Day 46

After 3 days of travel, I'm home.

Where to begin?

My flight was to leave Mombasa at 7:20pm on Saturday night. At 7:00pm the runways at Moi International Airport lose power. They make an announcement that they are going to work on it and we'll take off as soon as it's fixed. We wait. And wait. And wait. At 12:40am (5 hours and 40 minutes of waiting later) they say the problem cannot be fixed. They will put us in a hotel for the night and then bring us back. What hotel do they take us to? One in Nyali. 45 minutes away. At 1:30am I crawl into bed. At 4:00am I receive a call- "Be in the lobby at 5:30am". Being the smart guy that I am, I go to the lobby at 5:40 knowing there'll be a delay. I'm the third person there. Evidently not so smart. We finally leave at 6:00am. We get to the airport at 6:45am and are told we're going to be put on the 7:45am flight to Nairobi. An hour of pandemonium later it's finally my turn to see the ticket agent. She tells me that I've missed the 7:45am flight (no shit you dumb bitch it’s 7:45 right now) but gives me my boarding pass for the 8:15am flight. I would then get to Nairobi at 9:00am, stay in Nairobi until the evening Amsterdam flight (10:00pm) arrive in Amsterdam at 5:00am, stay in Amsterdam until 3:00pm and then get on the evening flight to JFK. So essentially she wants me to spend a day in Nairobi, a day in Amsterdam, and then a day flying home to New York. They'll give me a hotel in Nairobi, but not in Amsterdam. I say no and explain that I want to take the morning fight from Nairobi to Amsterdam, not the evening flight and then I want to use the money for the Nairobi hotel on a hotel in Amsterdam, and will thus spend two days in Amsterdam rather than a day here and a day there. She says no. I ask to speak to a manager. I speak to the manager. She says absolutely not, she will not send me to Amsterdam until the evening flight. I then speak to her manager. This process takes an hour. It's now 8:45, the 8:15 has left (or so I thought) and I'm going ballistic. I start screaming. I am going stark raving mad because it has now been 2 hours of me trying to get a boarding pass (on top of the 12+ hour delay) and I am just getting shuffled around. All the travelers around me start being sympathetic because they saw that I was there before them, I have the longest to go (the only American, they are all going back to Europe) and that no one in helping. I'm screaming so much that for a second I almost think I better stop or I'm going to be arrested or something but at that point I don't really care anymore. Finally someone brings me a new set of boarding passes. I look at them. They are for the SAME itinerary I had at 7:45am!!! I scream "This is by far the most incompetent group of individuals I have ever encountered in my 25 years on this earth". Their eyes get big and they say "Fine, go, but you we're not giving you any vouchers or money, you have to pay for everything yourself" "FINE, GLADLY, just get me the fuck out of Kenya". They give me my boarding passes. I look at them and they are from Mombasa to Nairobi to Amsterdam. Not to JFK. They say that I have to take care of it myself in Amsterdam and that they aren't going to help me. They start pushing me to the gate and I look at the woman dead in the eye and scream "I fucking hate all of you" and go. It's 9:15 and the 8:15 flight, to my suprise, has not left yet. When I get on the plane I shout "A pox on Kenya Airways" and everyone starts laughing. Even in my seething rage, I can still pull out a giggle. Due to our 15+ hours of being held hostage by Kenya Airways the Euro travelers and I have formed some kind of sick bond. At 9:30 we finally take off.

The flight from Nairobi to Amsterdam was set to leave at 11:00am. We arrive at 10:45am and to my utter amazement they are delayed (God is smiling on me!!) and I make it on. When I arrive to Schipol aiport I go to KLM and explain. Instead of making me pay for my own hotel, they get me a hotel, they give me a 10 Euro voucher for food at the airport, they give me a 50 Euro voucher for my next KLM/Northwest flight, and they give me a 10 minute international calling card to notify others of my delay. I didn't even so much as blink in their direction. They just gave it all to me without me even asking. All I said was "I need to get a boarding pass to JFK because of the power loss in Mombasa" and they started showering me with all the amenities. Long live Western civilization.

So, Schipol International Airport in Amsterdam is an amazing airport to arrive in. It is huge, clean, and has a mall!!! I left all my clothing for the kids at Dickson (another slow attempt to gay them up) so I literally just had the clothing on my back. Luckily there's a Mexx and an H&M in Schipol Airport so I bought a new outfit and was on my way to the hotel. I thought I'd be at some shitty airport hotel (which I was MORE than happy to take) but no, I was not at the airport Marriot. I was put at the Schipol A4 hotel. It was like the fucking Four Seasons. Huge room, huge tub, king size bed, patio, living room area, the works. I showered, changed, and headed to what the www.gayamsterdam.com called Amsterdam's only 7-night a week gay club. The name? The Cock Ring. Ya. It's gross and full of old men, and had a "dark room". I've never been to a place that actually had a dark room, nor have I ever been in one, so I pretty much dipped out of there as soon as I walked in. I asked the doorman where all the young guys are and he says "Flower district". Naturally. Leave it to faggots to hang out in the flower district.

I stopped to get some fast food noodles on my way and found that even in non-English speaking countries I can't escape the torture that is known as Radiohead. I was eating for 11 minutes and they were still playing the one Radiohead song that was playing when I walked in. Their tunes are endless. Who needs an 11 minute song? 11 minutes is far too long for a song…unless it’s a Madonna remix.

When I arrived at Exit, the young gay bar, I was super happy. Yes, the music was crap. Yes, they smoked in doors. Yes, it smelled like dirty, sweaty, unshowered European, but it was gay, gay, gay. It was such a release. I literally was laughing at the guys there because they ALL knew the choreographed moves to old Spice Girls songs and screamed like little girls when songs like "What Is Love" by Haddaway and "Crazy" by Britney Spears came on. So bizarre. Dutch guys are really hot except for one thing that I couldn't get over. They all have really small teeth. Their teeth are like the size of American baby teeth. It was freaky and weird and it turned me off from everyone (on top of the not white and crooked-ness of their teeth). There was finally one guy who was hot and we talked a bit and when I asked him what he did he looked at me like I was insane for not knowing. Like I was the stupidest person on the planet. He looked at me and said "I'm a model". Now, you all know I live for fashion and I can tell you if he's a model, then I'm a Supreme Court Justice. He then said he's done modeling all over the U.S. in places like Los Angeles, San Diego, and Dallas. Now, I can tell you there is virtually no modeling scene in those cities. Models in America are in essentially all in New York, ESPECIALLY models who are flown over from places like say Holland. I should have asked him "Who have you modeled for?" but I was over it and said my good night and left. This guy was barely of porn-model caliber. Too short, big ears, small teeth, uneven eyes, thin lips. Despite what I just wrote, he was very, very attractive; just not a model. Now, it's very possible that he's done a little "modeling" for things here and there, but he was not a model and I highly doubt that Wal-Mart or whomever would fly in a Dutch model for a photo shoot in Dallas. I've "modeled". I've been paid for the use of my photographs for flyers and some print and I've even been on a cover, but I would rather call myself the most heinous thing I can think of (a heterosexual) than call myself a model. On top of being tired and ready to leave, the model thing was just too much so I said bye-bye and was off.

By now it was 3:30am and I had to be up at 8:30am so I headed back to the hotel. I had to take the train and then a cab, so by the time I got to bed it was 5am. I got up to have the intercontinental breakfast and it was more like the interplanetary breakfast. The spread was HUGE. It was like I walked into the buffet at the Bellagio in Las Vegas. So, the lesson is volunteer in Kenya, be really patient with moronic Air Kenya staff and then lose your shit and become a flaming cunt and as a result you will be rewarded with a free trip to Amsterdam, a nice hotel, a gay bar, and a wonderful breakfast.

Oh ya, the smoking weed in Amsterdam thing? AS IF! I don’t smoke weed in the US why the fuck would I smoke in Amsterdam? Unless it has the word “cock” after it, I want nothing to do with the word “smoking”.

