Water and Walks August 16, 2010

July 9 and 10, 2010

My jet lag is all gone now and surprisingly, our whole camp all slept until we were awoken, at 8:30. Usually mostly everyone was up way before then.

The building has been going on for two days already and we are slowly filling up the meter deep square trench with the foundation: bricks and cement. We have to do everything ourselves here- there are no cement mixers, no hoses, no trucks. A group mixes cement, sand and water with shovels and ferry the wheelbarrows back and forth between the pile of brown cement and the trench in the ground where we are building a layer of bricks up to ground level. The bricks are massive, and about the length of seven hand-widths and another two or three hand-widths wide. Another group is carrying the bricks from another massive pile a few meters away to line up around the trench for cemeter-people to use. Another group is pick-axing the ground where the floor of the classroom will be and pulling and digging up grass and roots that are nearly two feet deep in the ground. The tough, unyielding earth is hard to battle. The last group walks about 65m or so to a muddy, undrinkable pond in the corner of the school grounds. There, they dip buckets and jerry cans in and carry the heavy, sloshing loads back to the work site where four massive barrows need to be filled with water.

It’s hard work, sweating in the sun and using my never-used arm muscles. But at the end of the 3hr work period everyday, it’s great seeing the bricks rise layer by layer.

Today, we went on a water walk with the mamas. Mama Beatrice and Mama Janice are two women from the mama’s group in Salabwek. The mamas work with each other and Me2We to help improve their village. As we walked along the hilly, rugged road towards Mama Beatrice’s house, kids that had gone home after school ran out again to walk with us as we neared the homestead.

Mama Beatrice’s house was three buildings with a large, green garden. She was definitely wealthy and she was a leader in the community. Her kitchen was what a normal house would be in the village. The round mud walls were smooth and beige and the inside was dark and sooty and a hole in the ceiling lead to the loft where the tall, cone shaped roof was used a storage room inside. Most families would use the bottom floor not only for a kitchen, but also a place to keep their animals at night, and a bedroom. The top floor would usually be for storing things and for sleeping also. Luckily, Mama Beatrice also had another long rectangle house with bedrooms and a living room, which also served as a bedroom for the kids. They had another low mud house, and I’m pretty sure that is for the animals.

From her house, we walked down the path for another 150 meters to a big muddy pond they got water from for watering plants and maybe some cleaning. A bunch of cows and goats were nearby eating grass, which means all their poop would kinda end up in the water. The jerry cans were 20 litre ones and they would be carried on our backs and a rope would be tied around the jerry can and pulled onto our foreheads.

IT WAS SO HEAVY.

20kilos on my back was not a funny joke. THAT was REAL weightlifting. As I swayed and lurched up the hill, water sloshed down my back because my jerry can was leaking. I couldn’t find a balanced position on my forehead for the rope and I tried to used my arms to hold the rope up to ease some of the weight off my head. Finally, when I got back to the yard and dumped the water in a massive wheelbarrow, I felt unnaturally light. However, I was filled with the feeling of accomplishment. Another Kenya moment hit me- carrying water!

Over the chicken wire and through the cactus trees August 5, 2010

Seeing my future friends and a hopeful school

July 7, 2010

All is dust here. The sky is so bright and close but the sun is so far away. Every move raises a small maelstrom by your feet and the tiny yellow specks spin up urgently in the air. A wind is always blowing, so the heat isn’t unbearable, but during the time when the sun reaches its highest point in the sky, everything is ablaze in white.

We visited downtown Salabwek today. It was a row of a dozen shops and such on one side of the road, all constructed from wooden boards, tin sheets, and painted with bright colours. As we walked along the dusty yellow road, we passed cacti that lined the borders of the fields filled with dried, yellowed stalks of corn shivering in the breeze. The dark weathered faces within the shadowed buildings either remain passive as we walk by or crinkle into a smile as everyone enthusiastically exchange Jambo!’s all around. Not many animals move around, just an occasional herd of 20 or so cows passing by or a few donkeys carrying jerry cans full of water or a dozen of goats passing through. A few chickens scratch around in the dirt and 2 dogs sniff around wooden poles and stare warily at us. These people rely on farming, and the herding of cows and goats.

