Day 30

Good things come to those who wait. Today, after 30 days in Mombasa, Kenya. A full month into my project-volunteering at Dickson's Children's Centre-it finally happened. I managed to get a matatu that goes straight from town to Dickson. I still had to make a transfer, but I can't tell you what bliss it was to not trudge through a 1/2 mile of mud. It really worked out nicely because I was carrying two 4-litre cans of paint with me. I painted the kids' swings and jungle gym and seesaw. I'll send pictures, they look SOOOO much better. First their exposure to new food, then some new knowledge, now a mini-makeover of their home, I just need to groom them a bit and I'll be a one man Queer Eye for the African Orphan!

In town I saw a first, a woman was lugging around a dead chicken by it's feet. It had not even been plucked yet, just strolling around with a shopping bag in one hand and an upside down dead chicken in another. This might be a good time to mention that stray chickens and goats are everywhere, which is kind of funny because in the movies it's always chickens and goats in the villages, so evidently that part is factually accurate.

I painted for four hours and still have work to do on Monday, but it looks soooooo much better. Due to the lack of supplies, by the end of my marathon painting spree my hands were covered in paint. I was washing it off when one of the housemoms came by and said I'd probably need some oil and she'd go get it. I thought she meant olive oil or baby oil. I thought wrong. What oil did she go get? Lamp oil, otherwise known as pure kerosene. She doused my hands with a bucket of kerosene. As mentioned a few days ago I have many cuts and scrapes all over, so when the kerosene hit my hands, I was writhing in agony. This pain was on top of the fear that I have no idea how much of a carcinogen kerosene is. Was it going to eat away at my flesh? Bring my hands to a high toxicity level? Ruin my French tips and make my acrylics fall off? As soon as she finished dousing me with gasoline I washed my hands in soap and water up to my elbows. Hopefully my hands will still be here tomorrow.

I rode the most crooked matatu on the way home. He was ripping off Kenyans as well as me. He even pushed a Kenyan out of the moving vehicle because the man was trying to resist getting off until he got the proper change. I went to Dormand's coffee shop and had a cheeseburger (GOD I've missed cheese) and then got on another matatu to go home. The fare is 10, he charged me 15 even though everyone within my sightline was paying 10 and he even bragged to the guy that he charged me 15 (my Swahili is getting really good as far as comprehension goes, speaking is another matter). Still, I was too exhausted to even bother, but it's just endless and insulting how much they rip us off. I also found out the DVDs that I buy for my kids at 500Ksh a pop are actually 250Ksh each. Do you see what fuckwads they are? DOUBLE the price? I mean Jesus.

We went and saw Shrek the Third tonite and it was pretty good and the cinema was actually really great in sound and picture and seating quality. And, as expected, the film was thoroughly enjoyable as well. I'm going to take my kids next Saturday. Tomorrow I'm going to White Sands and may get another massage as my body is literally in more pain than it's ever been. Between the random child attacks, the massive walking, the shitty bed, the no hot water, and the lack of proper diet and exercise, I'm always having back/neck/shoulder/testicle pain. The testes are probably achy from all the child trauma (see previous posts) and massive blue balls (see previous posts), but we won't know for sure til I get back to the States.

I forgot to mention that Juma, the bicyclist that took me to Dickson yesterday asked me if I was Japanese. That really struck me as odd given that I can't really say that I look Asian, but what's even more interesting is that it's not the first time I've been mistaken for Japanese. When I was in 6th grade we pushed some 4th graders out of the 4-Square playing area so that we could play and one of the kids told me to "Go back to Japan". It struck us as hilarious at the time, and when Juma asked if I was from Japan I nearly toppled the bicycle with my girlish giggles. To clear up any confusion, I'm not from Japan.

Although I have to admit, I think it says a lot that he would make that sort of mistake. It says to me that blacks generalize non-blacks in the same way whites generalize blacks and Asians. I mean, who here hasn't said or thought something along the lines of "Ya, they all look alike to me". Juma must just see black and non-black and that's that.

On my way home I had probably the scariest encounter I've had yet. It was about 11:00pm (no street lights, no people around) and I was mere yards away from my homestay when this guy and his 7 or 8 year old son approached me. He said "Hi" and I said "Hi, how are you", and he said "What're you doing here" and I said "Volunteering" and he said "I thought so, I always see you rushing off at like 6:45am and I said "Ya, I'm in Port Reitz so it takes a while to get there". Then he kind of went nuts. He was drunk and carrying liquor and started telling me how I was wasting my time and that if I wanted to help I should go back to work and work hard and save money and make a foundation to help these kids because teaching them is doing nothing. "I'm African, I know what I'm talking about, these children don't remember anything, they don't listen, you're wasting your time" going on and on in a very belligerent way. At first I was thinking "Ok, he's really passionate about his convictions and he's drunk and things are getting lost in the translation, but whatever, his kid is right here, he's not gonna do anything crazy" but then I remembered that there are about 14 kids at my center whose parents forced them into prostitution or sold them to pedophiles or raped or tortured the kids themselves. Yesterday Stallion told me that one of his girls' stepmother didn't want the girl to come visit her dad anymore so stepmom took the 8 year old girl to a man and had him rape her so that she'd be afraid to come back. If this is what parents do to their own children, how far could a drunken man beating up a stupid volunteer in front of his son be? He finally stopped shouting and went inside, but I was very slowly clenching my fists so I could throw a few punches if need be. It was the first time since I've been here that I actually felt threatened...and it was not a good feeling.

Finally: Heather S and Mara M- for the love of God, I finally get you two off each other's throats and now you're on to Kelly from MN? Ladies, calm yourselves, there's plenty of Nima to go around. I know how to keep my bitches satisfied. And Kelly from MN- I'm sorry but between my wife in DC, my wife in LA and my two mistresses in NYC, I'm a tired man. This relationship is nothing but an online fantasy that will have to remain unconsumated in life.

Ok, I'm tired. Sayonara and domo arigato.

Day 29

Sorry it's a little late, very full day yesterday.

Woke up, no water at home- the tank was empty. Luckily they had rush ordered some at like 5:30am, so when I got up at 6:20 the water was already on its way and the tank was filled by 7:00am. I was late leaving the house, but at least I had showered.

I decided to try taking a matatu to the bus stage (basically, I tried to make a transfer) and somehow ended up really far from the bus stage, but I was on the right street so I decided to walk towards my regular bus stage and just jump onto a matatu along the way...once I bought a newspaper. See, as long as you're on the route, the matatus stop anywhere and pick you up, so I was perfectly fine walking along the correct road until I bought a paper and then hopping on. 35 minutes later, I finally bought a paper...at my normal bus stage. There wasn't one Goddamn newspaper vendor for almost a mile. This is another thing I want to fix in Kenya, the retail service. Example, the kiosks (they're like the Kenyan 711) sell a little bit of everything, some bread, milk, lottery tickets, candy, etc. They don't sell newspapers. Why wouldn't you? The retail shops that sell things like stationary and things like that never sell any snack impulse items. People get hungry, why wouldn't you sell some snacks? Everything is grouped together, there will be like 11 kiosks next to each other and then nothing and then 11 barbers next to each other and then nothing, and then 11 newspaper vendors at my bus stage and NONE at the 11 other bus stages along the way. It makes absolutely no sense, and yet this is how they function. Now EVERYWHERE is heavily trafficked and heavily populated so the grouping-in-heavily-trafficked-areas argument doesn't work. It just makes no sense. So, I walked for 35 minutes in my quest to find a fucking newspaper. Obviously I should have given up after 10 minutes and gotten onto my matatu, but I was a man on a quest. The newspaper was my Moby Dick, and I slew the beast but good.