This is turning so long and I’ve barely scratched the surface, so here’s shorthand for the rest of what I wanted to address:

1) If you’re traveling to Europe, prepare for headaches. The dollar is very weak, so EVERY European is coming to the US during the next few months (peak travel season) so get to the airport EARLY!
2) There’s a Euro porn star named Mukhtar Safarov with a 9” by 9” dick. I saw an ad for the live show he will be doing at The Cock Ring next month. Seeing the picture of a 9” by 9” dick was like the most obscene thing I’ve ever seen…and I’ve seen Kenyan orphan diarrhea.
3) I saw a ton of those Harijuku girls in Amsterdam (no idea if that’s a subsect of the youth there or what) but they are some funny shit.
4) Kenya Airways likes to play black TV shows in-flight (naturally). I watched a few episodes of “Everybody Hates Chris” and it’s actually pretty funny.
5) The sun doesn’t set in Amsterdam until 10:30pm. It was bizarre and fabulous.
6) Everyone accepts dollars, but we don’t accept anything else. Is that an allegory for America? Or is it simply because we’re awesome and everyone wants to be us and is jealous (especially Canada)?
7) I ran into two people in Amsterdam who said they were “New Yorkers” when I asked where they said “Albany” and I almost slapped them. Boroughs or bust!
8) I saw the doucheiest of douche bag shirts and the douchiest of the douche bags was wearing it. The shirt said “It ain’t gonna suck itself” I thought “Ya, and with that shirt no one else will either”
9) As a middle eastern man I’ve figured out how terrorists can get onto airplanes undetected. Time and time again I’ve seen that sense of doubt in security personnel’s eyes when they come across my passport or boarding pass or whatever, but then they look up and I see this sense of relief wash over their faces. Why? Because I look like the faggotiest faggot that ever lived. Who’s ever heard of an angry homo? A gay man doesn’t blow up (except for when you spill on his white pants). So all the towel heads need to do is lose some pounds, put on women’s jeans, buy the right accessories, put a hint of pink in their voice and learn to swish their ass around a little when they walk. Also, a little lip gloss and some tweezers go a long way.

Finally, thank you for reading. I had a blast during my travels and in sharing them. Much love to all.

P.S. Don’t worry, there WILL be a sequel. I’m aiming to be back in Kenya and at Dickson in August of 2008.

xoxo to all.

Day 45

No time to talk, but I'm on a 24 hour layover (unplanned) in Amsterdam. Details to follow. Home (hopefully) tomorrow night!

Day 43

Ok, it’s 10:30pm, I’m in the midst of packing, and have NO time, so this is going to be as brief as possible. The problem with that is that I am incredibly long winded and say much about nothing, like now, it’s taken me three lines to say, “this needs to be short”.

1) Thank you to all my friends who stood up for me. Specifically, Heather S, Darren S, Chad S, and of course Mark W. You told her but good. I honestly meant the apology, if you don’t know me, it’s some pretty venomous remarks, but I didn’t use her name, none of you know her, and it wasn’t intended for her to see. At any rate, I do feel badly, but it was all in good fun, so c’est la vie.

2) My cramps are Biblical today. Just an endless onslaught of sharp pains and jabs. I must be getting my period.

3) I got a Port Reitz matatu AGAIN today. Why is it that things don’t work out the way you want until the end? Never did I get one, now I’ve got Port Reitz matatus falling out of my ass (which is nice change from the atomic bombs that have been coming out). The matatu had a dozen live chicks on it that chirped the whole way. It was very surreal. Just like in the movies when there’s a chicken running around on a bus, this one had live chicks on it. It was also, sadly, filled with women taking their babies to Port Reitz hospital and after the 47th person got on the 14 passenger vehicle, I got off and walked the remainder of the way so that all these women wouldn’t have to stand hunched over holding their sick babies. Ya, I walked so women and babies could be comfortable, so put that in your pipe and smoke it Idiot.

4) Today at lunch I was informed by 5 year old Brian that last night in his prayers he prayed for my tummy to get better. I nearly lost it!!! He’s one of my absolute favorites. I love them all so much, but if I had to choose one to bring back to America he’d be at the top of the list. And this was well before he prayed for my tummy. He’s the little faggy one. SOOOOOOO cute and sweet. Then, when I told Dorcas that everyone could have TWO sweets today (I’ve been bringing sweets for “desert” after lunch, just another feeble attempt to “buy their love” and nothing to do with the fact that I want them to be happy and enjoy simple things that they never get, like candy), anyway, I told Dorcas she could have two and her eyes grew wide and she looked me dead in the face and said “God bless you Nima”. GOD BLESS YOU NIMA!!! I shit you not. I’ve never been God Blessed before (sneezing aside) and certainly never for candy. So I was prayed for and blessed on my second to last day.

5) As if watching kids pick a piece of candy out of a dish wasn’t hysterical enough, watching kids pick two pieces of candy out of a dish that has an assortment of candies in it is hysterical. You’d think they were trying to pick which brand of lube to purchase! The careful consideration, the weighing, the sweetness factor, the color comparison, the taste comparison, I mean so much goes into deciding which lubricant to purchase. The kids used almost as many factors to decide which candies to take.

6) Another hysterical thing, watching young ones wake up from an afternoon nap. They come out of bed all groggy eyed and look around as though the world is TOTALLY different than it was 2 hours ago. It takes them like 20 minutes to fully wake up and they always have this wrinkly forehead/squinty eyed thing going on. Priceless.

7) This may be my last post til I get to Schipol airport. I know, I know, that’s almost two days away! Pop a few Xanax to tide you over til then.

Ok, must go finish packing and burning CDs for the wee ones. I’ve moved away from gay disco and Madonna. I am now focusing on Beyonce, Pussycat Dolls, and Britney.

P.S. Courtney V, I’m sorry but “Charmed” is the worst show ever. I watched an episode over dinner tonite. Between the bad acting, bad dialogue, and bad special effects, I thought I was watching a porno that never came to completion. Why the hell do you like it so much? (Wow, I really am a bad person. I just outted someone as a “Charmed” fan, how embarrassing for her)

Day 42

Holy motherfucking hell…AGAIN! I have so much to share, but you should ration yourself because after tomorrow I don’t know how long til I can post again. Saturday I’m at Dickson all day and then I leave from there to go to the airport, so today and tomorrow may be it. Gasp! Anyway, without further ado (and right on time seeing as how there’s only a few days left of my trip and I almost got out scot free), here’s the beginning of today’s blog:
--------------------------
Dear Nima,
I was online this evening looking at some of my pictures and thinking about Dickson, and I remembered that you said you started a blog to keep updates about the trip and post pictures. I thought I'd give looking it up a shot and see if you had posted any nice pictures, and to my lovely surprise I found all the "wonderful" things you had to say about me. I thought you should know that never in my entire life have I been so offended. I think that what you've written about me, or should I say "Idiot," is disgusting and heartless and I can't believe after everything we saw and experienced together, my missing the matatu stop and questioning whether or not I should tip someone was really what was important to you. It seems like your time in a place where people have REAL things to worry about hasn't left any affect on you and that you should know that your impatience and heartless attitude has really hurt someone. Not to mention the lies and facade you put up telling me that my experience as a first time traveler must be difficult had any truth in it whatsoever... putting up a nice smile and writing these things as soon as you got home. I went there and did my best to try and be there for people who I thought might benefit from the time I had to give. How dare you pass judgement on me because it took me a bit longer than you to learn my way around. And no, that "bullshit about being a small town girl" was not bullshit, but rather a recognition of the fact that I've never traveled before and rarely spend time in busy cities, thus leaving you with a bit more experience in that department.
In your words, "and xxxx is NOT pushy at all so we don't get on [the matatu]. In her defense she's 19 and has never been out of the country. Plus, she's an idiot" .
Word of advice Nima, maybe you should STOP being so damn pushy and try being a decent person for a change. Not that I give a damn, and apparently nor do you, but I was never ever anything but nice to you and listened to your complaining and wining and never wrote or said one mean word about you. Quite honestly, I think your a heartless person who needs a dose of reality as to what you should really get upset over in life. Bluntly, who the hell do you think you are. And I guess you didn't have to worry after all, your concern about "this poor Idiot is going to get either lost or run over by a car if I don't take care of her, so I'm stuck with her" never really ever became a concern of yours, now did it.
In Naomi's defense, I hope she never finds what you've written about her and never has to find out the wonderful name you've bestowed upon her. And quite honestly, if your so into your project and so worried about the children, why the hell do you keep complaining about cleaning up the bathroom and wiping their noses... get over it!!! And if your so concerned that we all don't tip enough and argue about Matatu fares, why are you complaining about people (to quote you, Emmanuel's mother) asking for money. You were even the first one to complain that first day that you hate how the fares change. And stop calling the people at the restaurant idiots... things aren't the same there as in America, and unlike you, some people value others for their kindness, not their quick table service!! Basically, everything you complain about is entirely wrong and comes from you just having your head so far up to Diore sunglasses ass that you can't see anything but the opinionated nose right in front of you.
Anyways, I don't really have any more time to waste on you, but before I go, I thought you should know that on my last days in Kenya I was told by one of the coordinators that Matheka had approached them to let them know that while I seemed a bit culture shocked in the beginning, in the end I turned out to be one of the better volunteers from the bunch at Dickson. See, some people have some understanding of when people need a little time to adjust. Maybe if you didn't spend so much time commenting on other people, you could have done an o.k. job yourself.
I guess the saying holds true, someone will always find out...

