Thursday, June 7th, 2007
Now’s probably a good time to at least say what my situation is right now. I’m staying in the home of Ruth Mwashimba, Mkaya’s aunt. For those who don’t know, Mkaya Mwamburi is my faculty sponsor from Tufts University School of Medicine. He was the professor for my Biostatistics class this spring, a course I took as part of my Masters in Public Health degree program. Mkaya has been extremely generous and kind in connecting me with different members of his family, as well as in 1) dragging my ass through all the paperwork I’ve had to do to get my research fellowship and the human subjects research approval, 2) making sure I did fine in Biostats so I didn’t embarrass myself or him, and 3) finding me rides, meals, places to stay, and people to trust.
Anyway, Ruth lives with her daughter Maggie and lets out rooms to students. There are other people around the house at all times too – Maggie’s boyfriend, Ruth’s other daughter, Florence, cousins young and old, friends, and Isaac, Obed, and Margaret who take care of the house and cook food for Ruth’s small shop in town.
One great part of staying here is being able to eat here—the food is delicious and varied, a far cry from the midnight meals of Spaghettios I buy at the 24-hour CVS at home. But the people are absolutely the best part. For one thing, I feel like part of the family already. Ruth and I have a lot of fun together during the days, kidding each other and going on walks and making plans to go exploring. This weekend we will go to the Maasai markets, and to the gym “for a steam”.. She and Maggie are always calling and texting people to help me find safaris to book or to be able to visit the different hospitals and so on. She says she will come down to visit me when I am in Voi so she can take me to her family home nearby
Everyone here that I’ve met is just so nice. They are hospitable, generous of their time, and eager to have you love it here as much as they do. I’ve not spent much time here yet, but I’m sure this is what I will remember most from this summer.
Probably the most time we all spend together is watching TV (we are watching The Apprentice even as I type this). Aside from The West Wing and Six Feet Under, which I watch every night before I go to bed, I have to say the TV is a mixture of the mediocre and the very, very bad. Every canceled sitcom and every TV movie Howie Long ever made are primetime television here. More than anything, the soaps are popular, especially the dubbed ones from Mexico and the Philippines.
I started watching the news to find out what was going on in the region and to try to get results from the French Open (hopeless, by the way. If you want to know anything about any black athlete in the world, no problem, even if they play baseball or cricket or are in the NBA. But tennis is not on the radar screen. Bummer). Unfortunately, what is more prominent on the news is 1) the terrible weather here (I feel guilty because I have known that I am a weather jinx ever since I moved to “sunny” San Francisco and froze my ass off for 2 years)—the coast is plagued with out-of-season rains right now, and floods and food shortages are major problems, and 2) the Mungiki.
The top news story that I’ve seen on CNN for 3 days now has been the Republican presidential debate (riveting stuff), but the violence of the Mungiki is all that has been on local news here. The Mungiki (mungiki means “oneness” or “togetherness”, I think) are a gang/sect that has been around for some years, mainly comprised of Kikuyu. They have grown dramatically in size and support just recently; some speculate it is because of the elections coming up in a few months. Without scaring anyone, let alone my family, suffice it to say that the Mungiki-related violence has escalated quite a bit over the last few weeks.
Every day it seems as if there are beheadings and mob lynchings, people beaten and shown crying and holding babies. It’s quite frightening because I don’t know the history of the situation or where it’s all happening, and because the news stories are quite graphic and gory—they will show you just about anything. Many people are quick to assure you that everything is happening in the slums on the other side of town (the city’s largest slum houses over 1 million people), but since the Mungiki, like the mob, control the matatus (small vans that are an alternative to city buses) by forcing the drivers to pay fees or else suffer their vans getting burned up or they themselves beaten/beheaded, it’s hard not to feel that maybe they are everywhere. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that this isn’t making news back home, but if you want to read more about it, I think you can on the BBC.
