WOULD YOU LIKE CHIPS WITH THAT? -Overcoming the Language Barrier in Kenya

Because Kenya was once inhabited by lots of British people (still is) it has adopted many of its ways of speaking and spelling words such as colour and aeroplane. It is a great source of amusement and confusion to me as well as an annoyance when I fail to use the 'correct' word for an item because its so long since I've heard it spoken. Occasionally, I use the words that I'm used to for the sheer joy of seeing the looks of confusion on the faces around me and the thrill that comes with feeling as though I've exacted some sort of revenge on people for making perfectly normal words and phrases no longer normal.
Here are some of my faves:
chips= french fries
crisps= chips -these two kill me. Chips are chips and fries are fries and crisps
aren't anything. Unless you are talking about chicken and then the
word you are looking for is 'crispy'
biscuits= cookies
boot= trunk (of car)-dont get me started on this one.
jumper= sweater
DJ=tuxedo
poppin/nippin=going out/coming in ie: “I'm going to nip to the store for some milk”
seriously?
posh= fancy/rich- this is just a silly word that really shouldn't be used unless
you're talking about spice,as in one of the spice girls.
Half ten= ten thirty.- no. just. no. It can be half past the hour, thirty minutes
until the hour, but half 'whatever number' just isnt
acceptable... I totally use this one all the time btw.
Maths=math- this one I just cant get behind. Why are we adding letters to words
that have no need for them?

So there it is, almost three months in Kenya and I'm still having difficulty communicating with the locals. Maybe next month I'll finally get it.....