Best of luck with becoming a good person,

~xxxx a.k.a Idiot :)


P.S.
-The children are not "ungrateful beasts"
-No one really cares that you dropped $200 for Dickson at Nakumat.
-stop referring to the kids as "Yeah, they're full of snot and piss and shit"
-your "showering 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." isn't what they need... you can't buy happiness.
-Just because my goodbye treats didn't cost as much money as your waived around all trip, at least they were smiling. real sweet what you had to say...
"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. "
Maybe if you stopped talking about your money all the time, you'd realize it can't buy their happiness.
-YOU DID ALL OF THESE THINGS YOURSELF -> "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."
Stop telling your friends your such a great volunteer and the rest are just vacationing. Get off your high horse Mr. "I need a massage because my life here is so hard." by the way, maybe they left you at white sands because NO ONE CAN STAND LISTENING TO YOU!
-And that's right, "she's not actually an idiot, she's actually rather smart." screw you, the three and a half weeks we knew each other makes you an expert on my life to say that i'm "just a social/travel/life idiot." sorry I haven't traveled all over the world yet. social idiot, huh? at least I don't flash my shinny digital in stranger's faces as if they're a tourist attraction.
-Get over cleaning the windows!
-flashing your cell phone music player while walking through a street where people have nothing but the cloth on their back is rude and inconsiderate.
--------------------------------
Yikes! Yowza! Holy Moly! I obviously don’t have the time to rebut everything, and you all know/can decipher what is and isn’t true/accurate about that email I received, but here’s my response (which I did email to her, I’m not just posting it in the hopes that she’ll read it):
--------------------------------
I apologize that you came across my blog and for the things that I
wrote that hurt and offended you. My blog was not intended for your
eyes, only for some friends of mine, my family and myself. Had I wanted to share
it with you, I would have. I must have let it slip that I have a blog,
but I really don't recall ever sharing that information with you. In fact I tried to deliberately avoid ever talking about blogging or the internet with you. I never said anything to encourage you to read my blog as I knew that it would hurt you.

I'm assuming you didn't notice, but I also say mean things about my
mother (I refer to her also as an idiot) and father (I call him a deadbeat) and brothers (I call them assholes) and best friends (I call them and myself whores) in the blog. In fact, I say all these 'vile' things about them and myself with the intention of them reading it! That is in
line with me and my friends' and my familys' style of humor, but obviously not yours. Just because I wrote it, it
doesn't mean they actually are lepers and whores.

If after our time at Dickson you actually believe that I think of the children as "snot nosed and piss filled" and that my intention is to "buy their happiness" then perhaps you're not as astute as you think you are.

Finally, the big difference between what I wrote on my blog and your email is that I did not write the blog for you to read, whereas you did write that email for me to read. I did not say disparaging things about you with the intention of you reading them; you did. Mine was written in a humorous prose whereas yours was written with rage and hurtful intent.

Again, I apologize that you came across my blog and suggest you refrain from reading it in the future as it is not intended for you. I am truly sorry that you read all those things and hope the fact that I'm responding to your email and apologizing to you at least nullifies any notion you have that I don't respect you and the work that you did out here. I do.

Best,
Nima
---------------------------------
There’s so much there and I’ll answer any specific questions/comments, but that’s all I can say on it for now. If you’ve been paying attention, this is reminiscent of the Nosy Neighbor debacle of France 2004. I’m sure she won’t heed my advice and will continue to read, and that’s her prerogative, but holy hell. I’m sure there’ll be more to share in the upcoming days, I anticipate a response to my email, so let’s wait with bated breath and see. And I already had so much to share today.

I woke up at 4:30am and felt like the alien from “Alien” was going to come shooting out of my abdomen. There was so much churning and wretching going on, I didn’t know which end was up. I went to the bathroom and my ass exploded like it was the Fourth of July. Turns out my ShopGirl sister and I have food poisoning from dinner last nite. I went back to bed, went to the bathroom at 6:00 again and then took a shower. How the water is so cold when NOTHING ELSE in this country remains cold will always be a mystery to me. Ice melts in seconds, but the water stays at 33 degrees all the time.

I went to the kiosk by my house to get a bottle of water on the way to work and this woman cut in front of me. I looked at her at said “Mimi kwanza” (I was first) and she laughed and didn’t move. Then the bitch who runs the kiosk, who overheard our exchange, began to serve the woman who cut in front of me. I cannot wait to get back to New York and put bitches like that back in their places. Who the fuck does that? I swear, if it were Jamba Juice instead of Mombasa Kiosk, those two whores would be eating the gravel on 13th St and Union Square West.

I got on the Migadini matatu and as we were driving I saw the Port Reitz matatu stopped on the side of the road so I banged on the roof, threw the conductor some money and jumped out of a moving matatu. The idea of walking a mile with my ass explosions was just too unbearable. I was sprinting so as to catch it and I swear I was squeezing my sphincter so hard I could have cracked a steel pipe. My stomach would just not stop and I had to run and squeeze so as to keep from diarrheaing all over myself and the bus stage.

I was really not well, but still had to go for a little bit, if only to see the kids. Two fucking days left. Unreal. I was only at the project for a couple of hours, but Emmanuel John managed to wet himself 3 times before 11:00am and I realized that watching a child choose which color candy he wants out of a dish is probably the funniest thing ever. Moses (fat ass) picked and put back no less than 10 pieces of candy before settling on one.

By 1:00 all the kids were home for lunch and I had said hello and was leaving. I left a two hour lesson plan for Clueless (who was an hour and a half late today) so I’m assuming the afternoon kids were fine. On the way home I was praying for a matatu, but ended up walking all the way to Migadini.

So, I’m sick, my stomach is churning, I’m pooing pretty much every 7 minutes and just want to slowly creep my way down the road. What happens? Somehow, somewhere, I became Elvis and start getting stopped every two feet. The first guy was in one of the little string of houses that are along the road and he was like “Hey, hey you” and I didn’t want to be rude so I went over. He was like “Come eat with us, I’m a Rastafarian (which I think was some veiled offer to smoke up with him and his friends), etc. etc.”. They were eating that sardine dish the kids had on Saturday and I swear I nearly threw up and shat myself at the same time as a result of the smell. I said thanks but no thanks and moved on. A little ways down the road guy #2 stops me and offers to literally break bread with me. He’s eating a baguette type loaf of bread and butter. Much more appetizing, but in my state I couldn’t eat a teaspoon of honey off Brad Pitt’s dick, much less a baguette, so I said thanks, but no thanks and moved on. THEN Juma, the guy who’s bike I’ve ridden on the back of a couple of times, is coming towards me and stops to wish me well on my trip Saturday and such. THEN I get called a mzungu by a naked baby in a water basin, THEN I get the “Hi, how are you” from some schoolgirls, which I have to respond to. All in all, SIX encounters down the road, when normally it’s ZERO encounters. The only explanation I have is that I was walking very slowly whereas normally I haul ass down to Migadini. Other than that, I have no clue why I was stopped so many times. I honestly wanted to just shit while walking down the road as a method of keeping people at bay, but I really like the shorts I was wearing today and didn’t want to risk staining them.

When I got to Migadini, two matatus were leaving and they were vying for my attention. I would like to say that it was for the privilege of having my oh-so-plump (albeit volatile) and divine derriere rest on their vehicle’s seats, but it was mostly a money thing.

I got home at 2:00pm, slept for two hours, went to the photo lab to pick up the pictures I dropped off yesterday, went to the chemist where I got ciprofloxacin for the bug and Buscopan Plus for the stomach spasms. This Buscopan Plus is amazing. I’ve never heard of it, and I’m a pill popper AND have mad tummy issues so I’m surprised I’ve never heard of it, but it’s pretty fucking great. My spasms haven’t stopped, but they’re way less frequent, less harsh, and spaced out. ShopGirl has vomiting instead of diarrhea, and no spasms, so no Buscopan Plus for her. Now I’m at home, using that incredibly unbelievable wireless (unbelievable in that it exists) to post this incredibly long post and to say, see you in a few days!!

Day 41

Holy motherfucking hell. Every day is another fucking debacle. I just spent an HOUR trying to get onto my blog. Every other internet site I've been using has been working, but for whatever reason, fucking piece of shit Google can't get its shit together and let my fucking blog load. In case you didn't know, Blogger is a Google product.