2 minutes after I got on the matatu, one of the tires exploded. I was like "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck" but then out of no where like 3 guys came running to the mutato, the conductor and the driver of the mutato FLEW out of the vehicle and I swear the tire got changed in like 45 seconds. I felt like I was in a NASCAR pit or something. It was pretty amazing. And thank God we started moving again because once the window stopped blowing in through the windows, I realized I was sitting next to the rankest smelling woman I had ever smelt. She looked proper and clean enough, but she honestly smelt worse than the jockstrap bin at my gym. For those of you that don't know, I work out at Mendez Boxing Gym, not like Health and Racquet Club or something posh like that, so when I say rank I mean the dirty, sweaty from boxing jockstraps of the entire immigrant laborer sect of New York City. Ya, she smelt worse than that. If it were an option, I would not have thought twice about moving.

So, before 8:00am, I had no water, an exploding tire, chased the dragon, slayed the dragon, and battled a bout of olfactory nausea. I have to admit, it is really exciting to have every day be such an adventure. It highly beats getting on the train, sitting in class, going to the gym, sitting on the bus, going home. I thought I would be getting all pissy and frustrated, but I've learned to kind of look forward to all the crazy things that go on, I think in part because I know it'll make for riveting blogging.

I let Juma, the bike guy, give me a ride to work again. I don't really love it because it's scary and I don't really mind the walk, but he could use the money and it's exciting/status building for him to have a mzungu passenger and he likes to practice his English so I conceded. It's 20Ksh and I give him 30Ksh and he's SO grateful that it just really warms my heart. It's not like it happens everyday, but when someone here is actually grateful for something it's unlike anything I've ever experienced. I mean, it's not often that someone in the US even is capable of doing something for someone else that truly makes a difference in their day/week/life. So to see what that's like, such a genuine and pure and full human emotional response, it's quite overwhelming.

Emmanuel John wet himself 3x before lunch and went to the potty at least 3x too. That means the kid urinated six times in 3 hours. What the fuck his mom is giving him, I have no clue. I mean look at these pants! I don't pee that much after 4 Tuskers (the national beer here), which is quite good actually. They may not be able to solve that Kenya-smells-like-dirty-ass problem, but man do the Kenyans know how to brew.

EJ is a 2 year old whose 17 year old mother has no support system, so she brings him to Dickson during the day while she's at work. She was on the brink of giving him up before Dickson came along, so Dickson not only takes in orphaned children, but also helps keep children from becoming orphans. I really love my work out here.

The AM kids were atrocious. Nonstop crying, fighting, bickering, begging, and then Mwangi fell and split his lip open. It was pretty bad. I took them to the restaurant for soda, I've been doing so every Friday with the AM and the PM kids, and the IDIOTS at the restaurant are the next people on my reform of industry in Kenya. It's not just his restaurant, it's every restaurant, and it's not just the retail shops in town, it's all the retail shops. It's particulalry annoying because all people do is hound you for your business, but then do absolutely nothing to keep it.

To the Kenyan food service industry:
1) When there is a table full of children, 11 to be exact, and they all are getting french fries, please do not bring a bottle of ketchup that is 9/10s empty. Further, even if it were full, why would you only bring one bottle for 11 kids?
2) When there is a table full of children, or 30 volunteers, or even a couple out on a date, place the food order immediately. You guys do no prep work and every dish takes well over an hour to make, so instead of getting our drinks, place the food order and then get our drinks.
3) Please figure out the bill before I ask for it. I have not once gotten a tab or a bill in under 10 minutes from the time I asked for it.
4) Write things down, your memory sucks elephant nuts.
5) When there are 11 kids all waiting, kindly do not bring out the food one at a time so that the other 10 cry while the 1 gets served.
6) HAVE CHANGE!
Now, I realize that some of the delays may be lifestyle/slow paced nature of Kenyans, but 4 plates of french fries and 11 sodas...2.5 hours? That's not slow, that's straight up down's syndrome. This happens every time and everywhere.

The PM kids started hounding me at lunch (12:30) as to whether or not we were going to the restaurant. I went into a silent fit, stormed into the volunteer house, inhaled a Xanax and wrote the following by hand which I'm now posting:

"All they want is more, nothing is ever enough. I literally give them my blood, sweat, and tears, have gone thousands of dollars in debt and all they want is more. They want me to buy them more, bring them more, take them out more, give them my bag, my hat, my shirt, my pens, my Dior sunglasses, my digital camera, they want it all. I suppose this is the hardest part about being a parent, loving a child when they are being complete assholes. To still love them even though they're ungrateful beasts. I suppose this is not totally their fault, they have no one who is teaching them otherwise. I try to explain gratitude to them and that it's rude to ask and to demand for things, but it just doesn't register. I hate not speaking the language, it makes things so difficult. I want to pull my hair out of my head, rip my eyeballs out of their sockets, and then shove the hair into the sockets."

Now I realize I went through a gamut of emotion then, but it was intense. It was just a really hard morning compounded by the fact that the PM kids were complaining about how the older kids got chicken the ONE time I took them to the restaurant as opposed to the 4 times I've taken the PM kids and the countless sweets and treats I bring the PM and AM kids. It was so bad that I got to the point where I almost smacked one of the kids, which is completely unacceptable in my book. I can count on one hand the number of times I've been slapped and most were between 12-14 and involved me calling my mother a "fucking bitch" to her face or me sneaking out of a party in downtown Minneapolis at like 7pm to roam the streets and being missing for like 2 hours. The police were taking a report on the missing 12 year old when I finally found my way back. Oh, and once when I got arrested for shoplifting. But as you can see, they are all defintely smack worthy instances, not an instance of me being a pest. If I had gotten slapped every time I annoyed my parents by being an ingrate, I wouldn't look like the million dollar stud before you today, I'd look like the elephant man.

Suprisingly, after from the time we left to walk to the restaurant until the time I left Dickson the PM kids were ANGELS. It always seems to work out that if the AM kids are angels, the pm ones are bile spewing sea serpents, and if the AM kids are demonic, then the PM kids are lambs.

We played Free the Bunch (still haven't learned the Swahili names) for an hour and then I left. Went to Nakumaat, spent $200 on supplies for Dickson, rushed home and went to dinner with some of the volunteers who are leaving today. It was nice and sweet and fun.

Ok, off to Dickson.

Day 28

The exictement never stops.

Many of you may know I have this day planner/wallet that I've carried around for years. It's a little black zippy thing. Last night, I opened it up and what do you think I found in there? Well, I didn't so much find it as it came shooting out at me. A cockroach. A cockroach was in my planner and crawled out at breakneck speed. I've gotten to the point where I don't even care anymore. I pulled out my pen from my planner, clicked the pen, and used it flick that lil fucker across the room. Ants in my face soap, cockroaches in my planner, it's like all my gay items are being infested. Think it's God's way of saying being gay is wrong? Instead of a swarm of locusts on my crops, it's gonna be a swarm of locusts on my crop tops.

I need to take a moment to thank a few people:

1) Kelly from MN. I don't even know you, but you're a friend of Mark's, so you're a friend of mine. Further, you've commented more than my actual friends. Although they're on the brink of demotion, so maybe you'll get a promotion!

2) Dan B.S. (actual initials)- A really great guy (obviously, I mean he grew up in Minnesota and now lives in New York, what kind of awesome, sexy, smart, fun loving person grows up in MN and lives in New York?). He was in the peace corp (what kind of awesome, sexy, smart, fun loving person volunteers in strange and foreign lands?), so he knows wassup. It's nice to have someone who can relate to some of the things that are going down. His project was much more impoverished and isolated than mine, but there are some striking similarities.

3) Ron Lasko www.spincyclenyc.com A big supporter, great guy, and a man I'm proud to call a friend.

4) My apologies for not recognizing Mark W earlier on in my foray into the blogging world. He was and is a staunch supporter and recruiter. Are you assholes sending my link out to all your asshole friends? You better be...asshole. But back to Mark, he's a super duper guy and I'm proud to call him a friend. (Was that enough Markie? Fucking diva. Please keep recruiting).

No water this morning, but we finally got some this afternoon (Dickson, not home). It's pretty sad that I have to differentiate between where there's no water, home or my project. But, as of about 1:00pm today both my project and my home have running water, so yay. Cheers for running water, does it get any sadder? It does.