When the afternoon swung around, we walked the dusty goat worn path past evil acacia bushes and trees until we got to the place where the chicken wire fence dipped down low enough for us to walk over. You had to be careful, though. It was a narrow little place with cactus trees on either side and those types are poisonous if you get it in your eyes. (By it will blind you) Then we emerged on to the rutted road and walked across the street to the school. As we got closer, we heard the frantic whispering of excited children and then songs burst into the air. The oldest girls and boys stood in two rows as we walked in between them. Flowers were thrown over us as I looked on in wonder. This kind of welcome was only saved for important people. But they thought I was important. Important enough to have my very own red carpet entrance into their clean, simple school. At that thought, tears filled my eyes as we laughed at our own tears and walked towards the massive crowd of children sitting a orderly rows while singing us a welcome song.

The welcoming ceremony started as teachers and mamas and babas introduced themselves. Each class went in front of us and performed a song or two, then sprinted off in embarrassment. Their voices were all innocent, soulful, and dark. It was beautiful to listen to. The rhythms and steps of the songs soon had me tapping my feet and shifting to the music in my seat.

At the end, we decided to sing for them. Guess what it was? If You’re Happy Then You Know It. We introduced ourselves beforehand and while we were boogey-ing our way up there, all the kids slowly crept up, closer and closer, until they were just a foot away, all jostling to get a closer look. when we finished, the wave hit us. Literally. Kids ran up to hold our hands, introduce themselves and asking out names. A girl with a very definable long face came up to me with a graceful confidence. She had a gentle fragile beauty around her as she asked my name and introduced herself as Sharon. The rest of the hour passed as a blur as I got a tour of the school and tried to remember all the faces and names that were introduced to them. Ages, grades, and names swirled around my head when we finally left. It really was a little overwhelming.

But something hit me as I left. I was just talking to and holding hands with all these Kenyan children. Also, the singing we listened too? That jolted me into thinking: I am actually in Kenya. Kenya. Africa.

On the Dusty Kenyan road…to Salabwek August 3, 2010

On a bus, then a lorry then home-for the next 3 weeks

July 6, 2010

We woke up to the sound of Rudi telling us to get up. It was only 6:30am, but we had to get going, since a 10hr trip was ahead of us. Breakfast was toast and eggs and I celebrated my noms with relish. The ketchup got on my jeans, though.

The thing is, with Kenyan toilets, (the flush-able ones at least) there are two very important rules. If it’s yellow, let it mellow, if it’s brown flush it down. There’s a water shortage there, and although they had a reasonable amount of rain in the spring months, there was not a drop of rain the past two years before this spring. It’s so hard to imagine, since Vancouver is soaked pretty much 3/4 of the year. I just can’t imagine that dryness at all.

Everyone in the group is awesome. There are people from BC, Alberta, Saskatchewan, Ontario, Quebec, and 2 people from. There are 22 girls and 3 guys- remind you of some similar female domination here at home? Also, people range from going to gr. 9 to going to second year of university. But everyone is pretty immature and crazy, so we all seem like one big age group.

I KISSED A GIRAFFE THIS MORNING!!!!! We went to the Giraffe Sanctuary and we fed them their food pellets and learned all about the giraffes that live in Kenya. They eat from your hands or if you put on between your lips, it will eat it right out of your mouth! It was a extremely slobbery and scratchy, but the spit doesn’t stink. Also, hand feeding leaves you with ropes of saliva drifting off your hands in a spider-web-like manner. Luckily, giraffes have very good breath and it’s saliva is an antiseptic, so it’s kiss is called the healing kiss.

On our way to the camp, we stopped at a view point high above the Rift Valley. Rudi explained that the oldest remains of a human was found here, and perhaps it was the cradle of life. That hit me quite oddly as I looked out at the yellowish brown landscape surrounded by lush green rolling mountains. The cradle of life… I felt an odd sense of calling, like the valley below me was calling and awaited my arrival. Like it was alive.

After the 8hr ride, we finally arrived in Salabwek. The highway we had traveled on for most of the trip was bumpy, but a real road. When we turned off onto a sandy path, I knew we were in for a real ride. The lorry tanked it through the dusty yellow road. Literally half of the road or more was completely washed away and sometimes there were differences of a meter or so between the level part of the road and the bottom of the kilometer long pot holes. At times, it seemed like the lorry would completely tip over! Acacia trees with thorns as long as my fingers whipped by the open windows as we crawled past and since I had the window seat, I had to literally climb into my sister’s lap every time we passed on of those dangerous trees.