This is getting quite long now so I’ll just finish up with what I’ve been doing and the most important lesson I’ve learned in my short time here. After I arrived last Friday, I spent that day sleeping and nibbling on tea and “pancakes” (delicious little crepe-like things that Maggie made for me). The next two days I spent with Laura Hooper at her sister’s house, which is just a few minutes away. We went out on Saturday with Mkaya’s older brother Joe/Mtalaki, his son Mwambanga, and his niece and nephew Amina and Rick. We went to the Nairobi Safari Walk, a kind of zoo that you navigate by walking along a circuitous boardwalk. We saw a cheetah, lots of baboons, lions, rhinos, ostriches, zebras, and a pygmy hippo among other things. It was a beautiful spot, and Laura and I enjoyed being out and about and getting to know some other members of Mkaya’s family. Sunday we spent having brunch at a lovely ex-pat spot, shopping, and lazing around watching TV until Laura’s sister Bonnie and Bonnie’s peanut of a daughter Harper (18 months got home). I also spent much of the weekend loving up Bonnie’s dog Mara, a GORGEOUS 3 year-old Ridgeback, and tossing and turning—it’s taken me several days to get over my “wide awake at 3-6 AM” jetlag. Laura will be traveling most of the time she is here, so I won’t get to see as much of her as I would like.
The rest of this week has been…slow. After weeks and months of studying my butt off for exams, sleeping 4 hours a night, and constantly carting around my 14 page checklist of things to do, this enforced lethargy is the most difficult adjustment. The truth is that I thrive on being busy. I like always having something to do; it’s why I love school (yes yes, to reiterate, me = nerd). Every day now I spend a lot of time reading books, watching TV or the DVDs I brought with me, napping, and waiting. I spent two days in all-day meetings with faculty at the University of Nairobi, the only result of which was to schedule the next meeting several days from. I am trying to do some work for another faculty member from Tufts, Jeff Griffiths, but everything just takes 8 times longer than I thought it would. I can’t go on safari while I am in Nairobi because I am waiting for still MORE meetings next week, but maybe later for my birthday. Nonetheless, I’ve met great people and am hoping next week will be better. I am learning to be patient and to relax (don’t laugh, I’m serious!).
Hope this keeps everyone busy reading until I have internet access again. If anyone has Skype and wants to call, I’d love to hear from you! My number is 001 (for international calls) 254 (for Kenya) 729 690 970. You can also SMS if you feel like it—it’s the major form of communication down here. Miss you all a lot! So so much.
Love love,
M
Friday, June 8, 2007
Traveling to Kenya
Wednesday, June 6th, 2007
It will have been a week tomorrow since I left the fair, internet-friendly shores of the glorious US of A, and hopefully I will be able to put this on the “internets”. I have made three disgustingly unsuccessful attempts to check my email since the free internet kiosks in the Dubai airport, and I only have 6 less hours of my life and 19 more grey hairs to show for it. Apologies to my family in case they thought I actually did fall off the face of the earth, but I am learning the hard way how slowly everything moves in Africa, especially the internet. Let me see if I can recap what’s been going on for the last week.
Much like my first trip of the summer to Israel last year (remember when the Hadassa lady told me I wasn’t actually Jewish as soon as I sat down on the plane? Yeah.), this one seemed destined to be interesting from the first second of my journey. Having been ladened with yet another thing to carry with me to JFK (no, not Jeff Griffiths-induced emotional baggage, rather a scanner that he asked me to purchase for the medical school in Nairobi), I was encouraged by my generous NYC hostess Catharine ‘Squatchface’ Sotzing to take a cab to the airport. We hail one and say our goodbyes, and then I’m off with my Nigerian cab driver. Sounds okay, right? Flash forward 30 minutes to haggling with said-cabbie who has tried to cheat me out of an extra 20 bucks. Ugly faces, pointing, yelling…is this what I have to look forward to this summer as one of the naïve-looking wazungu? That’s white people, folks.