Clueless has been given a name change. It's clueless-ungrateful-needs to die- twatface, or C.U.N.T. for short. Idiot left yesterday, so now it's out of my way to go pick her up. We had mentioned just meeting at the project from now on, but didn't confirm, so being a nice guy I rushed over to her place to pick her up. She wasn't "feeling 100% today" so she didn't come to work. Why was she not feeling 100%? Because she was out drinking until 3:00a.m. Irresponsible, selfish idiot. AND she's going to Lamu this weekend, so she's skipping Friday AND Monday, so that's Thursday, Friday, and Monday that she's skipping out on "volunteering" so she can play or as a result of playing. What the fuck? Why are you even here you stupid bitch? Further, way to be a complete whorebag and leave me assed out for help 3 days in a row, particularly the DAY after Idiot left. She doesn't know the kids' names, she sits on her ass all day, she's stupid, and now she doesn't even show up. I'm going to see about getting her fired. Initially I was like "I don't want to deprive the kids of help" but she doesn't do shit one for them and you're not really allowed to miss this many days especially WITHIN YOUR FIRST THREE WEEKS!! She also left at lunch time last Friday to "run errands" before going on her safari. She also leaves at like 3:45 every day (we're supposed to be there til 4:00).

I really just want to slap her, and mostly it's because our kids are so wonderful and special and beautiful and fun and she's missing it all. She's wasting her opportunity to get to know these amazing, life changing little people. Yeah, they're full of snot and piss and shit (Manu took a shit the size of his foot today, I kid you not, it honestly took every bit of my strength to keep myself from photographing it and posting it), but they are the coolest, sweetest, most amazing people I've ever had the pleasure of knowing and for her to treat them this way is a slap in the face that makes me want to return the favor with a bitchslap from here to her home in England.

Ok, sorry, that was really misogynistic and violent but I really am just so done with her it's to the point of not being funny anymore, which is sad because I strive to be nothing if not funny.

My excitement for the day was the .5 mile jaunt down that river/row of mud they call a street between Migadini and Dickson. Today I rode on the back of a bicycle. They have these little seats on the back of bicycles and the people bike you around. It's basically like riding tandem. Tandem down a muddy dirt road. On a foot pedaled bicycle. Two grown men. It was so scary because I could just imagine myself face down in a 2 foot deep puddle of mud but then I realized that I like being face down so it was ok.

I have a slight problem with the kids. I shower them with stuff all the time, candy, DVDs, I burn them American music CDs off my laptop, I bring school supplies, I take them to the restaurant, etc. I love doing all this and will not stop because I essentially want to do my best to just make them as happy as possible, but they're getting to be little shits. They hound me all day for sweets or more presents or to buy them things or give them my things. I keep saying to them a) "I'm not Santa Claus", b) "I have no money", c) "You're about to get punched in the jaw you ungrateful asshole", and d) "We'll see". How can I continue to give them as much as I can possibly give and keep them from turning into little Gimme Monsters?

Finally, time for a cultural learning moment. Kenyans don't view cheating as a big deal. The kids cheat incessantly, in all three classes, and the teachers don't really mind and the kids have come up with a million and one ways to do it. They don't even do it incredibly covertly, they're pretty bold about it. It's kind of viewed as smart, in that they figured out a shortcut, and is kind of laughed off, but I think it kind of instills a foundation for dishonesty. Nonetheless, not my place to say, I mean I don't let them cheat in my class and stop them all the time, but if the housemoms and staff teacher aren't going to do anything about it and find it amusing instead of alarming, who am I to judge? Oh, that's right, I'm Nima, a judgemental juggernaut. Time to judge: what they're doing is wrong and I'm right because my values and morals and belief system are the only true way to live your life and be guaranteed a spot in Heaven.

Day 27, Part Mbili

1. It may be because I'm drunk (a personal pizza, three double vodka and passionfruit juice cocktails and a bottle of water, $15.38) but that first comment under Day 27 hurt. =( Is it true? Am I too verbose, too verbal for my audience? Do you want less talk, more action? Or is "Anonymous" a total cock-smoking-donkey-fucking-shit-eating-monkey-balls-sucking-dirty-tampon-licking asshole?

2. I love my mom. I asked her to make a phone call for me and instead she paid an incredibly overdue bill for me. Hurray for moms with cash!

Dad, I love you too, but today, mom wins. Learn to pay a bill you deadbeat.

Day 27

As promised, below is the poo pic. One is before the turd broke the stick, the other is after the turd broke the stick. Also, thrown in for good measure are what I eat to survive. They sell these all over town here, it's as though they knew I was coming and decided to market this product en mass.

I had a rude awakening today. The maid/slave said she needed to talk to me privately, so I said I'd come home as early as possible. I knew straight away she wanted money, but was anxious all day long because I was running through my head all the things she could want to talk to me about privately. Did she want some hot sex? An American husband and thus a visa? Legal help? Money? Advice? I was anxiety riddled all day, but refrained from popping a Xanax. See, I'm not a total addict.

On the matatu there was much pandemonium. In fact, at one point people began banging on the outside of the matatu to get in and I was certain it was going to be toppled over by an angry mob. Luckily it wasn't, but we came damn close. As I keep saying time and time again, nothing like a near death experience to perk you up in the morning.

It was an exhausting day without Idiot. 1/3 less manpower for cleaning and in the afternoon I had to teach English and math. I miss her already.

Clueless asked "What smells?" on the way home today. She's been here for three weeks. She should fucking know by now that third world countries smell like ass 24/7. I looked her square in the eye and said "Kenya".

I think I've seen more bare female breast in Kenya than I have in my entire lifetime (not counting the 50x I've seen Kate Winslet's breasts in Titanic). Why am I seeing so much breast? Because the homeless women have to feed their homeless children. Normally it's not so gruesome, but today I saw a particularly tattered woman breast feeding her particularly tattered newborn and my heart once again sank. Every time you get over something, you get another swift kick in the balls.

And about my balls, today a 2 year-old kid GRABBED MY DICK to pull himself up onto a ledge. He straight up reached between my legs, grabbed hold for dear life, and pulled himself up. I went cross-eyed for about 7 solid seconds.

When I got home, sure enough Maid wanted money. Her neice had surgery. She was very nice and apologetic about it, but asked for money to help. Now, I kind of believe her, but kind of don't. I don't know what to do. If she's pulling this scam on everyone, then something needs to be said/done, but if it's true, then if I tell she'll get fired over something like this and will be out on the street. ARGH!!! Advice?
I swear shit like this happens to me all the time. I blame my mom. She gets people hitting her up for everything in the world too, be it money or time or blood (Red Cross has her on their speed dial), people always want shit from her and apparently I've inherited that. While we're talking about my mom, I have to say, I love the woman. She's a saint. But, the woman (like most women) can't follow simple directions. They can give birth in the woods without an epidural simply by chomping down on a leather strap, but they can't call between 1:00am and 1:00pm. In case you haven't deduced it by now, she called. Back to getting hit up for things, I think I invite a lot of it (inadvertently) somehow. Nick C says I smile too much. I can't tell you how many times Nick C has been my "boyfriend" because the fat, bald 75 year old man I smiled at came over in the hopes of a blowjob. I was being polite, but evidently that was an invitation to hit on me. Yesterday, the waiter asked me to lend him 50 Ksh to buy a soda, but he didn't want me to buy him a soda, he wanted me to give him the money. I said no. No one else is getting hit up for shit, just me. Me and my goofy, gay, American $10,000+ smile.

Speaking of my smile, you all know that I'm a raging stud. Below are the pictures to prove it. HOwever, I have never been grosser in my life.
I'm
1) gassy (a heavy diet in orphanage beans),
2) full of snot (I inhale a gram of dust and dirt a day, don't ask how I know how much a gram is, just accept it),
3) constipated (as I've told you),
4) have bushy eybrows and a bushy bush (there is NO lighting in Kenya so I can't do my eyebrows except on the beach and I haven't been),
5) acne covered (the dust and dirt are bad for the sinuses and the skin),
6) full of scrapes, cuts, blisters and rashes (the bugs, children, and general wilderness),
7) have a MASSIVE farmer's tan on my feet (opne toed shoes lead to cuts and staph infections),and
8) need to have my cuticles done (I didn't bring a cuticle pusher).