Ok, so this morning was the third time I got the Port Reitz matatu so I didn't have to walk a mile this morning. Olina was on the matatu with her mother Ruth. Ruth is one of the housemoms and Ruth brings her 3 year old daughter Olina to Dickson with her. Yesterday I had Ruth tell Olina in Swahili that if Olina wanders too far ahead of the group (as she ALWAYS does) that she can no longer go on walks with us. Well Olina was bitchy with me all day yesterday and today she saw me on the matatu, rolled her eyes, and looked away the WHOLE ride to Dickson. She's a fucking cunt...and I love it! A three year old with enough brains to hold a grudge? How fucking awesome is that?!? She's definitely head cheerleader/prom queen material.

I bought "Drum" magazine for Goretty, the cunty housemom. She asked me to buy it for her yesterday and I agreed. Guess what whore-bag-coke-sniffing-Valtrex-popping-piece-of-guttertrash-skank is the "celebrity" profile in this month's issue. Paris Hilton. That dirty tampon of a woman has even made it to the far corners of Kenya. There's no escaping her. Or Anderson Cooper.

Clueless got to work and as a result had to sweep with one of those bundle of sticks that the housemoms use instead of a western style broom. I was secretly (but obviously) smiling the whole time.

Moses tried to help me sweep today, but instead just made it worse. Why do children do this? They always want to help, but only with things that they cannot possibly be helpful in. He just spread all the dust and dirt back around. When I was painting the kids got paint on everything EXCEPT the object to be painted. What is it with being a child and being an annoying piece of shit that go hand in hand? Like peanut butter and jelly, like cookies and milk, like lube and assholes, being a child and being a piece of shit just seem to fit.

There was no power at Dickson today. In fact, there was no power beginning yesterday before I left, so it's been well over 24 hours. This morning we also ran out of water. No water, no electricity, 30 kids, 3 housemoms, a cook, 4 volunteers. It was trying to say the least. What was most trying of all today, however, were the little offspring of Hades that pass for my afternoon students. I was trying to do an old version of their final exam with them all afternoon. On Monday, they have a series of finals that determine whether or not they can go on to the next grade in September. Not only did they do poorly, but they wouldn't listen to me either. I'll be really sad if they don't pass. Of course, I'll be back in gorgeous NYC on Monday, so really who cares? Let the fuckers fail.

I know I talk a lot of shit about my kids, but you all know I love them dearly and am really really really freaking out. I think I'm about to have a melt down. I keep getting really worked up and am sooooooooooo not ready to leave them. I don't think I'll be back in Kenya until August of 2008, which is a full fucking year and some change! That's so long. They're all really grasping that I leave on Saturday, they keep saying stuff like "Sleep over" EVERY day and "Are you still leaving on Saturday" and "You only have three days left". It's honestly grating and grinding little slivers off my heart every time they say something. I just dropped off a CD at a photo place with 100 photos, so hopefully they won't forget me too soon. No, the 100 photos aren't of me, only 98 of them are of me. The other two are of Madonna.

Day 40

So I got to sleep in today. I had some stuff to do in town (I’ll get to that later) but as a result I got to sleep in because stores are only open from like 9:00am to 3:00pm here. Before I left, however, I managed to break my bed. Now, it’s not the first time I’ve broken a bed, but it’s definitely the first time I’ve broken the bed by myself. I plopped down on the bed after I got out of the shower and the entire mattress sank to the floor. I broke the support beam and several of the cross beams. I put it back together and am hoping my (evidently fat) ass will not break it again before I leave.

I wanted to find a photo lab, order a slew of sarongs for my kids, and purchase a couple of DVDs and thus needed to be in town during normal business hours. I was negotiating up a storm, which I HAAAAAAATE doing, but have to here. When I got home I asked Esther how much a sarong costs and she said 250 Ksh, and I got them for 230!! So I feel good about that, even though I HATE nickel and diming people, especially people with no money, but after the over charging I’ve faced, I suppose turnabout is fair play. I mean, the lesson to be learned is don’t top if you aren’t gonna bottom.

When I got to work, Clueless had done ALL the cleaning, which I felt kind of bad about, I thought there would be a Dutch volunteer there with her, but it turns out they were both off. Later, I heard retching in the bathroom and came to find out that she had thrown up! I felt kind of bad for her, she looked awful, but then she was out drinking tonite, so I’m beginning to think maybe it was hangover vomit session? Bitch.

The afternoon kids were ANGELS today. It was so good, they did all their work and then we wrote the lyrics to “Car Wash” by Christina Aguilera off the “A Shark’s Tale” soundtrack (these kiddies LOOOVE their Pixar/Dreamworks shit) and then sang the song. I also threw in “Lollipop” by Mika because 1) it sounds like a kids song, 2) they know what a lollipop is, 3) I like Mika, and 4) I’m still working on making them all gay.

I stayed after and played Free the Bunch for a solid hour. I was sweat soaked and had to borrow a shirt from Ongeri. Older Mary finally opened up a bit and played and I saw her laugh for the first time, so that was nice. I really think she’s a sweet, wonderful girl, just a few problems (obviously, I mean all of my kids have serious, real world problems). I gave them a DVD with the last 7 James Bond films on it, but just as I gave it to them the power went out, so they didn’t get to watch it. Hopefully I can watch the new “Casino Royale” with Daniel “I-Could-Eat-His-Ass-For-Days” Craig in it.

I am a Goddamn-pussy-eating- (cock sucking just didn’t fit for obvious reasons) idiot. I forgot my camera’s battery in the charger this morning. 4 days left and I’m camera-less. I should be hung on a tree by my balls. This might be a good time to mention that neither of my parents have particularly foul mouths. First and foremost, English is their second language so to pepper one’s dialogue with such descriptive profanity requires a certain proficiency with a language. But mostly I didn’t pick up my mouth from them because they’re not nasty dirty mouthed whores; just a couple of classy Iranians livin la vida loca in the Land of 10,000 Lakes.

The following is the conversation I had on the matatu on the way home:

(Conductor gives me back 75 Ksh in change instead of the 80 Ksh he’s supposed to give me)

Me: Ey! Hapana ishirini na tano, ishirini.
Him: Ishirni na tano.
Me: Hapana.
Him: It’s rush hour.
Me: Mi mi si mzungu. Ishirini.
Him: (gives me back my change) Una nini?
Me: Mi mi ni Mkenyan.
(Laughter all over the matatu)
Guy #1: Una toka wapi?
Me: Mi mi ni New York.
Guy #2: Una sema Kiswahili mzuri.
Me: Asante.
Guy #1: Una kuja wapi?
Me: Port Reitz. Mi mi ni mwalimu.
Guy #1: Una enda wapi?
Me: CMC.
Guy #1: Nini? (pointing to my tattoos)
Me: Baba na mama.
Guy #1: Wewe Marabian?
Me: Hapana, mi mi ni Marakani, mama na baba Miraniani.
Guy #1: Mzuri. (his stop) Kwa heri.
Me: Nimufurahi kukujua.
Guy #2: Wewe, nzuri usiku.
Me: Usiku mwemwe.

Now, obviously that means nothing to you, but the fact that I speak and understand that much Swahili is MIND BOGGLING!!! Who knew? I’m sure context clues give away most of it, but they asked where I was coming from, where I was going, what my tattoos were, where I’m from, and goodbye/good night. It was still pretty fucking amazing, the whole time I was telling myself “don’t fuck up, don’t fuck up, listen carefully, don’t fuck up”. I mean, I know I’m amazing, but today I really blew myself away. Yay me!

I got home, had dinner, went to the internet café and the internet was down, so I’m now at home typing on MS Word hoping to copy and paste onto my blog. On the way home, a street kid asked for money, I said no, come with me though, and went to a street vendor to buy some food, when I turned to ask him what he wanted I saw he was huffing on a bottle of glue and gasoline. I screamed at him and told him to go to Onesmus Boys Centre to get his act together and left. As if that wasn’t bad enough, my tuk-tuk driver GAVE HIM A CIGARETTE! This kid was like 11 or 12 years old. Normally I tip my drivers (which is unheard of here) but I sure as shit didn’t tip that fucking enabler. I was so mad that I wasn’t thinking clearly. Had I been, I would have gotten off his tuk-tuk and gotten on another one so as to not give this guy my business. Fucking cigarette dishing out asshole.

Finally, I’m sitting on my bed on a pile of clean laundry and realized I probably didn’t explain what happened with the maid/money situation. So I wrote her a little note and said “I’m going to give you 500 Ksh for my laundry instead of 300. Don’t tell Esther you’re doing my laundry, if she asks just tell her I’ve started doing it myself”. This started two weeks ago. Today I left her 1,000 Ksh (about $17). I also left my underwear in the pile of laundry. When we first arrived we were told that even if we paid to have our laundry done, we’d have to hand wash our own underwear because in Kenya it’s rude to have someone else wash your underwear. My rebuttal: it’s rude to ask a paying houseguest for money, so wash my knickers you biatch.