IDP PART II

As our van raced along the road at breakneck speeds through sheets of rain and walls of fog I breathed a quick prayer for safety and repositioned myself in my seat behind our more than capable driver and tried to get some sleep. I saw no point in worrying and freaking out. If I die, I die. At the moment there was nothing I could do about it. And besides, I was tired.
The day had started early. I had awoken before the sun, or maybe the sun was up but was covered by the thick dark clouds that were dumping water all over Nairobi. Either way, it was dark. And rainy. And my freshly laundered (but somehow still not totally clean) clothes were out on the line. Dang. I ran outside to grab them but it was too late. They were soaked through. Oh well.
I went back inside and made myself a cup of tea as I began to get ready for my second day at the small Internationally Displaced Persons Camp called Mburuku. I was excited to go back. In the very short amount of time that I had spent there before I had come to love the children that live in the camp, dubbed “dust babies” for the simple fact that they were constantly covered in dust. Head to toe COVERED in dust. They were sweet and tragically innocent as their parents struggled to carve out a life for them in their tents in the desert. Having been displaced two years ago after the post election violence many of them are too young to remember what their lives were like before the IDP camp and so they spend their days happily running around barefoot and playing with dirt and rocks and sticks. They are precious, and I was looking forward to spending the day with them.
The drive there was an adventure in itself. We hadn't reached the end of my block before we were hit by a matatu that was driving on the wrong side of the road. James, our driver, rolled down his window and began yelling at the matatu driver and conductor while Irene (who is the director of VICDA) sat in the back laughing hysterically. I could tell it was going to be an interesting day. It was only a tap and so we continued on our way down the muddy, rocky, bumpy street in the rain dodging pedestrians (or were they dodging us?) and cars who paid no attention to the center divider line. Before long we cleared the city and began the 2 hour drive to Nakuru where the IDP camp is located. During the drive I spent my time alternately trying to sleep and laughing quietly while Irene and James yelled at each other in Swahili. At one point, Irene asked me how things were at Cheryl's and began to recount a story of how she had taken a young boy to Cheryl's after finding him thrown out of the home he was staying in and ended up on the street, alone. His name is Ruben, he is 16 and in form 2 in high school. I have been able to spend some time with Ruben, he is a sweet, shy, bright boy. An IDP, he was orphaned during the post election violence. Irene was called because the people who were sponsoring him decided that they no longer wanted him so they threw him out with nothing. No place to go and no money to get there even if he had a place. Irene was furious, and after telling those people exactly what she thought of them she took him to Cheryl's where he is thriving. Half way through the story Irene had to stop as she was overcome with emotion (her story is incredible and I will share it one day soon). It is amazing how much this woman gives. How passionate she is about what she does and the children that she helps. She is definitely someone that I would want fighting on my side. And I consistently find myself awed and humbled in her presence.
By the time we arrived at Mburuku the rain had stopped and the children ran to gather around our van. I noticed that they were a little less dusty. This, I found out, was because some volunteers from VICDA had provided some underground tanks and was paying to have them filled so now the people had water!! This is a big deal and a huge step in making their makeshift town home. As several of the people that we came with got in the van to go into town to buy the supplies for the day the rest of us began playing with children. In a matter of moments I was completely covered by them. They hung on me and tackled me and reached to be held. We chased each other and played soccer (with a bunch of bags bundled into a ball shape and held together by string) and just had fun being together. It was a good way to spend time as we waited for the others to get back with the medical supplies and the doctors that would be using them.
Not surprisingly, they were late. By about four hours. It was a fun, but long and tiring four hours and once the doctors got there they quickly set to work transforming the small school house (room) into a doctors office complete with “examining rooms” and tables for all the medicines and stations where they would measure and weigh the children and administer vaccines. Shortly after they arrived it began to rain and the room became very crowded and very loud very quickly. While we were waiting for the doctors to finish setting up one of the children came and stood in front of me, his small hands in mine. It wasn't long before his head was drooping and he was falling asleep while standing there so I scooped him up and he promptly nestled himself into my arms and fell fast asleep. He slept there in my arms for a good hour while the noise in the room grew louder and people packed in. He barely stirred. It was sad when his mother finally came to fetch him. Her arms is where he belonged, but I couldn't help feeling like mine were a little too empty after she took him away. As the afternoon wore on it began to rain harder and the room became hot and stuffy. There was nothing for us to do so we just stood there, doing our best to stay out of the way in the small cramped room. Because I had nothing else to do, and because it was driving me crazy I began to arrange all the boxes of medications, arranging them in neat rows and making sure that they all faced in the same direction. This, of course, made the pharmacists laugh at me so I stopped. Shortly after it was time for us to eat as we had not eaten anything all day. This was, like the rest of the day, another adventure. James had gone into town and picked up dinner for us-Nyoma Choma. A favorite dish of Kenyans, it is goat meat on bone. Now, I pride myself in the fact that I will eat anything at least once. This time, however, it was not going to happen. I contended myself with a couple of apples and the three peanut m&ms I had left from a bag I had purchased earlier at a rest stop and which had cost me a fortune by the way but were totally worth it. After our dinner the rain subsided a bit so we went back outside to play with the children. We spent some time singing songs and chatting with them as it began to get dark and the children began to disperse. At one point, I decided to walk over to the movie set that was being built in the middle of the camp and ask some questions. The film being shot at Mburuku is a Danish film about a doctor in Darfur. The cast and crew were incredibly rude and I was shocked at the way they treated the people in the camp. Not a movie that I will go to see....
It was dark by the time everyone was done being treated and the rain was coming down harder than it had all day. The doctors needed a ride back to their homes so we waited in the dark cold school room as James dropped them off and returned for us (an hour and a half later) As we sat huddled in the school room with a few candles for light I realized that I had to pee. The bathrooms in the camp are horrible, dirty, smelly port-a-potties that you can smell all over the camp when the wind is blowing in the right direction. Since there was no way I was going into one of those I had not used the bathroom all day. It couldn't be helped though, there was no way I could wait any longer. One of the other girls had to go to so we decided to wait until it was clear and just go on the other side of the building. By this time, all the residents were in their tents, it was pitch black and pouring rain so the side of the school house seemed like as good a place as any. It was a bonding experience for Jenn and I and I may now add an IDP camp to the list of odd places I've peed. Who needs actual bathrooms?
By the time our ride finally came back for us it was after 9pm I was more than ready to go home. The day would not have been complete without that ride home being what it was. As we left the camp our van slid and fishtailed all over the muddy slippery road in the rain and during the two hour drive home I dozed in and out as we were met by more pouring rain and huge amounts of thick gray fog. I finally reached my apartment after 11, happy, but thoroughly exhausted, dirty and wet. I took a quick shower and fell into bed. I slept soundly that night content with the day and the things we had accomplished and once again amazed, humbled, and thankful to be here and taking part in the the things I have done, the people that I have met and the adventures that have met me.