Thank God I have a bodacious body and winning personality. Otherwise I'd be screwed.

Pictures

Day 26

Big day. Lots of info.

I'd like to start with a shout-out to a new, but already dear-to-me friend, Tracy Almazan. We had a nice little IM session yesterday and it was uplifting and good. www.almazanassociates.com

So not only was Dickson water-free, but so was home. Last night at about 8:30pm, before I got to take my nightly shower (I shower twice a day here and am still disgusting), we ran out of water. Still no water by this morning. So I went to work without showering which makes one a mosquito and fly magnet all day long. Wonderful. Also, I forgot my water and my Red Bull at home, so I was parched all day. Yes, they have Red Bull in Kenya, which is my new addiction. Caffeine. Sweet, sweet caffeine. They don't have good toilet paper, but they do have Red Bull. Holler!! Speaking of bovines, obviously my dairy free diet is over until I get back to The States.

It was Idiot's last day today. It's going to suck because it's just me and Clueless for the duration of my trip. I'm going to teach Standard 3 (3rd Grade) and she's going to teach Standard 1. I now have to come up with an hour of English lessons and an hour of math lessons every day. I don't even know that much math. My kids corrected me when I was teaching them long division. Mark W- HELP!! During junior high my friend Mark W had to be shipped to the high school during math class because he knew higher math than our junior high could teach him. He's also an alleged member of Mensa although I have yet to see the card and test results. Mark W you big mathfreak of nature, HELP! My English could use some work too. It seems to be littered with vocabulary words like cocksmoker and twat; which really aren't acceptable until Standard 4.

Anyway, it was Idiot's last day and she was pissing me off beyond belief. Forcing the posed pictures that the kids didn't want to do, making them sit and be quiet and virtually beg for their bullshit "presents"...a fucking balloon and ONE tube of bubbles for everyone to share. A balloon and some bubbles? This is your big goodbye gift that you make them salivate over? The big goodbye treat is TWO Chips Ahoy cookies? Get over yourself, their orphans, not idiots. I definitely think this was a Go Big or Go Home situation. Bring a fucking cake and if all you can afford is a balloon for each kid, how about just not bringing anything, or at the very least not making such a big deal out of a goddamn ballon. She made it seem like she was brining each of them a fucking pony.

Whew, sorry about that. She's not a bad girl, just an idiot, hence the name. She means well, but for fuck's sake, get a clue. Which brings me to Clueless. I had to redo her work today. I showed her what she did wrong (she "swept" but I still managed to fill TWO dustpans after re-sweeping), so hopefully this won't be an ongoing thing.

I stayed late and played Free the Bunch with the kids for an hour. I was so sweat soaked that I had to borrow one of the kids' shirts. Free the Bunch is a really fun game that I LOOOVED as a child. It's like tag, but there are two or three people who are It. If they tag you you go to Jail until one of the other runners tags the Jail and thus "Frees the Bunch". It's really really really great. Then we watched the end of King Kong (Peter Jackson's version, which I actually enjoyed) and the beginning of Nacho Libre-a fucking gay ass movie. On my matatu ride home I was kicked off in the city and told to get on another one because I was going too far down the line. They refunded me, but still, it was annoying and bizarre. Like "Get off and grab the next one". I swear I don't make up any of these stories. It's like something weird happens everyday. The driver asked where I was going, I said CMC (my stop, which is on the Docks mutato route) and he came to a screeching halt, threw me back my money and tossed me off the van. Every day something odd happens, which works out nicely for me because I get to regale you, dear reader, with the many misadventures of Nima: Warrior Princess.

On the way home I stopped at the Chinese restaurant for a cocktail after my 10 hour day. I totally am understanding happy hour these days. I realized something else about Kenya, they don't have change. No one accepts credit cards, it's cash only, but no one ever has any fucking change. It's not just the service places, it's the stores too. At first you think it's a scam to get a bigger tip, like "Sorry, no change" but NO ONE in this bloody country ever has change. I'm guessing they don't start with a till in the morning or something like that, but you always always always have to pay with the smallest bills possible or risk an hour wait while they run around to the nearby shops trying to find some change.

This brings me to the final point I wanted to make today. We had an hour meeting with Matheka about Kenya and it's culture and such. I'm trying to not complain about anything regarding the project itself or how it's run or the kids or anything because I won't be able to paint an accurate picture and will negatively taint the way it's perceived by you guys. I try to only bitch about Idiot and Clueless. Anyway, obviously things go wrong and there are some issues between us and staff, but Matheka, (who grew up in Kenya, was educated and lived in Europe and is now back to save the children of Kenya) explained a lot. It was shocking, but made a lot of sense.

First, Kenyans still use the "cramming system" when it comes to education. All day they are taught 2+2 = 4 and then on their final exams it says 2+2=?. They are not taught that 2+2 means the same as 1+1+1+1 or 3+1 or why or how 2+2=4. It's just repetition and memorization. They are educated as though they are parrots. This goes all the way until college. So the analytical skills are not developed. The problem solving skills are not developed. Obviously the above is just an example, but it applies to everything. They only know how to do things one way and when you change it or find an alternate way it takes a long time, lots of repetition and memorization, to get them to change. When we show them a new way to do something (like not mop with rain water because it spreads dirt) they do it your way because Kenyans are a polite and respectful people, but as soon as you're gone they return to their old ways. That's why we have to be consistent and sort of overseeing everything all the time. Further, without any education in something like child psychology, even on a popular culture level, they don't understand that young children need to be rewarded and discplined and talked to, not just beaten into submission. It's not their fault, it's something they've never been exposed to.

Finally, there's a massive Kenyan inferiority complex when it comes to us volunteers because we're white (or white appearing) and educated. I actually noticed this earlier, on a national level. Their ads here feature white people. Their television programs are predominately white programs. They believe all white people are college educated and therefore better. They believe all white people are rich. My recognition of this internalized self-hate is not the most astute recognition on my part; I've seen it before. It's very common amongst gays and their straight counterparts. I've seen it there and I recognized it here about a week into my stay in Kenya. I was just very uneasy with all the white people on TV and in print in a nation that is like 99.999% black. I chalked it up to skinny celebrities in America when the majority is obese, I didn't really think about the inferiority complex until about a week ago, and then Matheka confirmed it for me today. Once again I'm dealt this emotional blow. This whole time I've felt my work was not good enough for the housemoms because they're these cleaning, cooking, washing, healing machines while they simultaneously were afraid of looking like poor, uneducated, niggers to me (their minds, not mine). I actually really have had and still do the utmost respect for them, go see past postings. I think they're amazing and the fact that they feel worthless around me and the other volunteers is almost as heartbreaking as the surroundings at which I work.

Whew. Sorry. Light note: I wasn't going to share this tidbit until tomorrow, but now I feel I have to to lighten the mood. Today, with no water, one of the kids took a shit the size of Florida. A big rock hard shit that would not go down the toilet. I kept bailing dirty, used water into the tank so that it would flush, but it was too big to go down. So I had to go outside and get a stick to break up this massive turd. I know. If that situation were to happen to me in America I would have probably paid a month's rent to someone else to do that for me, but in Kenya, you gotta suck it up. So I went out and got a big stick. The poop was so hard it broke the stick. So then I had to use a little stump of a stick to break it up. I was literalIy inches away, face-to-face with a giant African orphan turd. Finally with my little stump stick I broke it into little bits. Filled the tank with a bucket of dirty water and flushed that shit away. I honestly don't think I've reteched and dry heaved that much in my entire life. It was by far the grossest thing I've ever encountered. Now, the reason I didn't want to share that story yet is because I took pictures and wanted to share that story when I post the pictures. If I had to do it, you at the very least are going to have to see it. I know, I'm sick. Trust me, you're going to be sicker. The funniest part about this story is that one of the housemoms saw me photographing a toilet with a giant turd in it, so lord only knows what she was thinking when she peered into the bathroom to see me with a giant turd, a giant stick, and my digital camera.