Day 39

Dear Mark W- Please forgive me. I can’t live without your comments. I’ll do whatever it takes. Or rather, I’ll make one of my African diamond miners …er, I mean “orphans” do it for me.

xoxo
n

Now, on to business.

This morning on my way to work, I got kicked off the matatu at the halfway point. There weren’t enough people on the matatu so they dumped me and the other passenger and turned around to pick up people who were going INTO town instead of out of it. I had to walk forever until the next bus stage and finally got picked up, only to be trapped in the back like a sardine, a gorgeous hard-bodied sardine, but a sardine nonetheless. When I finally got out I had to yell at the people “Enda tafadali” before people moved. Assholes.

Even with my delay, I beat Clueless. Shocking. Although I have to say she redeemed herself a bit today. She was putting away one of the older boys’ laundry when she came across a bottle of glue hidden under a pile of clothes. I really don’t know much more about it, but Elisa, the head housemom told Clueless to keep it quiet for now and obviously in a country with glue addiction problems, finding a hidden tube of industrial glue under a pile of clothing is cause for alarm. I’m worried, but hoping there’s a logical explanation because my kids are too monitored and such to be sniffing. I think he’s probably selling it or something, which is bad I admit, but hopefully he’s not using.

One thing I haven’t mentioned before is that when cleaning, a rag can only pick up so much. For most cleaning projects, one requires water and paper towels. We have neither at Dickson, so I’ve taken up wiping Ajax off the kid’s sink with my hands. My bare, unworked hands. I’ve been moisturizing like crazy, but without my moisturizing gloves to sleep in, I’m scared the damage to my hands may be permanent. So help me God, if my unblemished hands end up calloused and ungirly-like, blood will be shed.

At 11:55am Emmanuel John directly peed on me. He climbed up onto my leg and I felt the stream start and was soaked within ½ a second. That little fucker is and has been on the bottom of my list for a long time, but today when he opened Mwangi’s clothes drawer and PEED INTO THE DRAWER, I nearly slapped him. I just got up and got Ruth, one of the housemoms, to take care of it. I should have gotten Goretty, the one who WOULD have slapped him, but I was so angry that he had peed on me only to go pee in Mwangi’s drawer that I wasn’t thinking clearly. Ruth just said, “Let’s just put a diaper on him” and cleaned the drawer. She’s a saint, but I really wish I would have gotten the biatch.

Today we couldn’t find Mwangi’s regular shoes, so we put a different pair on him. Now, I know this is insanely cruel, but I couldn’t help it. Mwangi couldn’t really walk in these shoes for some reason, and as a result he kept falling down face first. It was like, Step, Step, Step, SMACK as he bit…it…hard! I know it’s awful and I’m going to hell, but every time he fell, I started cracking up. I don’t usually laugh when someone falls, I actually think it’s really stupid. I know some people find it really funny, but for whatever reason I don’t. Today however, it was just the funniest shit ever. I think it has to do with my talking about the Hank Azaria character in “The Birdcage” yesterday and how he couldn’t walk in shoes, but apparently today Mwangi couldn’t either. He’s such a little fucker most of the time that it was almost like karmic retribution. Obviously once I figured it out I changed his shoes. I mean, I waited like another hour, but then I changed them. Step, Step, Step, SMACK! Hysterical to the max.

Ongeri was a terror today too. He just would not do his work during class. He was totally acting up, and earlier he had killed a butterfly which kind of pissed me off and disturbed me, but then I thought about it and realized that that’s kind of stupid. I mean, a butterfly is just another bug. I wouldn’t care if killed a fly, or even an entire ant colony, but what, because it’s a butterfly and it’s pretty it’s NOT ok to kill it? So beautiful things get special treatment and ugly things don’t? It seemed kind of fucked up to favor beauty, so I got over it, but Ongeri was an asshole even without the butterfly slaughtering. He finally behaved when I gave him the lyrics to “Holding Out for a Hero” as sung by Jennifer Saunders in Shrek 2. I know, I know, I have to stop gaying my kids up, but it’s so easy and fun! At any rate, they all loved it and love this method of working on their English; writing lyrics and then singing along to the song. Tomorrow: “I Will Survive” by Gloria Gaynor.

I skipped my Swahili lesson tonight, which was supposed to be my last one. I just can’t be bothered to go in when I have a ton of shit to do. I’m wrapping stuff up and setting up lesson plans for the next few weeks to make the transition easier, but my time is running out and I’m not even remotely ready. Really, I mean, I’m like Marilyn Monroe, I’m leaving the party before my time. =( So, I have lyrics to print, CDs to burn, and purchases to make. As a result, Swahili had to take the back burner.

By the way, calm your ass down. I’m not really teaching them “I Will Survive”. I’m teaching them “It’s Raining Men” by The Weather Girls.

Day 38, Part Mbili

Before I go to bed, I feel compelled to respond to the two comments from Day 38-

1) Let be known from here forward, Nick C's official title in "The Book of Nima" is family. I don't often given credit where credit is due, but Nick is family. He's like my brother, impotent husband, and menopausal wife rolled into one. Now boys, don't get me wrong, Nick is known throughout Chelsea, most of Hell's Kitchen, a bit of the East Village and even a spot or two in Brooklyn for being a tiger in the sack. The inference to be made from the husband-adjective above is that he's my non-sexual husband. He brings home the bacon and complains about the cooking but leaves my bed cold and alone. The menopausal wife comment is because he gets hot flashes and has a dry pussy.

2) Mark W- After your last comment, I now know for certain you are not in Mensa and that it's all some pathetic ruse.

First, why would someone with a high intelligence quotient WANT to eat syphilis riddled twat? Wouldn't someone with a high IQ eat NON-SYPHILITIC twat?

Second, twat is not plural on its own, it requires an "s" to become plural. Example, "Look at those three dumb twats over there, they can't even put together a matching skirt and blouse ensemble".

Third, even the dumbest homo knows that "moose" is not the same as "mousse", so to TELL a homo that "moose" is not "mousse" is quite a moronic thing to do, something that is NOT indicative of a high IQ. If gay men only know ONE thing, it's hair care products.

Fourth, one should always be deeply ashamed of any association with northern Minnesota, so to proclaim on a blog as wildly popular as mine, a forum that is open to the world at large, that you have friends "up north" displays an intelligence level that is generally reserved for phytoplankton.

Fifth, after 11 years of friendship, I should hope that past experience has demonstrated that comparing 'twat' and 'twats' is not enough "food for thought" to last me a week.

Sixth, when a gay man can whoop you, a breeder, in a "twat" discussion (the following is to be said in my best Jeff Foxworthy impression), you might not be a Mensan.

Finally, kindly keep twat and twat discussions off my blog. While your general comments are much appreciated, this is not an open-pussy discussion blog. Strictly penis. Keep that pussy smut where it belongs, behind closed doors. There's nothing wrong with twat...just as long as it's never shown the light of day and used only for the purpose of repopulation...until we create an artificial womb. Then we should just start stitchin that shit up.

Ok, now that I've sufficiently kicked your ass for no REAL reason, (which is SOOOO insanely cunty of me given that all I do is solicit comments and then tear you to shreds after doing so), I should bid you all good night. Mark- I love ya too...even though you're a fake Mensan. Please keep recruiting and commenting. =)

Day 38

There's very little to report today. I watched Shrek I at my homestay this morning and then went to White Sands to layout all day. It was gloomy and rainy all day so we mostly stayed in the outdoor, covered restaurant and talked and ate. It was fine, relaxing and nice, but I really would have liked a little sun. C'est la vie.

So apparently White Sands is where all the queers in Kenya hang out. I saw this lil faggot sashay across the lobby and followed him for a bit, trying to make eye contact. He wasn't particularly hot or anything, decent but whatever, but I was just curious to see wassup. Well, luckily he spoke to a beach vendor before I spoke to him because when he opened his mouth my dick pretty much shriveled up. On top of having a super queeny voice, he had that accent that Hank Azaria uses in "The Birdcage", very lispy with a hint of Guatemalan. I'm normally kind of into queeny guys, but his voice was like on a permanent helium-high. Also, he kind of walked funny, and I kept thinking about Hank Azaria in "The Birdcage" and how he can't walk in shoes because shoes make him fall down and as a result I kind of started giggling to myself. People kind of loose their sex appeal after imagery like that.

I got to read some of my book, Malcolm Gladwell's "Blink" and I have to say it's really quite interesting. Look into it.

I want to give a couple of quick shout-outs to people I've been thinking about or have popped into my head for various reasons:

Bryan J, Chad D, Chad S, Cody M, Colleen B, Dan B.S., Darren S, Erika T, Hooper S, John L, Luke K, Mark W, Megan H, Michael F, Tom B

To my family/wives/mistresses- if you're getting your panties in a bunch because you weren't mentioned go eat a syphilis riddled whore's twat. You know you're always in my thoughts.