NEVER BEEN GOOD AT BYES

27 October 2009

One of the hard things about being a volunteer in Kenya for so long is that most people are not crazy and only volunteer for a couple of weeks or a month or two instead of half a year. This means that the people that you start volunteering with, and become friends with, share stories and struggles and chai at Java House with come and go and you are left alone. Three such volunteers left today and I was very sad. Jenn started with me and has been here with VICDA before (for six months) and so became a friend, but also a valuable source of information. Two of her friends, Tammi and Katie came out later but became just as important in our little volunteer circle. These girls were closer to my age than most of the others and a couple of them shared my faith so we connected on a deeper level than I had connected with any other person I had met thus far. We hung out on weekends and served together and talked about our homes, jobs and families. Now they are off, back to those homes, jobs and families and I'm still here for another four months and wondering what in the world was I thinking to stay for so long. They are the last to leave and in a way, I'm sort of glad because now there is no one else to say good-bye to.

THE TOY MARKET

24 october 2009

There was not a toy to be seen anywhere. This is mostly because its not the “toy” market, but the “toy-spelled-differently-in-a-way-that-I-cant-remember” market. It was like a swap meet on steroids. And kind of scary. A dark maze of small stands crammed together and full of goods. Jeans, tops, shoes. Brand names, second hand, and second quality clothing this is where the majority of Kenyans go to buy their clothes. Here you can purchase a pair of sweats and a belt (I've lost some weight and my clothes don't fit anymore) for less than $7. If you like to shop (which I don't) and are easily suckered into things (which I am) this is the place to go. I'm sure that I paid more than a Kenyan would have, but waaay less than I would have at home so I'm ok with it. This is most likely where I will go to purchase the Christmas gifts that I hope to be able to get for the children (would you like to help?) but I think next time I will take a national with me....and for the younger children I will find an actual “toy” market.

A DAY AT THE FOOTBALL PITCH

31 of October, 2009

Such a long and tiring, but fun day! Today was the end of the big tournament that the boys at Cheryl's have been a part of. Two teams made it to the semi-finals so I spent Friday afternoon purchasing juice boxes and oranges that I sliced and bagged for the boys (you know, soccer mom-in-training stuff). Friday evening brought a lot of rain and I was worried that the games would be canceled but the sun came with Saturday and the boys were excited and nervous about their games. Walking to the football pitch was slow going because of all the mud and me slipping and sliding all over the place. It is a pure miracle that I didn't fall on my butt numerous times. The games were exciting and nerve racking. The under 12s team was tied at the end of their first game and lost in overtime (wait, when time runs out and you have penalty kicks is that called overtime?) but the under 14s team won their first game (the same way the younger boys lost theirs) and moved on to the finals. After a short break we returned to the field to watch the final. While we waited for the game to start I made a new friend, Kennedy. He was one of the people putting on the tournament and knew where I was from based on my accent (I informed him that I don't have an accent but he insisted). The game started and I was sooo nervous! At one point, I was standing on the side lines and looked over to see a precious little girl, maybe three or four years old saunter over to where I was standing. She walked right up to me and grabbed my hand (see picture) and stood there with me for a while. It was so cute. The game ended 0-0 and we gathered around the goal post for the penalty kicks and I almost forgot to breathe I was so nervous for them. They did well, but it wasn't good enough and we lost 2-3. I was again blown away by these children. They don't blame anyone, or get upset or angry. Clearly, they were bummed that they lost, but they also recognized that they had done well, gone far, and given it their best. They drank their juice boxes and shook each others hands and were just happy to be together. They never fail to show me what love looks like and I am always humbled in their presence. After returning to the orphanage to talk to the girls and play with the little ones for a bit I returned home. Tired, but pleased with the day and happy to be where I am. Today, there was no other place that I would have rather been.