Day 25

Today marks the beginning of my fourth week. On Friday I will have been here for a month. 1/12 of my 21st year on this earth will have been spent in Africa.

It’s the little things I’ve come to miss most about America. Like not sharing a single shower and a single toilet with 8 people. Running water. Opening your soap and not having a swarm of ants attack you. Hot water. I tell you, nothing in this world sucks more than an ice cold shower at 6:30am. Nothing. Except for frown lines. But other than that, NOTHING.

So, there was no water at Dickson today. Another day of washing laundry by hand in a dirty water basin because we can’t afford to change the water in the basin. Another day of urine and fecal matter flying through the air like the birds and the bees and not a single drop of H2O to sanitize with. I nearly went through an entire bottle of instant hand sanitizer. Now my hypochondria is going to show a little here, but I don’t really believe that those sanitizers work. I think you have to wash your hands first and then sanitize. So I held my breath for about 8 hours today and ran to the nearest bathroom the minute the mutato hit town. Tom B- thanks again man. Your mini soap strips are rockin my world. PLEASE pray that we get some water tomorrow. Also, I didn’t pee all day out of sheer fear of opening the toilet lid. When 28 kids can’t flush a toilet, the fluids in the bowl become beyond toxic.

Clueless and Idiot pretty much just sat and watched the kids all day. I don’t get them. I don’t get a lot of the volunteers. I think of Diani Beach, White Sands, the safari, all the fun stuff, as icing on an already sweet cake. I came here to volunteer and bond with my kids and I have and do. A vast majority (but not all) seem to think that they’re here to travel and find work to be a big hunk of mold on their cake. If you want to travel, TRAVEL, you don’t have to do it under the guise of volunteering. Clueless left early on Friday and is skipping this Friday AND Monday to go to Lamu Beach. A huge group of people are going. Skipping two days of work to go to the beach. I just don’t get it. It also pisses me off because they’re going to go home and be like “I volunteered all summer” when really they sat around their projects, never learned their kids’ names, and took a bunch of days off to travel around. I wanna bitch slap most of the crew.

After 4 weeks, I finally caved. I really wanted to go the whole time without failing, but today I realized that I am a weak man. Try as I might, I couldn’t fight it. I broke into my secret stash of Cliff bars. I really wanted to just eat the food that was available here, but I did have a couple emergency Cliff bars in case of utter starvation. I gotta tell you, even on the brink of death from bad food, a Cliff bar still tastes like shit.

Today was a jam packed day at Dickson. Aside from no water, Manu took a shit the size of his leg, Moses is still fighting his malaria, Mary has a massive chest infection and is getting intravenous drug therapy and I found out that the girl who we were told has malaria doesn’t actually have malaria. They told us she has malaria to explain why she hasn’t gone to school in over a week.

Remember the scandal I mentioned a few days ago about the girl from Dickson and the boy from Onesmus dating? Well, it’s a lot worse than that. Pregnancy scare worse. So obviously the staff and owners flipped out. A street girl and a street boy having sex leads to street children, something we’re fighting, not encouraging. So the girl is being kept in lockdown 24/7 because evidently they’ve been warned several times and have been caught lying to staff, to teachers, to friends, to everyone. That’s when it really struck me. How do you discipline someone who has nothing to lose? There are no car privileges, cell phone privileges, trips to the movies, trips to the mall, allowances, there is nothing that can be revoked as punishment. Aside from lockdown, there is no solution to stopping these two. They’re doing their homework at home and the staff is trying to figure out the next move. If we can find a sponsor, we can send one to a rigorous, heavily monitored private school, but really that’s about all that can be done. It’s so scary and frustrating and makes you feel so helpless.

I stayed late today and watched “Garfield: The Movie” with my kids. It was God awful. Also, I realized that I may very well be “The Child Whisperer”. Today I wiped more tears than baby ass. As Clueless and Idiot did nothing, I stopped no less than 5 kids from crying. I think it has to do with my upbringing. My mom was very big on communication and treating her children like adults and talking to us and empathizing with us. She nurtured and as a result got an explanation as to what happened. My father was incredibly patient with me. I was an annoying child. I mean, annoying. I would tell 3 hour stories that went nowhere and would add about 37 rules to every game…including tag. I would set up boundaries, escape zones, reverse tags, no running zones, fast zones, slow zones, I was a complete and utter douche bag of a child. And my father always played along. At any rate, I think I learned a lot from them and can now handle a lot when it comes to children. To quiet the rowdy ones and to ease tears. It must be my upbringing that shuts them up. Either that or the Michael Jackson costume and anal probe that I carry around.

On the way home I got a ride down the ½ mile road. I rode in the cab of a semi. This is the second time I’ve gotten a ride and the first time it struck that I do things here that I would never dream of doing in America. It didn’t dawn on me until a minute ago, but I’ve now hitchhiked twice. Who climbs into a stranger’s car in a foreign land? Your favorite faggot, that’s who. It’s just so normal here that I didn’t think about it. It’s encouraged to try to find rides from people who are driving along the route you’re walking. So bizarre. But, I’m still here, typing away, so you know I’m safe and sound. The last ride was from a Muslim couple and upon finding out we live in New York, the woman asked if we could mail a package to her sister in Boston (remember, corrupt mail here and very expensive), so we said sure and for the woman to text me when she wants to give us the package. Right then and there though, I decided that Idiot would take the package since she was returning to the US first. Muslim couple? Package? I’ll pass, thanks.

Finally, Stallion has malaria. The first of the volunteers. Sad, but true. Still, I’d risk a little hospitalization for some summer love. Ah, l’amour, l’amour.

Day 24

I realized that I didn't talk about the group that visited Dickson yesterday. Matheka and Ria (the couple that own Dickson) have some friends who own a water processing company in Mombasa. They are friends, supporters, and hope to have a portion of the profits (assuming profits are made) from the water company go to Dickson. They brought about 20 visitors with them. Now, I don't want to harp on something good like people giving money and bringing presents for the kids and stuff, but something about the day really bothered me. It was all so showy and like the visitors were at the zoo or something. They kept trying to force the kids to do things for pictures like peace signs or hug each other or hug the visitors, things the kids did not want to do. It was SOOOOO "Document the orphanage visit so I can share the story at dinner parties". They just seemed really phony and demanding of the children and it was a total novelty for them. Now I admit that this trip is a 'novelty' for me because the reality is that I'm fake "roughing it" and at the end of my project I get to go home to my exceedingly unnecessarily extravagant life, however for the time that I am here, I treat the kids with respect and seek their friendship and trust, not funny portraits of me and them. They came, showered the kids with sweets and toys and attention for an afternoon and left. What about the other 364.5 days of the year? Evidently this happens a lot. It just kind of got under my skin.

Another thing that got under my skin? Today, a group of about 11 or 12 of us went to White Sands Beach Resort for the day. For $7 volunteers can use the facilities which include a pool, towel service, ocean side view, and beach front access. We got there at about 10am and I booked a massage for 3:30. The weather was spotty all day,l but whatever. At around 4:00, while I was in my massage, they all decided to leave. When I got out and wandered around looking for them, I began to suspect they left and I texted someone. They did in fact leave. "A woman was supposed to inform you, sorry". I responded "I think it's tacky that no one could wait 45 minutes, especially when I'm always willing to wait for anyone". Which I do. In large groups there's inevitably a group that arrives on time and group that arrives later. I arrive on time and when people want to move on, I wait for the later group so they don't get lost in the lurch. I received another apology text in response to my message. Now, I don't REALLY care because I've traveled a lot further in a lot more sketchy situations by myself. That part was fine. It's that no one could sit and have another drink or read their book or even just sit and wait and be bored for 45 minutes so that I wouldn't come out of my massage and roam the grounds for them. Wasn't that extremely inconsiderate and shitty of them? Or am I in the wrong and it's fine that they left? I guess in their defense the weather was bad, but still, it was only an hour massage and they obviously didn't leave as soon as I did, so is 45 minutes really that intolerable?