Day 37 (One week left! I'm not ready to come back!)

Today was movie day!!! It was awesome.

First, a hard dose of reality. Last night on my way home from the internet café I was hit up by a 7 year old street boy with a glue/gasoline addiction for money. He held my hand (as many of them do) and walked a few blocks. It’s been battered into our brains that we are not to give any money to these children, but I honestly was about to tell him to let go of my hand because I was about to cry, when I got to where I was going and ducked in. Luckily another volunteer was there and she had some food on her, so we ran it out to him and he got to eat a bit. He left my hand BLACK with soot and tar. It’s just so fucking wretched to see these kids. I used to think the little kids in Mexico who sold bracelets and gum were sad, but I realized that their lives are fucking cake compared to the kids here. Those kids are usually wearing clothes and have some source of income or something because how do they get the gum/bracelets in the first place? They don’t grow in the wild. The kids here however are usually not dressed or dressed in rags, emaciated, dirty, and aren’t hawking anything. It’s honestly too overwhelming now because my kids WERE these kids before Dickson and I just can’t handle it anymore. I’m read to come home if only to get a break from heartache.

On my way to Dickson this morning I was waiting for my matatu in town when I saw a homeless man with a likely serious medical problem. He was essentially wearing rags. His pants were like chaps. They were split down the middle and kind of gone around the inner parts and just had a waist band and the outer side had fabric, but like I said, essentially chaps. Anyway, his genitals were massively swollen on one side and I have no idea what might cause that, but it was really really sad to see. I can’t imagine the immense amount of pain he must be in on top of the fact that he likely has a serious problem because I’ve never even known of something that could was that kind of swelling and discoloration. It was not a pretty thing to see at 10:00am.

I got to Dickson and the kids were reciting Mathew 7:7, which I have to admit, I kind of like. I memorized it with them and it goes a little something like this: “Ask and it shall be given to you, seek and you will find it, knock and the door will be opened to you”. Now the caveat (because with religion there’s always a caveat) is that you can’t ask (pray) for it and just get it. You have to also work for it. The example given was that you can’t pray to pass your math test and then fool around all day. You have to ask for it and then work for it and then it will happen. I just thought it was nice to not put it all in God’s hands, but sort of a combo fate/make your own fate sort of deal.

The urine/feces part of my story occurred a few times today, so I’ll do them in chronological order, the grossest being first thing in the morning. Manu took his massive morning dump in his tiny potty, which I then in turn dumped into the toilet. I usually turn the little potty upside down, whack it a few times, and then go bleach and wash the potty out. Well I whacked it a few times and heard the “Plop!” sound of the poo falling into the toilet so I lifted the potty up to turn it right side up when I heard another “Plop!”. Apparently, ½ the poo went into the toilet on the first “Plop!” while a remainder was stuck to the potty at first. Well the second “Plop!” occurred when I had raised the potty up a bit, so there was space between the potty and the toilet and the second “Plop!” resulted in toilet water, poopy, urine filled toilet water, to splash up onto my forearm. Orphan poop, orphan pee, and African toilet water on my forearm at 11:00am. Who needs my former Givenchy’s “Very Irresistble” or my new Yves Saint Laurent’s “”L’Homme” (which is waiting for me at home, I can’t wait!)? I mean really, who needs those when you have Dickson’s “Eau de Baby Ass” on your pulse points?

The kids had anchovies and ugali for lunch, which may explain why their bowel movements are so fucking rank. I mean, do these children who live off beans and such need to add smelly fish to their diet?

We went to the movie theater and for theater behavior I’d give Manu an A, Moses a B, and Mwangi a C, which is odd because I thought Moses would be A, Mwangi B, and Manu C. Mwangi speaks the most English so I though Shrek 3 would be fun for him, Moses is very subdued and speaks adequate English so I thought he’d be relatively good, and Manu is the youngest so I thought he’d be bored. In reality I had to take Mwangi and Moses to pee a couple of times and ended up walking around the lobby with them for a bit, while Manu sat quietly and contently the entire time. They all had diapers on, but Moses and Mwangi wouldn’t pee in them, which is actually awesome seeing as how we’re potty training them. When I arrived 5 weeks ago, they wet themselves incessantly, but with the work we’ve been doing, Moses and Mwangi are essentially potty trained. I rarely change their pants, and if I do it’s only a little bit because they couldn’t hold it any longer. So it’s really encouraging to see progress and that even though they were wearing diapers they still wanted to go and pee instead of wetting themselves.

Gross bathroom behavior story number two comes during one of our bathroom breaks. I was helping Moses use the toilet (no potties, so it was scary and big and difficult for them, but they still did it) and while I was helping Moses I heard a man yelling “No, no, stop that” to Mwangi, I was certain Mwangi was like grabbing this man’s dick or something and started screaming “Mwangi, hapana!! Ni li sema hapana!, Ndjo, KUJA!” when he finally came around and the man was coming after him and said to Mwangi “Wash your hands” and then the man turned to me and said “He was playing with the urinal cakes”. It’s quite sad when you’re RELIEVED over the fact that your kid was playing with urinal cakes.

So the kids loved the movie, had a great time and we went home. Shrek the Third is great, this was my second time seeing it (if you’ve been paying attention, you’ll recall I saw it last Saturday night). I did the math, and here’s the breakdown: to take 36 people from Dickson to the cinema and back (a half hour drive), to buy them tickets, to buy everyone a small popcorn and small soda, the cost of all this came to $7.26 per person. A long roundtrip travel, tickets, popcorn, soda, $7.26. That’s the price of happiness in Kenya.

On the way home I ran into TB Boy formerly of Onesmus. I’m not quite sure on the story, but I think he’s a runaway who wanted to come back but had run away too many times. I’m not sure, but one of the Onesmus volunteers introduced me to him and stuff. Anyway, the boy was been living in a shack in the middle of nowhere because he had tuberculosis and needed to be quarantined. He’s on meds now so he’s not contagious, but the medication takes a lot out of you and is a six month course. Rukia JUST ended hers, so I know a fair amount about it. Anyway, the boy is like 16 or so and just beautiful in the face. Big lips, gorgeous smile, warm eyes, friendly, kind, but his body is like that of a 7 year old. I’ve never seen someone who was so literally skin and bones. I had some cookies in my bag and gave them to him, and I know he’s being fed because the Onesmus volunteers are taking care of him, but it’s such a God awful illness and takes so much out of one. Anyway, he’s on the road to recovery, so it was nice to see him. And he’s such a friendly, uplifting kid, that it was a nice way to end my day at Dickson.

During my matatu ride through town I noticed a bakery that I’ve never noticed before, otherwise I would have commented on it. The name? The Master Bakers.

Finally, I don’t condone smoking and don’t think any of my friends are stupid enough to be smokers, but what I do condone is saving money (especially if you’re going to give it to me for the kids at Dickson/for my return trip to Mombasa) and I do condone a bargain, so here goes- cigarettes are about 70 cents a pack here, so if you’re a smoker and you want me to bring you cigarettes, let me know. I’ll find out the “best tasting” ones as they don’t have Marlboro/Camel/etc., but they do have Dunhill and Benson and Hedges if you’re interested, as well as some other brands. Anyway, let me know and I’ll pick you up a few cartons.

Gave my kids a literal experience of a lifetime seeing as how they’d never been to a cinema before. Best…day…ever.

Picture

Random pic of me in all my splendorous glory.

Day 36

As you know, picture day is stressful so the posting is going to be short.

I woke up at 1:00am last night because I realized (in my sleep) that I started taking Benadryl last week for my allergies and that anti-histamines have a history of making people groggy. I remembered I had two emergency Clartin-Ds in my backpack and took one today as an experiment. Sure as shit, I was 100% back to my normal, not exhausted, an-utter-delight-to-see-and-hear self. Huzzah!

C.U.N.T. is being promoted back to Clueless for a few reasons. One, she's been trying really hard this week. Two, C.U.N.T. is just a really harsh nickname for her, I mean even if she sucks, she did sign up to volunteer in Africa so there's got to be some credit given for that, furthermore, it's not like she's a bad person, she just kinda sucks, so after careful consideration, I'm changing her name back to Clueless.

I bleached the living hell out of the children's bathroom today. I normally bleach and wash everything, but today I like scrubbed the literal shit out of it. It should be sanitary for about 20 minutes.

When I arrived at Dicksons, before I even got my backpack off I had to change a pair of piss stained pants, find a pair of shoes, and carry a crying baby. Despite all this, I'm getting REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY ridiculously depressed. I am not ready to leave my kids (even though I'm ready to leave Kenya). If I could, I think I would stay longer. It's hell here, but my kids make hell seem like a day at the beach.

