Global Hand-Washing Day

Celebrated every 15th of October this day is one set aside to teach kids, and adults alike the importance of proper hand washing for hygiene as well as a highly effective means of preventing multiple disease from simple colds to typhoid and pneumonia which kill thousands every year.


This year we decided that as a way to celebrate we would not only teach the kids how and why to wash their hands but also to have them simultaneously wash their hands to demonstrate what they learned. It was a great idea, unfortunately we weren’t prepared for the number of kids that showed up.

We held the meeting at the local primary school and five other schools showed up upon last minute invitation. Of course it was amazing to have 2,400ish kids chanting and attentively listening (and of course gawking at the gangly white human in front of them) unfortunately we had not prepared for nearly that many and only had a couple dozen buckets and basins.

To give you an idea as to how many kids were there:

Building a Tippy Tap:

Having the kids demostrate washing their hands (P.S that is Esther my awesome counterpart!):

Showing all the clean hands:

Locked In the Closet

My utility closet has one specific flaw in its working as a house; the outer gate/door to the building as a whole, locks (with a dead-bolt) from the outside.

I never figured that this would pose a significant problem until the group of contractors that were went to work on my new house arrived. A couple days after they came I had been sitting in my house after making dinner relaxing and I had to use the restroom which is located outside of course. To my shock and horror I tried to use the outer doors and they would not budge.

Slowly I realized that I was trapped and as far as I could tell no one could yet hear my pleas for release. I tried calling a couple of Kenyan friends and of course it is the one time they did not answer the phone. As the hours passed, the bucket I usually use for purifying my water was beginning to look very appealing as a pee bucket. This, of course, I still begrudged to do out of shear stubbornness, not wanting to adhere to fellow PCV’s argument that this is an ok and necessary thing to do. Jenn.

Thankfully, three hours later, I was rescued by a passing patient, who saved my life, my bladder, and my pride.

The Kiss

I think I gained a woman problem.


From all the stories that we heard during PST, and all the tips that they gave us to avoid awkward opposite-sex interactions, I swore that I would do everything in my power to make myself undesirable and make it obvious that I was unattainable.

Apparently, I failed.

Now, I have been very careful to never go to any particular mama too often to buy produce, as well as to never always buy the same particular item from the same mama. This mama has been no exception, however I did like going to her stand because her produce was always of quality and she has, from the beginning, always given me a fair, non-mzungu, price.

Then yesterday happened.

As I finished purchasing a couple items, I, as with any Kenyan, was leaving with a farewell handshake. Now it’s rare, but not unusual, for a mama to give what I call the “Double Bro-hug”, keeping the hand-shaking hands in between and proceeding to sort of chest-bump/hug. This is what she proceeded to go for but as I was turning to leave I suddenly feel a kiss on my neck.

My heart-drops and I hurry away without looking back as fast as possible.

On taking counsel with my counter-part, my worst fears were confirmed; this is definitely not normal for a strictly plutonic relationship, even amoung most family units. Ugh. So now I have to put shields up to maximum, phasers set to kill, and utilize every avoidance procedure I know.

If I Look Back Then I Am Lost

I really love hiking and exploring and it is so beautiful up here in the foothills of the Rift Valley that I do it quite a lot. Walking around forces you to meet and greet people along the way, not to mention that it absolutely helps me to clear my head.

I was reading a story about a guy who does a lot of backpacking and other exploring type trips and in it he says something that caught my attention; “When your exploring you are never really lost as long as you keep going, it is only when you look back that you become lost.”

Most days things are great. I feel “in the groove” so to speak. Yet every now and then I start to long for home and dwell on certain things I miss too much and get myself into a funk. This happened to me the other day. I looked back.

The area surrounding Ngorika reminds me remarkably of Oregon, which made me realize I am going to miss our family’s annual Polar Bear Jump on the 1st of the year, which, well you get the picture.

I’m not saying that I shouldn’t remember good times, or try to forget people or things in the past. Simply that now I need to remain forsighted, on what’s to come and the people that are here in my life now.

It is only when I look back that I get lost.

The Burden Be...

Love is hard.

Often it leads you to places you never expected and to do work that is so rewarding.

It looks like perseverance. A smile when you’re being stared at or attempting a conversation when you know your speech is going to be made light of.

Maybe it’s having your heart broken to see desolation and unlivable conditions, and have them seem viewed as normal by others, all while using everything in your power to keep it together.

It’s being bored out of your mind but sitting through the four hour church service you were invited to anyway.

Sometimes it is going to dinner and spending time with people who opened their home to you when you have a migraine and want nothing more than to lie down and sleep.

It is feeling lonely and missing out on the lives of those you love, maybe even not getting to say that permanent goodbye.

It is sacrifice. But the work that I do and the words I speak to convince a crowd, if they don’t have love, I leave a void attempt to do good and a bitter taste with every word I say.

If I don’t have love I waste my breath.