By the way, on Friday night when we were coming home from Dickson, we were forced to sit in the front seats of the mutato. Idiot and I thought we were goners. No seat belts, giant windshield, bumpy road. I really envisioned myself flying through the air like Supergirl.

In other mutato news, on the way to White Sands, we played chicken with another mutato. We were passing a semi and went into the oncoming traffic lane. We were no more than 10 feet away from a head on collision when we swerved back into our lane. I know I've said it before, but caffeine has nothing on near-death. Near-death will wake you up much more quickly than Starbucks every single time.

Last night Roomie and I had a drink at the Castle Hotel and when I went to the bathroom I was propositioned by a hooker. I was going into the bathroom as she was coming.
Me: (Thinking) That's kind of a hooker-y outfit.
Hooker: Hey, when you come out I want to talk to you. I'll wait for you here.
Me: Oh, I'm ok, thanks.
Hooker: Are you sure?
Me: Yes, thank you.
Now I know that wasn't riveting dialogue but I'm being accurate. I was sort of interested in doing some investigative reporting and comparison shopping just for giggles, but after my time in old town where they forced merchandise into my hands, I was hesitant to find out exactly what she was going to force into my hands. Anyway, now I've been propositioned by a hooker and had my hair tussled by a hooker on top of the 3 hookers I've inadvertently dated. They come to me like whores to a flame. Or flamer as the case may be.

Finally, upon reflection of everything that I've seen here, I'm growing curious about forced sterilization. Does it exist in any country? What are the legal arguments? Moral arguments? I think if (at least in America) child bearing is a fundamental right, then forced sterilization would have to pass strict scrutiny. In nation where the homeless outnumber the housed, where there's enough resources for 20% of the population, I think forced sterilization could survive strict scrutiny. These families that live on the streets and the families that get onto the mutatos are bigger than 2 average American households. And why the fuck do impoverished men need 3 wives and 37 kids? It's really nuts and something that's been on my mind. Also, apparently I'm an idiot (for many reasons) but today's reason is that I didn't know there was like mass genocide going on in Kenya in 1992 and that tribal wars are a current, ongoing problem. John (the husband/father at my homestay) was telling me about seeing human heads on the roads.

Um, to end on a lighter note, here's a tidbit: Do not get a massage when you're sexually repressed.

Day 23

Last night after the internet cafe I stopped by the Chinese restaurant by my place. It was pretty good. Me likey.

Today I went to old town to investigate possible souvenirs. The salesman are crooked and pushy (shocking, I know) and refused to accept that I was just looking and comparison shopping. They straight up forced merchandise into my hands, as though that would make me buy it. So funny. Anyway, I don't think I'm going to bring anything back for myself or others. The main reason being it's all crap. Wooden elephants? Beaded jewelry that wouldn't pass muster at Claires? A tshirt that says "My favorite faggot went to Kenya and all I got was a lousy tshirt"? I mean, it's really pointless. I'd rather spend the money on my kids.

I went to Dickson today so that I could spend a non-structured day with the kids. It was really fun. We just hung out and watched Disney's "Tarzan". You know you're hardup for sex when you start fantasizing about an animated Tarzan.

Moses seemed totally fine, but now Mary is sick. It's freaking exhausting, someone's always sick.

I'm pretty disappointed with the other volunteers. They're all going to Lamu next weekend, a very nice beach town nearby. The problem? They're going to miss Friday AND Monday to go. I'm not trying to judge, but wasn't the point to come volunteer? Missing work to go to the beach seems a little shady to me. I guess I'm Angelina and they're all Madonna. Just don't got what it takes to be an international orphan saver.

I got TWO phone calls today. John L and Nick C. Lots of love. That cunt Mara still hasn't called. She's probably too busy with her new hilarious play called "Bitch" which is playing Los Angeles. Good show, check it out. (You like that unsolicited plug? Dumb whore.)

The family I'm staying with is John, Esther, Irene the maid/nanny/slave, and Michelle the daughter. Michelle is 2 and has been chilly towards me until today, which was fine with me because after spending all day with kids I don't need to come home to it, but now she's all up on my nuts like I'm fucking Barney. Annoying.

I'm exhausted and don't have much to report, so I'm gonna go. Pity me. I'm missing gay pride.

Day 22

I really really really hope people are reading and appreciating my blog. You dickwads out there never comment so I don't know if I'm sharing my stories or if I'm just a raging narcissist putting himself out there for the world to see. I suppose I'm both. I'm sorry for being such a flaming cunt, it's just that today's internet process was particularly gruesome. Usually it takes about 8 minutes to get to this page, today it took 11. I seriously want to find the guy who invented the internet and slap him.

Anywho, now that I'm here, I gotta tell ya, it's been a juicy day.

On the way to Dickson, I got off the mutato at one stop so that people could get off. Before I could get back on, the woman who was sitting by me pushed in front of me and STOLE MY SEAT!! I had the good seat and the bitch straight up stole it. I was so mad, but restrained myself. She's lucky she doesn't live in New York because if we were on the subway she'd get an earful until one of us got off the train. Then, when we were getting off the mutato, there were so many people crowded around that they were trying to shove onto the bus before letting us off. It was such a zoo that I saw a full grown, well over 200 pound man SHOVE a woman out of his way so that he could beat her onto the mutato. This is not the first time I've seen a man shove a woman to get on, but it was definitely the hardest I've seen a man shove a woman to get on.

I'm sure upon reading that you'll think the same thing I initially thought. What the fuck is wrong with these people? Are they classless? Rude? Savages? While in some ways the answer may be yes, it ultimately is no. I really don't believe that people are inherently like this. I think societal pressures make people cave. Imagine if you can for a second that you are the man who did the shoving. Here (because of shoddy transportation), it's very likely that you are late for work. Your shitty job that pays you shit so you can live in a shitbox in a shithole country. If you show up late, you get fired and some other asshole takes your job because there are a million more people than there are jobs. If you don't shove this woman and beat her for that last seat, you will be fired and your family will be another homeless family. Now, I don't know for a fact that THIS particular man had THIS particular problem, but getting fired for the tiniest thing is not uncommon and when jobs are scarce and money is tight, one tends to flip out.

This realization did not come to me right away. At first I thought what a misogynistic asshole pig savage fuckwad, but after a half mile trek of thinking, I think (and hope and am fairly certain) that the above is more likely the case.

About the trek; Kenyans are known for being INCREDIBLY slow people. They walk slowly, talk slowly, live slowly. We were told time and time and time again that we'd have to adjust to the pace here. It's killing me, but I'm getting better. Now, you needed that background because it relates to our walk to Dickson. Today, Clueless, Idiot and myself were PASSED by several Kenyans. That is how slow they walk. Every day I die a little bit more because of these two. Now, I should take a moment to defend Idiot by saying she's not actually an idiot, she's actually rather smart. She's just a social/travel/life idiot. Clueless is a full on idiot. Example: When I spell things so the children won't understand, like say C-A-N-D-Y, Clueless will inevitably not understand what I'm spelling and keep asking me to repeat it to such an extent that the children can figure out the word I'm spelling, OR she will say the word out loud. FUCKING IDIOT!!! Also, I hate that Clueless is at my project because she's a total slacker. Idiot and I are all about our work and the kids and Clueless dips out early, doesn't bond with the kids, and complains incessantly. I seriously want to ask her why she's here, but I don't want Dickson to have their shitty volunteer become a complete whorebag, so I keep my mouth shut.

Today while she sat and watched the children (she doesn't even play with them, she just sits on a stoop and watches them), I learned why in old movies and TV shows when a new maid comes on the scene she says "But I don't do windows". Doing windows SUCKS BIG FAT HAIRY NUTS! It's laborious, thankless, endless, and infuriating. Between the glass wiping and ass wiping, I'm wiped.