I used a ton of Swahili today. Much to my surprise I can communicate with non-English speakers and am understood. Admittedly my Swahili is so broke it makes Bobby Brown look like a billionaire, but the point remains that I communicated, made purchases, and told several people "Mi mi si mzungu", which means "I'm not a white person". =)

I swear God designed my kids just for me. They like gay music. They love my arms. They love my hair. They can't get enough of me. And today Apina was staring at me while we were talking and said "Your teeth are so white". I looooooooooooooove it!

A guy on the street said "Buy me a soda" I said "No" he said "Aren't we friends" and I said "If we're friends why don't YOU buy ME a soda". He just looked at me and walked away.

I was so thirsty on the matatu coming home and I remembered I had a juice box in my backpack. I found it only to see that the straw was missing. I punctured the juice box with a pen and sucked the juice out of a pen tip sized hole like an infant sucking a teat.

Finally, you know how every day I hit a new low? No matter how vile and disgusting and retching the day before was, the following day seems to bring something even more heinous, more unmentionable, more perverse than one ever thought humanly possible? Well today was even worse than the Mwangi/Diarrhea debacle of Day 34. Today, despite all my attempts to keep some modicum of dignity while in Kenya, the unspeakable happened. I watched Home Alone 3.

Pictures!!!

Day 35

Before I begin, let me say that contrary to what you've been reading on here, I am not inordinately obsessed with feces. In fact, under normal circumstances, I am the FIRST person to start shrieking like a schoolgirl and hitting the speaker when the conversation turns to poop. It's simply not lady-like to discuss such body functions and as you all know, I am a proper lady through and through. It simply is the case that I am not in a normal lifestyle situation here and number 2 keeps popping up left and right. My disgust/phobia is probably my mom's fault (always blame the mother). In reality, she had a couple of horrific poop experiences as a child, one involving her falling into a toilet in Iran (In Iran they basically have a big hole in the ground. Over the 40 days that I was there in 1992, I shat 3 times because I could not bring myself to stand over a hole and shit into it). At any rate, my mom had some trauma and has been miffed by poop ever since. I am the only child that actually listened to her growing up and as a result am utterly creeped out by poop and all things poop related. My brother on the other hand eats food WHILE taking a shit. We're a proud clan, the Daivari's. That said, on to today's posting, which begins yet again with a poop tale.

I finally broke today and am now ready to leave Kenya. I'm not ready to leave my kids, but I don't think I will ever be, so I have to gauge by when I'm ready to leave Kenya and today marks the beginning of the end. I have 7 days left, and I think that's a proper amount of time. I was awakened at 5:00am today with a massive urge to go shit. It finally struck after 35 days. I really thought I was going to be the ONLY person in history to come to Kenya and not have a bout with Imodium A-D. I blame the mutton burger I had for lunch yesterday. I mean, the last time someone had mutton was in the middle ages. At any rate, I was ill all morning but still went to work; albeit an hour late.

Since I was in a unclear state of mind, I really did almost get killed by a matatu today. I actually pulled a move I pull in New York, which is to hit the vehicle with an open palm when it gets to close. This matatu got so close that not only did I hit it with my hand, I honestly could have head butted the vehicle. Inches, literally inches away. I could almost swear that he was trying to get as close as possible with the knowledge that he very well could have hit me.

It was a pretty calm day at Dickson. I told the kids I wasn't feeling well and they were very sympathetic and well-behaved. At the end of the day I gave them a DVD of Home Alone 1-5 (who knew there was a 3, 4, and 5?) and we watched Home Alone 2: Lost in New York. Well, WE watched about 20 minutes of it before I decided that I'd sooner eat the pile of liquid shit that came out of me that morning than watch another minute of Home Alone 2: Lost in New York. The film (and I use the term "film" loosely) did however make me miss home. I particularly enjoyed the fact that Macauly Caulkin managed to see Times Square, the Statute of Liberty, the Twin Towers, the Empire State Building, Central Park, and got to check-in at The Plaza all before lunch time. Home Alone 2 is so based in reality it's practically a Dogma 95 film.

On the way home I noticed a few roadside stands that were selling herbal remedies out of jars. It was straight up out of the wild wild west. Elixirs and tonics and herbs to cure what ails ya. I also saw a homeless woman with no feet begging for money. I also saw a slew of children huffing glue and gasoline and a ton of repressed Islamic women. I think what really has made me ready to leave is that I can't handle it here anymore. That bitch Debbie Downer has reared her ugly head again and in all honesty, my heart just can't take anymore. My heart physically hurts from what I'm seeing every single day. From the villages to the kids to the homeless to the lack of water to the lack of nutrients. Even the animals make me sick because the cows look emaciated as hell. Seeing a cow that weighs less than 100 pounds is as disturbing as it sounds. My heart and soul are just so heavy and dampered and I just need to stop seeing it all the time; which is so weak and pathetic, the need to hide my head in the sand for a bit, but I honestly just need a little break. I'm sure that the suffering people need a break too, one that will likely not come in their lifetime, but I'm really at a loss as to what else to do.

After I got to town, I went to my Swahili lesson where I was the only one who showed up. I got gang banged by the two Swahili teachers. Usually one takes the slower people and one takes the more advanced people, but today it was 2 on 1. Between the English, French and Farsi cognates and the 2 years of foreign language studies at USC, I obviously have a better grasp on grammar and such than the average Swahili student, so they just bombard me with useless grammar rules and information, which I understand but don't really need, what I need is a vocabulary. But they got off on me understanding differnt grammar rules and such so they just kept moving forward and I was conjucating the same 4 verbs in the subjunctive, the irregular, the negative, and the present form. I asked a few times to focus on vocab but they were not really listening. I'm learning Swahili from people who's second language is English so it's like broken English teaching fluent Swahili to a fluent English speaker with broken Swahili. It gave me a massive headache and I was really about to just flip out when class ended and I was freed. My dream involving me and two aggressive black men alone in a room were not to be played out like this.

Ever since I arrived, the kids were counting down the days to June 29th, which is when Shrek the Third came to Kenya. I didn't understand why they were so excited, it's not like they were gonna get to go. Last Friday (the 29th) I found out from over a dozen heartbroken Kenyan orphans that they thought Shrek the Third was going to be on TV on the date, they didn't realize it was just an advertisement. So...we're taking the kids to the cinema on Saturday to see Shrek the Third. None of them have been to a movie theater before. Myself, C.U.N.T. and a few others are paying for everyone and the matatus to take us to and from the cinema. They've NEVER been. Can you imagine? They're going to be blown away. I'm so excited. And I just can't hide it. I'm about to lose control and I think I like it.

Day 34

Happy 4th of July! You lucky bastards better be kissing the ground and kissing the good lord's ass because YOU are fortunate enough to live in America. We have our problems, but it truly is the best place to live and be. I know some of you douche bags are gonna say, "What about Canada?" but I say Fuck Canada, U.S.A. all the way. Seriously, we have it made. Also, if by some grace of God Barack Obama becomes our next president (I don't see it happening) but if he does, and we have a black, Muslim president, I really think it will help eradicate the memory of the last 8 years both from our minds and from the rest of the world. We will then truly be the Prom Queens of the world.

Today was another tired day. I think I'm not sleeping well because my mind is racing all the time. My time is far too quickly dwindling away and I'm not ready to leave. Well, I'm ready to leave Kenya, but not ready to leave my kids. I'm scared that on my last day I'm going to have a panic attack and sob all day and then I'll be forever known at Dickson as that crazy crying mzungu with the fabulous arms.

I got a Port Reitz matatu today, which is the 2nd time EVER! Because they are so far and few in between, they are packed to the gills. Just try to guess how many people were crammed into a 12 person mutato. Seriously, take a moment and think about that. 12 seats, 12 seatbelts, how many people were on there when I got off the mutato? I'll tell you. 21. 21 people were crammed into that mini bus. My head was tilted because some fat Kenyans belly was pressed into it for a solid mile. There was torrential rain otherwise I would have gotten out and walked. Also, thank God it was cold because the smell would have been devastating had it been warm.

The rain made me realize something interesting about Kenyans. They don't view the rain as a problem. It was raining all morning and looked like it was going to rain all day, yet NO ONE had an umbrella. Everyone was just sopping wet. Now, I'm exaggerating of course, there were SOME people with umbrellas, but I could easily spot and count the umbrella'd people. Now, the umbrellas are cheap shit (much like in NYC) and sell for nothing, so it's not that they CAN'T have umbrellas, they just don't. It struck me as odd because they believe that drinking cold beverages leads to illness because it makes you cold from the inside, but they don't think walking in the rain makes you sick? It's obviously impossible to correct all the misinformation that floats around, but this was one I fought, and lost. The children are simply not allowed cold beverages because it will make them sick. Warm only. Including soda. Warm soda? Gag me with a spoon!