Anyway, the rest of those two days of travel were something of a blur. Twelve straight hours of TV and movies on my flight to Dubai (looove that Emirates has 200 movies PLUS episodes of The Office) helped me survive being smack in the middle of a row, wedged between sleepy, leg-room hogging, non-deodorant-wearing businessmen. Free internet + randomly running into Mina Fung helped brighten the sleepy hours in Dubai, and then it was onto the next flight.
Before I left, I emailed my sister Julie and my parents copies of my passport and health info lest anything awful happen. It felt totally paranoid as I did it, but it also felt like the right thing to do. As I talked with the woman next to me on my next flight, I KNEW it had been the right thing to do.
Marilyn, a lovely Irish lady who had transplanted to Melbourne when she met her husband-to-be in a bar there 30 years before, seemed somewhat anxious as she plopped down in the seat next to me, and we started chatting away. It felt as if I was in Interviewing class all over again as I tried to get to know her a bit and figure out what was going on. Turned out that she was duly upset and a bit frazzled because she had jumped on the first available flight out of Melbourne when she got a call telling her that her 23-year-old daughter, Felicity (aka Flick), who had been cycling from Egypt down through Africa, had been involved in a hit and run in Burundi. Flick had been left for dead on the side of the road (the driver didn’t even stop—all her money and possessions were still in the two panniers that comprised all she was traveling with), and was spotted by an aid-worker some hours later. He immediately recognized the seriousness of her condition and took her to the capital, Bujumbura. This is where she was, in a “hospital” with no sheets, until someone took it upon themselves to look through her things, find her passport, and contact the embassy, who contacted her parents, who contacted Flick's travel insurance company, who contacted officials in Burundi and got her air-lifted to a private hospital in Nairobi, where she underwent neurosurgery almost immediately to relieve the swelling from the bleed in her brain. (Apologies to Marilyn if any of this is incorrect or difficult to read!)
Marilyn adopted me as a surrogate daughter almost immediately, asking me all about my life and pointing out similarities between myself and Flick (Felicity too has played the cello since she was 5, loves tennis and traveling, is tall, independent, good with names, and 23). When I finally passed out drooling on the tray table in front of me, Marilyn covered me with a blanket and warded off the Emirates flight attendants, who are driven by a grim determination to feed you every two hours (quelle change from domestic flights, eh?). Needless to say, we guided each other through the visa/luggage collecting/customs/money changing process before we split up. I’ve since been texting with her while I’m in Nairobi—she tells me Flick has come off sedation and is doing much better. I hope to have tea with Marilyn next week. In any case, I’m sure I’ll get to know the two of them better when I go to live with them in Melbourne and go the Australian Open, as I’ve been invited to do. As you know, I am truly my father’s daughter and as such really cherished this interaction, and I would like to think that her getting to take care of me made Marilyn feel a bit better as well while she itched to get to Flick.
Break for dinner. Long-winded as ever, aren’t I?
M
It will have been a week tomorrow since I left the fair, internet-friendly shores of the glorious US of A, and hopefully I will be able to put this on the “internets”. I have made three disgustingly unsuccessful attempts to check my email since the free internet kiosks in the Dubai airport, and I only have 6 less hours of my life and 19 more grey hairs to show for it. Apologies to my family in case they thought I actually did fall off the face of the earth, but I am learning the hard way how slowly everything moves in Africa, especially the internet. Let me see if I can recap what’s been going on for the last week.
Much like my first trip of the summer to Israel last year (remember when the Hadassa lady told me I wasn’t actually Jewish as soon as I sat down on the plane? Yeah.), this one seemed destined to be interesting from the first second of my journey. Having been ladened with yet another thing to carry with me to JFK (no, not Jeff Griffiths-induced emotional baggage, rather a scanner that he asked me to purchase for the medical school in Nairobi), I was encouraged by my generous NYC hostess Catharine ‘Squatchface’ Sotzing to take a cab to the airport. We hail one and say our goodbyes, and then I’m off with my Nigerian cab driver. Sounds okay, right? Flash forward 30 minutes to haggling with said-cabbie who has tried to cheat me out of an extra 20 bucks. Ugly faces, pointing, yelling…is this what I have to look forward to this summer as one of the naïve-looking wazungu? That’s white people, folks.