Finally, we were at the campsite. Surrounded by an electric fence, it was safe as could be. The tents were arranged in a square and the four toilets (shallow holes with toilet seats on top and in a small canvas tent) and three showers were arranged behind them. We had a mess tent and also a camp fire near the kitchen and the staff tents. Large vine like trees rose between the tents and weaver bird nests hung off of the branches like odd twiggy fruit. All of the staff were men from local areas and they were all super nice. We had escari- or as we would call it, guards, magi moto- our hot water guy, Francis- our server, and a cook, police man, and drivers.

That night, while we prepared to go to sleep, I brushed my teeth under the unfamiliar starry sky. It seemed so far away as I watched a shooting star streak across the sky. The sky was breathtaking. It was unlike anything I have ever seen. Imagine a velvet cloth of the deepest black and that someone had thrown millions of little grains of sand all over it. Imagine that every single little grain seemed to become stardust. That’s it. Stardust. Every possible place in the sky was filled with it. I wasn’t looking at the occasional star in the Coquitlam sky anymore. This was stardust, shining from the Milky Way and it was seen in the middle of Kenya.

No cultural shocks, just a familiar beat August 2, 2010

Arrival in Nairobi: The adventure begins in Kenya

July 5, 2010

I’m on a bunk bed (top bunk, as always) in the Rosslyn Center in Nairobi. It’s a dorm thingy that belongs to Me2We and in the best neighborhood in Nairobi- the ambassadors from all the different countries are all next door! It’s a beautiful place, a far cry from a standard dorm, but with polished wooden floors and ceilings, and a wooden spiral staircase that spins up to the second level. The white hallways are graced with arches and exotic plants that spill outside and melt into the beautifully lush garden surrounding the white building. The cobbled walkways are smooth and artistic, as they reflect the artistry that have gone into the designs of the main house. However, we are in Kenya, so there are high brick walls topped with barbed wire circling the little oasis and guards at the gate and friendly watch dogs that are clean and enjoy the attention of visitors.

We arrived just a few short hours ago, at the international Nairobi airport. Nairobi is a massively sprawling city with all these skyscrapers and huge modern buildings. Here is where you find the richest people in Kenya, who live even better than people do here in Canada, and- the poorest in the slums. As we left the airport, we passed people in suites talking on their cellphones as other people walked all over the place during rush hour. We met out facilitator, Rudi, when he picked us up at the airport. Sara, our other facilitator, flew with the group from Montreal, to Switzerland, and finally to Kenya. They are both young people, between 25-30 and they both have done massive amounts of traveling and humanitarian stuff. So, as we rode the bus, Rudi put on a odd mix of indie, pop (yes, that’s right, Miley-we’re partying in the USA) and music from the Lion King. As the Circle of Life came on, we all sang together in an odd mix of strangers only half known to each other from all over Canada. (and 2 people from the US)

Kenya is really familiar. I got no culture shock at all. The sounds and smells and sights remind me a lot of Taiwan, so I feel right at home here.

I’m glad I have Iris. Having a sister on this trip is really nice- a confidant of the most personal things and also to just have someone to talk to at nearly all times.

Also, we learned from now on, we can only drink from these big blue bottles. Nothing else. Or we’ll probably get cholera or stomach amoeba or something as equally nasty or worse. Rosslyn has showers so I finally was able to wash off the plane travel grime of nearly a day.

We leave early tomorrow because we have an eight hour bus/lorry ride to out village: Salabwek, in the district of Narok, in the heart of the Rift Valley. There, we will sleep in tents and live right beside the Kipsigi people. We get to go to a giraffe sanctuary tomorrow, so I’m looking forward to that!

I’m feeling dizzy-there was bad turbulence- I think I’m going to crash now! 16hrs in the air is exhausting!!!!!

~louise, freshly in Kenya

Montreal:where the journey started August 2, 2010

Vancouver to Montreal: the first step of the journey

July 4, 2010

Yesterday, on my flight from Vancouver to Montreal, we hit some bad weather over the prairies, so my stomach began wondering what the heck it was doing in a tiny box 35000m in the air. Montreal came into view and as I stepped off the plane, the moist air assailed my skin. What struck me was how different the landscape was, with it’s leafy oaks and birches and gentle rolling hills in the distance. All the buildings were  old and faded, with red brick smoke stacks rising indignantly to meet the ever growing skyscrapers that towered over the old facades. As we strolled through old town, dusty glass windows watched as wisely from their places on the faces of weathered buildings. The cobbled streets have nearly lost their mortar, and little rivets of water run down them in the afternoon dampness.