Who else is wiped? Moses. He was sweaty all morning and then on our walk he passed out. I carried him home and told the house moms that he's sick. They looked him over and said that he was just a little overheated because it was a cool morning and then it got really hot. I said "No, he's sick". Two of them said not to worry. In about an hour he was up and about playing again. They were smug, I was smugger. I knew I was right. Lo and behold about 20 minutes later he started throwing up. They took him to the doctor. Malaria. I fucking told those woman 2 hours earlier that he was really sick, but because they're Kenyan women and I'm some sheltered mazungo they didn't listen. It's not like it was days, it was just 2 hours, but that was 2 hours of treatment he could have been getting. Now, I don't mean to paint them as being bad or neglectful, they're not, they're amazing, but I just like to point out that the natives don't ALWAYS know better. I have education and western medicine on my side. Moses is going to be fine and I hate to gloat over the illness of one of my kids, but if I don't know wassup, I do try to keep my fool mouth shut. When I proclaim to really know something though, it's because I know it. I love my fat ass Mr. President and knew something was amiss. He's going to be a-ok. Still, he has malaria. That's 2/28 currently battling malaria.

Malaria is transmitted by mosquitoes, but they're not the only out of control bug here. All bugs are everywhere. I routinely eat food that I have to brush ants and flies off of and today when I opened the flip-top to my face wash, an army of ants came out and started crawling all over my arms. It's really fucking annoying to deal with at 6:30am. By the way, woke up at 6:15am feeling completely fine. As though yesterday's ailments never occurred. I normally, begrudgingly, get up at 6:20am here, but today I woke up at 6:15 feelin fine. So I think it was just a bout of exhaustion or heat or something. No malaria. Yet.

Today we took the afternoon kids to the restaurant for soda and french fries. We then hung around and took the older kids to the restaurant for dinner. They had a really good meal, but weren't very talkative. We haven't really bonded with them because we only see them for 20 min at lunch. They are gone before we get there (8:00am) and they get home after we leave (4:00pm). Tonite, Monica and Florence, the two oldest, couldn't join us for dinner because they don't get out of school until 8:00pm. 7:00am to 8:00pm 6 days a week and 11:00am-3:00pm on Sundays. How this country is so illiterate and poor I'll never understand. For the amount of schooling they're forced to do, these kids should be curing baldness, fatness, and acne (or other things that really matter).

Anyway, younger kids KILLED me at the restaurant. There's a playground and everyone wanted shoulder rides and piggy back rides and to box and to basically beat me to a bloody pulp. One of their favorite things to do is to make me flex my bicep and then they punch my bicep repeatedly to see if they can bruise it and to demonstrate how it's solid muscle. They revel in how big and hard my arms are. I swear it's like God created these kids to cater to my vanity. After that we went home and watched the Scooby Doo DVD I bought them. I bought the older kids Tomb Raider starring Angelina Jolie and by looking at the box they thought I bought them porn. They were shocked and extremely grateful until I told them it wasn't porn. Still grateful, but less so.

Spinning off of porn, there's SCANDAL at Dickson. Evidently one of the girls from Dickson was dating a boy from Onesmus, a BIG no no. There was a lecture given (I wasn't included in the meeting) and I'm not sure of the outcome, but it between the restaurant, the malaria and the salacious ongoings, it was a full day.

My final note for the day: Manu's little dick was hanging out of his potty while he was sitting on it today and he ended up peeing on the floor. He tried to lift himself out of his potty by putting his hands on the urine soaked floor to push himself up, but he couldn't quite get out. When I bent over to lift him up, he put his hands on my head so that he could get the leverage to lift himself out. Yes, his hands. His urine covered hands. On my head.

Day 21

So, initially there was a group of 11 of us volunteers who started on the same day. The group is slowly dwindling as people have various end dates ranging from 2-12 weeks. Of the original 11, I made it to third place. Some were out of the race the first week, others made it to last week, I made it to almost the end of my third week. Today, after 21 days in Kenya, I missed a day of work. I woke up with an excruciating headache, which is odd because I'm not a headache-y person. When I get sick I usually get a sore throat or stuffy nose or something, but my head was pounding, so I stayed home. I imagine this is what a migraine feels like, and if it is then my heart goes out to migraine sufferers because it's very disorienting to have your head hurt like this. I suppose it's better than the alternative illness many of my co-volunteers have been getting: projectile vomiting and explosive diarrhea.

Last night after I left the internet cafe I went to the Royal Castle Hotel where every Wednesday there's a volunteer meeting. On the way there some street boys were begging for money and I said no. Then one said "You, from Dickson". I whirled around and said "What?" He said "You're from Dickson" and I said "How do you know that?" and he said "I was at Onesmus" and that's when I recognized his face. (Side note: I never stared working at Onesmus like they wanted me to, another volunteer preferred working with the street boys and I prefer the orphans, so it never happened, but there is various co-mingling going on between the two homes). I asked him what he was doing out on the street and he said he ran away from Onesmus. I ran inside and grabbed Idiot and told her to stay with the boy while I made some calls. I finally got a hold of Matheka, the man who owns Onesmus and Dickson and Matheka said the boy has run away over 5 times and after the 5th time they stop chasing the boys.

Normally if a boy runs away, Matheka goes to all the spots and hunts the boy down and brings him back to Onesmus, but after so many times he just has to give up. Sometimes Matheka spends all night out driving from spot to spot to help these boys. It was another gut wrenching moment. Here's a boy who was inches from being saved from a life on the street. He was living in Onesmus, getting his shit together, then the allure of some street "friends" and their glue drew him away time and time again and now he's done. I stood there with Idiot not knowing what to do. Matheka said to just go to the meeting and understand you can't help everyone, especially those who don't want it, but it was so hard. I waited outside til I finished crying so I didn't look like a big drama queen walking into the meeting looking like a lil bitch assed pussy, but it was really disturbing. I was on the brink of having an anxiety attack but thankfully I had some of the Xanax I got in my bag. Now that I'm typing this I feel like maybe that's what pushed me over the edge and sort of crippled me this morning.

It's like every time I get my shit together here and put up another emotional wall and try to accept that change is slow and things are different and hard, I get another swift kick in the balls. I know it sounds like I'm crying all the time, but I'm really not, just a few times. Also, it's not like I'm sobbing hysterically, I just can't control the tears at times. When I say "cry" it's like when I say I had sex with someone. When I say cry doesn't mean hysterical sobs and when I say sex it doesn't mean full-on anal penetration. It's just short hand.

Speaking of full-on anal penetration, I spent the meeting chatting up Stallion and it took all my strength to keep myself from knocking him out of his chair, covering his body in passion fruit juice, and licking it off. I swear after my 6 weeks here I'm going to have more self control than Buddhist monks.

Back to corruption, a girl had a crate of goods sent here for her project. There are tons of clothes and toys and a couple of bikes in the crate. The mail system won't release it to her until she pays them 1,000,000 Kenyan Shillings, or about $15, 384.62. Are you starting to get an idea of what it's like here?

Obviously I have no news about my project since I didn't go today. Hopefully Idiot and Clueless, left to their own devices, didn't burn the place down.

Going home to take a nap, headache still pounding. Much love.

Day 20

Clear out your afternoon schedule, it's going to be a long one.

1) Today, I hauled 2 mops, a broom, 2 dustpans, a giant wooden spoon (size of a small shovel), a grater, fly strips, two plungers, and an assortment of goodies the entire trek to Dickson. I seriously felt like a crazy bag man. A mezunga walking down a dirt road with that much shit is obviously a volunteer, so they didn't harass me much, but it still drew a lot of uncomfortable attention.

2) Been meaning to tell you: the best place to do your eyebrows is on the beach. The natural sunlight is unbeatable. I was in plucking heaven. My eyebrows are fierce.

3) I think I've officially cleaned more urine and feces in the past three weeks than I've expelled out of my own body in my entire life. My day is slowly becoming: sweep, clean urine, sweep, wipe ass, mop, mop, mop, clean urine, hand-wash clothing (urine and shit stains), lunch, clean urine, teach, clean feces, teach, clean urine. After dealing with 28 children I'm seriously considering getting a hysterectomy.

