned with meeting other’s needs? What would my relationships look like then?

2. Sometimes love has to be generated by an atmosphere. In a romantic sense; a rose, candle light, or sweet music. Friendship wise; some sports, good food and drink, or a great movie. Yet as I have hear it said, “Real love loves at all times, at the butt-crack of dawn or at gentle twilight, and whether the odor is Chanel No.5 or ‘Perspiration No. 6.’”

3. Most love becomes disinteresting once acquired. I hate this one the most but I know I’ve done it. Often it is the being or having of the relationship that people desire more than the object of the relationship. The worst is when it this happens in relationships with other people, especially if it comes down to bragging rights. Gaining the relationship is just the commencement; real character is never satisfied at this depth.

4. Often love never knows the degree or availability of depth. What do I mean? It should never be simply “in love or out of love” or love or no love. As one begins to learn how to love a whole world of possibilities and growth opens:

“When someone loves you, the way they way your name is different. You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.”

Of Loneliness and Isolation

I still marvel at how simple conversations can impact your outlook and how little comments can connect aspects about your life that you hadn’t made before. This last weekend I got the privilege of having such a conversation this weekend with a fellow volunteer.

It’s content was simple; why do you identify the way that you do and how does that effect your directions and decisions in life. This of course became a mini Nathan’s-life history lesson; from relationships to bad decisions, identity crisis’ to how G-d’s timing has played its role to put me where I am now. Towards the end of the conversation she said nothing but a simple phrase that sent me reeling. “It’s funny how for so much of your life you experienced feeling utterly alone, then you find yourself surrounded by people who love you, and come to discover the levels to which that holds true right at the time when you have made a decision that truly puts you in a place of isolation.”

I’m alone, and it is unbelievably hard, but I want something more. I want to fully grasp what Paul talks about in Phillipians 4 v. 11, and come to see that just maybe isolation can be a gift, especially cause I am never truly alone…

Reviewing Days Gone By

I find myself yelling out to You, yelling with all my might until my body is wracked with exhaustion.

Are You even listening?

I found myself drowning in waves of anxiety, and went looking for You.

My heart is but an open wound that won’t heal.

They keep telling me, “Everything will turn out all right, give it time.”
I find myself doubting every word they have said.

I remember You – and weep, covering my head, ashamed of this emotion.
I’m awake all night – not an ounce of sleep,
Not even sure what is bothering me

I review the days, one by one, pondering the years that have gone by.
I think of the songs You have given me, wondering how to pull it all together…