Anyway, the rest of those two days of travel were something of a blur. Twelve straight hours of TV and movies on my flight to Dubai (looove that Emirates has 200 movies PLUS episodes of The Office) helped me survive being smack in the middle of a row, wedged between sleepy, leg-room hogging, non-deodorant-wearing businessmen. Free internet + randomly running into Mina Fung helped brighten the sleepy hours in Dubai, and then it was onto the next flight.
Before I left, I emailed my sister Julie and my parents copies of my passport and health info lest anything awful happen. It felt totally paranoid as I did it, but it also felt like the right thing to do. As I talked with the woman next to me on my next flight, I KNEW it had been the right thing to do.
Marilyn, a lovely Irish lady who had transplanted to Melbourne when she met her husband-to-be in a bar there 30 years before, seemed somewhat anxious as she plopped down in the seat next to me, and we started chatting away. It felt as if I was in Interviewing class all over again as I tried to get to know her a bit and figure out what was going on. Turned out that she was duly upset and a bit frazzled because she had jumped on the first available flight out of Melbourne when she got a call telling her that her 23-year-old daughter, Felicity (aka Flick), who had been cycling from Egypt down through Africa, had been involved in a hit and run in Burundi. Flick had been left for dead on the side of the road (the driver didn’t even stop—all her money and possessions were still in the two panniers that comprised all she was traveling with), and was spotted by an aid-worker some hours later. He immediately recognized the seriousness of her condition and took her to the capital, Bujumbura. This is where she was, in a “hospital” with no sheets, until someone took it upon themselves to look through her things, find her passport, and contact the embassy, who contacted her parents, who contacted Flick's travel insurance company, who contacted officials in Burundi and got her air-lifted to a private hospital in Nairobi, where she underwent neurosurgery almost immediately to relieve the swelling from the bleed in her brain. (Apologies to Marilyn if any of this is incorrect or difficult to read!)
Marilyn adopted me as a surrogate daughter almost immediately, asking me all about my life and pointing out similarities between myself and Flick (Felicity too has played the cello since she was 5, loves tennis and traveling, is tall, independent, good with names, and 23). When I finally passed out drooling on the tray table in front of me, Marilyn covered me with a blanket and warded off the Emirates flight attendants, who are driven by a grim determination to feed you every two hours (quelle change from domestic flights, eh?). Needless to say, we guided each other through the visa/luggage collecting/customs/money changing process before we split up. I’ve since been texting with her while I’m in Nairobi—she tells me Flick has come off sedation and is doing much better. I hope to have tea with Marilyn next week. In any case, I’m sure I’ll get to know the two of them better when I go to live with them in Melbourne and go the Australian Open, as I’ve been invited to do. As you know, I am truly my father’s daughter and as such really cherished this interaction, and I would like to think that her getting to take care of me made Marilyn feel a bit better as well while she itched to get to Flick.
Break for dinner. Long-winded as ever, aren’t I?
M
Sunday, May 20, 2007
'Jambo' 1st post: woot wooot!
I am officially a blogger now (aka an even bigger nerd than before)! Very exciting. Since I jumped on this bandwagon in order to keep people hip to the goings down in East Africa this summer, I decided to call this blog 'Jambo'. Not only is it a reference to all things Jumbo (so much pride), it's also pidgin Swahili for "Hello, now please speak to me in English." I think it's going to be a huge part of my everyday life in Kenya.
So yeah, I will be posting pictures and such here to prove that I have not been mauled by lions and I am in fact saving the world and that toilets do flush the other way down there. Please send me emails and keep in touch! Miss you guys already.
One love,
Mir
So yeah, I will be posting pictures and such here to prove that I have not been mauled by lions and I am in fact saving the world and that toilets do flush the other way down there. Please send me emails and keep in touch! Miss you guys already.
One love,
Mir
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