Put Me back Together

Put me back together. I fell apart.
You Creator, you understand the heart.
I am prone to wonder, I feel it every day.
All of these years trying to escape home, now all I want is to return.
Just a spark to change the heart.

Put me back together. Is there a way?
If I am who I say I am, won’t I be who I’ve always been?
Oh I ache, for the real that takes time, I wanna be something real within a world of fake.
Oh my cynical heart, begs for bread from the stones. Can I live on words alone?
Just a spark, please, will it change my heart?

Put me back together. Teach me words like hope and peace.
Can I know grace? Words to heal this heart of mine.
I want to find a way. Can I be the real thing?
Just a spark for my cold heart:
To breathe in hope and grace, to breathe out peace and justice and mercy.

Using the "Kenyan English" Voice

Monday I got the privilege of teaching a lesson about HIV/AIDS and STIs at the training of a group of new CHWs (Community Health Workers). The class went really well, and it was a chance to practice one of the undiscussed, and personally disliked, “skills” known as the “Kenyan English Voice”.

I absolutely haaaaaaaaaate utilizing my “Kenyan English” voice. I feel like I am being pretentious and speaking down to the Kenyan I am communicating with. However, without using it in some form most Kenyans are less than able to understand what I am saying in my regular Californian accent.

Now, everyone has their own form of the “Kenyan English Voice” but there are some pretty universal traits that one must use for effective communication in English. These include; lengthening of vowels (particularly ‘u’ and ‘o’), the disuse of contractions, and a hard pronunciation of ‘t’s. My personal flavor is these key traits with while adding a light British lilt and a staccato-ish rhythm tends to aid almost perfectly the ability to understand what I am trying to communicate.

When it comes to understanding what’s being said to me, sometimes I get completely lost. Mostly because in KiKuyu 'r's are pronounced as 'l's, 'b's as 'f's, and 'c's as 'sh'.

On the plus side I got complemented by a mama that I had the best English she had ever heard from a Mzungu... something about not "sounding all scruntched up in the nose"... which totally make sense why children "talk" all nasally or plug their noses to say "How are you" as I walk by... Still sounds like their making fun of me =(

Storm Clouds Over Africa

Today has been a terrible day, and the weather is expressing the sadness of what I had to witness. I don’t know how else to express the weight of the loss of life:

The morning breaks a mother’s heart, leaves her crying in the rain.
Left alone with her thoughts, as the boy she’s grown slips away.
Melding into dreams and other people’s memories.

It's the Little Things

Today I learned a valuable lesson: Never wear gum boots when someone tells you that you are going to walk somewhere and you have no absolutely no idea how far this place is…

Since I did not think this out thoroughly I ended up walking, what I was told later, was close to 18km round trip (aka 11 miles) in just rubber boots =(  Needless to say the entirety of the bottom of my foot is one giant blister.

On the way back I reached to clear out one of my pockets of the old duct tape I had used and pulled out 50 /= (that slash-equals is the symbol for Kenya shillings). I don’t know why it made me so happy (because it’s only the equivalent of about 55 cents, but I guess it’s just the act of a random surprise that made me so happy.

Other little things that brighten my day:
1. Chapati – there is something about this overly oiled flat bread that warms my heart

2. Someone getting so excited that I said something to them in Kikuyu. Not even kidding they love it.

3. Chai – sometimes this tea is waaaaay to sugary, but I still love it (though not after being force feed 5 cups throughout the day)

4. My counterpart Esther’s laugh – it’s not even that funny or peculiar or anything but it makes me smile

5. A letter from home – honestly it can seem like nonsense to whomever wrote to me but trust me the sight of an envelope with my name on it sends me over the edge. (You don't even wanna see me when I get a package...talk about lack of propriety)

6. A kid yelling my name instead of Mazunguu – probably just because this takes me from being a 'thing' to being a person again.

7. Someone greeting me in Kiswahili and not English - I feel less like an outsider.

8. The stars – there is nothing like the stars at 7000ft on a clear non-light polluted night.

9. The smell of the Eucalyptus trees down the road from the Health Centre

10. Squelching around in the mud with my gum-boots. I'm 5 again.

Two Shades of Hope

There are two shades of Hope.
One the enlightening of the soul, the other, more like a hang man’s rope.
It keeps us going, striving for the impossible.
It’s why love hurts, and heartache stings
I can’t help myself but to hope.

It’s written on my soul, Hope’s what we crave
Yet Hope deals the hardest blows:
It gives reason to live, to rise above, and to love again
yet brings despair in death, and hollows the soul

Hope’s what we crave, that will never change;
Just the drop of grace needed to carry us through the day,
And the heavy blow that turns us to dust
Let the drops of tears turn to rust and give me the spark to believe

Hope, she sleeps without me
Her dreams though, they surround me.
They lift me, drop me, fill me up and leave me hollow;
dancing the dance, twirling and reeling between
the two shades of Hope.