4) On a sad note, something really struck me about the school and social system here in Kenya. Today for break we played Chutes and Ladders with the 10-12 year olds. First of all, the fact that a 10-12 year old can be entertained with a game intended for ages 3-6 is pretty shitty. It either means they're simple minded (they're not) or they're extremely starved for entertainment (they are). On top of the fact that they were really into the game, it was more upsetting that they couldn't actually play without getting mad, crying, and cheating. At age 10-12. This is supposed to be one's first board game, like learning to play by the rules, move the appropriate spaces, etc. Concepts like this are completely foreign to these kids, and they're practically adolescents. It was pretty depressing.

5) I've come to appreciate Idiot and Clueless and look past their idiocy and cluelessness, but one thing that kills me is that they're SLOW ASS WALKERS! We walk like half a mile each way and they shuffle along at the slowest pace. I always play music on my self phone and true to form I sashay down the street/avenue/dirt trail to the beat. 1, 2, 3, 4. 2, 2, 3, 4. 3, 2, 3, 4. And so on. They don't step to the beat, they drag their feet, and the kick up tons of dust. I play Madonna remixes and they walk to the beat of an Enya song.

6) E, one of the more difficult kids was giving me so much shit today I wanted to just sit down and cry. He doesn't live at Dickson, his homeless mother drops him off there during the day and picks him up at night. I found out that she beats him on a daily basis and shakes him often. He's not even 2. I've become a lot more patient with him. The lesson I learned is that you never know someone's backstory, so take a chill pill.

7) I don't care what anyone says, Clear Channel is a full on monopoly. When a nation doesn't have Starbucks or McDonalds, but they have KIIS-FM, it's a monopoly.

8) When Heather and I were talking the other night my host mother came and shut my bedroom door. I thought it was because I was talking shit about Kenya. My roomie tells me it's because I used the word "fuck" about 87 times. Oopsie!

9) I have to take snacks to work or I will pass out. In addition to the mango I buy every day, I take some crackers and candy and stuff because the nasty orphanage food doesn't sustain me for 8 hours. I keep it in the volunteer house and feel like I'm in overeaters anonymous. I have to sneak into the house, quickly eat the food in the dark and then swish my mouth out with water. These lil bastards can smell snacks on my breath! They're always like "where were you" "you smell like biscuits (cookies)", it's fucking ridiculous. What can I say? I'm a fat man trapped in a skinny, rock hard, outrageously gorgeous body.

10) The other volunteers are slowly getting better with money, but they're also leaving one by one, so it's getting to be moot. They haggle over EVERYTHING not just the normal prices, but they want to pay less than what a Kenyan pays. Now, to give you a sense of money, bus rides are about 33 cents, taxis are $1.25, water is 70 cents, etc. The Kenyans don't argue with you to overcharge. They state a price, if it's too high you say no or if they don't give you correct change you ask for the correct change and that's that. They don't sit and argue with you to rip you off, so if they repeat a couple times "No, it's 50 Shillings" while you're arguing that it's 40 Shillings, you are the one that's in the wrong. Further, what's the fucking difference? I'll tell you what the difference is, 6 cents. If you're here to help the nation, you can't just come to help the kids and fuck over everyone else, let the 6 cents go for fuck's sake. Now, I've gone off a few times when they overcharge because I'm a mezungo (which I'm not, I'm fucking middle eastern, but whatevs), but I've never sat and argued with them that they're overcharging me when they insist it's the correct price because even the most retarded of observers will notice that they don't do that. Whew. Sorry about that, they really are nice people (the volunteers) and I'm not selling them very well at times, but obviously they've given a considerable amount of money and time to come do good, so they are good people. I think they just don't see things clearly sometimes.

11) Yesterday, after years of revulsion and swearing I'd never engage in this deviant and disgusting sexual act, I finally, forcefully caved. I engaged in watersports. More specifically, Yvonne gave me a golden shower. She's 3 and was running to the bathroom. She's one of those kids who holds it til the absolute last second and then goes FLYING towards the bathroom. Anyway, she was running, slipped, and fell so hard that I thought she had certainly cracked her head open. She hadn't but was wailing like a banshee. I went to console her and without thinking picked her up. As soon as I hugged her the stream began and didn't stop until her pants and my shirt were soaked. So there you have it, I've officially been peed on. As God as my witness, it will never happen again.

12) Every day I buy a 1.5 liter bottle of water and every day I have to put it on the top shelf so the kids don't play with it. Mostly, like most little children do, they put their mouth around the bottle. Children just love putting things into their mouthes. Toys, coins, whatever. Well, in addition to being a sexual deviant, Yvonne is also a big whore. Whenever Yvonne gets it, she deep throats half the bottle. I don't know how she does it, but her saliva goes well past the neck of the bottle and onto the label. If only she spoke better English I'd ask her for her technique.

13) I need to give some proper shout outs.
A) Mara M is having a conniption because everyone is getting a mention but her. She's tried calling me several times, has been unable to and is thus having acute angina. Mara, here's to you.
B) Two-time Emmy Award winner Matt B sent money for the kids upon seeing their food. He also has purchased a goat for a family in some other shitty country in need. He's like Princess Diana...but alive.
C) John L has been amazing. He was a large donor early on in my fundraising, posts comments almost daily and has just Western Union'd more money (although I advise against Western Union, go PayPal if you so feel compelled). He's an amazing guy with a generous heart. No bitchy comments for him, he's a peach.

14) Go see www.xanaduonbroadway.com and order food from www.nukitchenfood.com. They're not sponsors or anything, they're just friends with products that I believe in. I'd put up a banner or something, but I'm too busy saving orphans.

Ok, exhausted, must go. Much love to all of you. Not just saying that. Being alone intensifies the feelings one has for friends and family, so really, much love. ::cough:: ::cough:: lazy American assholes ::cough:: ::cough::

Day 19

I have the biggest headache from putting those pictures up. I can't even explain them. They're safari, the kids, and one is of a typical lunch. It's not spinach and mashed potatoes, it's weeds and ugali. Ugali is a mixture of water and flour. No salt. No butter. No sugar. No nothing. Look it up on Wikipedia or something. It's just awful, but it's so filling that it's a staple of the diet here.

I can't write much because of the hell the internet is giving me. Also, I forgot my little notepad at home, the one I make notes in during the day, so I don't remember what all I wanted to cover.

We finally had water today. At 8:30am, Yvonne peed on me, a big puddle on my shirt. One of the volunteers gave me an extra tshirt. I taught the 1st graders the days of the week. I threw down with one of the housemoms (the cunty one) and last night (MOM/DAD STOP READING HERE, SCROLL DOWN TO THE NEXT PARAGRAPH) I had the most intense orgasm of my life. It wasn't necessarily the 'best', although it might be, it's hard to define what the parameters for 'best orgasm' are, but it was definitely the hardest I've ever cum and the longest. I had like a full 30 second orgasm and I lost vision for a few seconds. I'm guessing it has something to do with the blood rush or the intensity or something, but my vision went straight up black. I think that's where the whole 'masturbating makes you blind' thing comes from. I imagine it has to do with the weeks of frustration coupled with a weekend at the beach where there were some pretty hot bodies. There was this American who I swear if we were in America I would have been all up on in 2.5 seconds, but was hesitant to do anything here in Kenya. By the time I devised the perfect plan (and it was perfect, more later) he had left. Anyway, just thought I'd share my intense wad shooting story because sadly there was no actual person to share the wad with. (Mom, Dad, again, I'm so sorry).

Heather S called last night. My only friend who can follow directions and call within calling hours. Although being the pushy bitch she is, she does like to push things to the absolute limits and as such she called 7 minutes before 9:00. But she did call before 9:00 so yay for Heather. On a sidenote, she's an uber-successful press rep for a multinational hotel chain, so being a pushy bitch tends to work out for her.

Ok, seriously, headache from the internet connection, must go, more details in tomorrow's post. Much love.