We visited the Notre-Dame Basilica there, and I experienced Roman Catholicism in all is pomp and splendor. The plain grey walls and towers outside hid a wondrously intricate and detailed inside. Statues, shrines, and thousands of incense candles and carvings lined the perimeter of the innards of the cathedral, and the spiral staircases that led to the next levels slithered past the majestic organ and decorated pillars. As we walked closer to the St. Lawrence, the buildings got older and older. As I stood there on the dock, by the river, I inhaled the sweet smell of the river. It smelt a little like the sea,  but with a clear, fresh, gentle sweetness that was breathed gently into my lungs. It was an intangible heart aching smell that slowly dusted my lungs and tongue. If I closed my eyes, I could perhaps open them again, and see the dark, mysterious forests envelope me, while a rocky shore lead down to a place where tall ships swayed gently in breeze, on the dark, green river.

I’m back July 29, 2010

I suppose I’m back now. But I really don’t know where to start. The trip was just to fast and slow and sprawling and simple that I can’t quite put it into words yet. I got back on Monday, but now I’m just sitting around procrastinating writing everything down. So now I’ll just start from the beginning and post something everyday about the trip-day by day. Maybe just writing down what happened will help me figure out what I feel about it.

Huntress of the Maasai Mara July 3, 2010

Jambo!

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Here I sit in front of the glowing computer screen, impulsively checking the time again and again. I’m trying to upload all my pictures to the blog and send-off some quick goodbyes through the computer. Facebook isn’t working, which means I’m rather stranded. I’ve got to get to bed early, since I have to get up at an ungodly hour tomorrow morning to get to the Vancouver Airport: 8:00am. I know, I know I’m really a spoiled person to think 8:00am is an ungodly hour, but summer has worked its magic on me and my bed is taking up more and more of my time. I hope the magic is working on my bones, too, because I feel rather stuck at this height.

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I can feel the excitement of the coming trip to Kenya thrill me to the tip of my toes. I’ve been packing for the last week, trying to lessen my luggage because I’m only allowed one hiking backpack, a small day pack and a sleeping bag for 20 days! While laying out all my clothes, toiletries, and massive pile of medications and stuff like sunscreen and bug repellent, I despaired of ever getting it all into my bag. It worked though, in the end, with lots of irritation and having to unpack everything to put something in or to take something out. Now the backpack looks like a bulging, unattractive, red and black mannequin, but everything is packed and double checked, so my anxiety is completely washed away. I still afraid I’ve forgotten something, though. There is no way that I could get my parents to send me anything in Kenya, which unfortunately works the other way. I can’t send anything back, so there won’t be any letters scented with the sea and mountain winds that are mingled with the taste of the sun and safari to post off to my fellow frozentictac-ers here in Vancouver or even in Quebec. The blog was originally my idea to keep everyone updated, but from the itinerary, I only saw one day with access to computers, so don’t expect any posts until I get back.

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Alright. So it’s off to Montreal tomorrow, then My sis and I will fly off to Switzerland with the group, switch planes, then down to Kenya. The 16 hour plane ride will be interesting. Especially that I’m really prone to airsickness.

We’re going to build a school room there in a village called Salabwek. It’s located in the Narok South District, Rift Valley Province, Kenya. The people living there are the Kipisigis who migrated over from Sudan in the 18th century. We’re going to be able to visit a giraffe sanctuary (kissing giraffes), a trading market, the maasai mara, and tree nursery. Also, we’ll be doing some weapons training and a medicine walk! Those two things REALLY excite me. We’ll also play with the village children a lot and learn lots about issues effecting the region and the world overall.

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I’ll be cramming some Swahili on the plane and I hope I brought enough underwear and socks.

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So, my dear, dear friends. I’ll come back a huntress of the maasai mara with my spears and bows. I’ll be wielding my camera the whole time so when I get back, get ready to be buried by the onslought of pictures, videos, stories and blog posts of letters I write on the trip!