C.U.N.T. did not catch the Port Reitz matatu. C.U.N.T. did not have an umbrella. She arrived soaked. =)

So after I clean the living room, I open the patio door at Dickson and clean the patio. Every day I want to comment on this, but I keep forgetting. Finally today I wrote it down in my little notebook. EVERYTHING in Mombasa is locked up like it's freaking Fort Knox. On the patio door there is a barrel bolt at the bottom of the door, one at the top of the door, a key lock, a dead blot, and a second dead bolt. Every day ALL of them are fastened. At my homestay there's a chain, a deadbolt, a key lock, a barrel bolt at the bottom, a barrel bolt at the top, an iron door on the outside with 4, yes FOUR iron barrel bolts, one of which is padlocked. All of those are locked at night. Honestly it would take a battering ram, blow torch, and some explosives to get through. Given that the biggest crime here is pickpocketing, I don't really understand the massive security. I guess the locks were installed a few years ago, you know, when there was mass genocide going on and human heads on the roads. At any rate, I find the locking up to be overkill these days, but whatevs.

During our morning walk, Manu had to pee and we've been instructed to allow the children to relieve themselves on the roadside so as to prevent them from wetting themselves. The problem lies in that when one has to pee on the roadside, the rest WANT to pee on the roadside, so it ends up being a big pee fest. Now this is particularly ironic because it is sheer torture to get them to go upstairs and use their potties when we're at Dickson, but take them outside and they want to pee on everything. So fine, Manu pees. Then Moses and Mwangi want to pee so I pull their pants down. Mwangi wants to squat and pee so he makes me take his pants completely off. Fine. He squats...and then...he shits. No, actually, he doesn't shit so much as he explodes. I'd estimate a solid two cups, that's 16 oz, of diarrhea with spinach in it (yesterday's lunch). There's so much that the other children start screaming and shrieking but then after a while end up staring in wide eyed silence because it just doesn't stop. I was floored. I thought Manu was the king of shitting more than his own body weight, but with 10 days before I leave, here comes Mwangi to vie for the title of Champion Shitter. Praise Jesus I had a roll of toilet paper in my backpack for my own hellish allergies and for all their snot. I wiped him and threw the TP in a bush and then doused him in instant hand sanitizer. In case the assumption wasn't made by you, dear reader, let me assure you that he did shit on himself (his legs mostly) because as I said, it was 16 oz of diarrhea. It's hard to control. Every single fucking day I hit my humiliation low and every single fucking day something new happens. First it was Nima-wipes-orphan-ass, then it was Nima-wipes-orphan-diarrhea, then it was Nima-breaks-poop-with-a-stick, then it was Nima-cleans-up-monkey-poop, now it's Nima-cleans-diarrhea-mess-on-morning-walk. I'm just on the edge of my seat as to what tomorrow will bring.

Ok, a few last things and then I really have to go.

1) During my list of how disgusting I am, I forgot to mention that I perpetually have gunk in the corner of my eye. It's disgusting but all the dirt and wind in your eyes make that shit form so quickly. I don't even know what it is, but everyone has it seeping out of the corners of their eyes and I am no exception. It literally makes my stomach churn.

2) We had no power again. Honestly, water and power, too much to ask?

3) It's really a jungle out here. It occurred to me that on any given day I see no less than at least one of each of the following: birds, cows, dogs, goats, chickens, cats, butterflies, spiders, lizards, mosquitoes, flies, and monkeys.

Finally, I'm now 100% certain as to which of my children is the gay one. There has to be at least 1, and it's got to be Brian. In addition to the million other clues, today he was running around in a pink butterfly mask and wearing my camera case like a purse. Sigh, takes me back to my childhood.

Day 33

I woke up exhausted. I possibly had the worst night's sleep I've ever had. First, I couldn't fall asleep so after an hour of tossing and turning I took half a Xanax. Then, I woke up at about 2:00am to go pee. Then I woke up at 4:45am with a massively runny nose (see yesterday's post). Luckily, being the oh-so-smart homo that I am, I had a Benadryl sitting next to me, which I intended to take at about 5:30am (see yesterday). However, I still had to get up and get a roll of toilet paper and blew my nose for a solid two minutes before it stopped. Finally fell back asleep. Then, at about 5:45am, the fucking Muslims started up. I dunno if I've mentioned it (I think I have) but mosque's have a muezzin (crier) to proclaim the call to worship five times each day; and there's a mosque on every Goddamn corner here. There are a few muezzins, our favorite has a very soft voice and keeps it to about a minute. The fucking towel head that was up today is the loudest and goes on for about ten minutes. Did I mentioned that it's done over a loudspeaker?

Needless to say I was dying all day. Just fucking exhausted. Even my Red Bull didn't help. The good news is we had water toady at Dickson, the bad news is now we don't have electricity. It remains unclear as to how long that will last. We were having ugali for lunch and I really can't stomach the shit so I ended up going to the restaurant with C.U.N.T. (who's finally back) and having lunch with her. I had a cold steak and melted cheese sandwich. It was as appetizing as it sounds. She confessed that she isn't loving Dickson (because she's a whorefacedstupidcocksmokingdumbassbitch) and has asked for a transfer. After lunch I taught my kids some of the lyrics to "Hey Mama" by the Black Eyed Peas but they were being fucking assholes so I just gave up and let them leave after learning the refrain. I then whooped Vincent (age 8) in checkers. Being that I am all-knowing, I taught him some strategy and we played again. He whooped me but good. God never allows me to be smug for more than 30 seconds before knocking my sorry ass back into check. Beaten, and horribly, by an 8 year old Kenyan orphan with a really smelly gas problem. I would imagine it's the nonstop beans diet.

Emmanuel John's mom rushed to walk out with me when we were leaving so I know she wanted to talk to me. The woman hasn't so much as farted in my direction, but now she's rushing so as to walk out with me. She starts asking about my cell phone and how expensive it is to get the Motorola L7 with iTunes here in Kenya and how she'd really like to get one. THANK THE GOOD LORD her matatu showed up just as we reached the top of the hill so she had to jump in and go. I'm so tired of getting hit up for money, which is obviously where this was going. On the way home I was hit up by C.U.N.T.'s stalker for a loan to which I replied "My money is for the children". I was then hit up by a 7 year old Muslim girl who said "How are you?" and I said "Fine, how are you?" to which she replied "Good. Give me some money". I shit you not this was all in about a 17 minute period.

I read in the paper today (which is soooooo bad and sooooo full of misinformation it makes US Weekly look like The New York Times) that there are more Kenyans will cell phones than there are Kenyans with bank accounts. Every single fucking day I come across something depressing or shocking or whatever. Just one day I'd like to read "Kenya and Kenyans are doing A-OK today". An interesting fact I learned today is that Barack Obama is half Kenyan! His dad is Lau which is one of the best tribes to come from, they're known to be smart. The tribe stuff here is really depressing too. Le sigh.

Mom/Dad- stop reading. The end. No blog for you.

So, last night I was dying to fall asleep and stay asleep. Boys- you know one of the best ways to fall asleep. Last night, for the first time in my life, I masturbated with someone else in the room. Now don't be retarded, what I mean is someone who I'm not masturbating WITH, but rather someone who is like asleep or whatever. I never lived in a dorm, haven't had a roommate til Nick and didn't share a bedroom growing up. In my defense, I was DESPERATE to fall asleep. Now I'm a pretty vocal and ardent exhibitionist, so it's not so much the fear of being seen or something, but a) I think subjecting someone to an unwanted sexual situation is a sexual assault of sorts and not really down with that, but more importantly b) I think it's pretty tacky and you know I strive to live my life with the utmost tact. I may be a sailor mouthed whore, but I do so with style and grace. I put the ass in class.

Day 32

Ok, it took me 25 minutes and 37 seconds to get to this page. I know because internet cafes have little timers to keep track of how long you've been online. 25 minutes for you fuckers, so you better appreciate.

LOTS to share, so here goes:

1) My allergies are absolutely heinous here. Without exaggerating, I sneeze about 25 times in the first hour that I'm awake. I take a Benadryl right away, but I think I'm gonna set my alarm an hour earlier so I get up, take it, and go back to sleep. I go through 1/3 of a roll of toilet paper every morning just from blowing my nose. I have no idea where this fluid is coming from. Maybe it's pent up semen? At any rate, it's super annoying and it adds to the Nima-is-a-bushy-eyebrowed-hot-mess-in-Kenya.

2) I'm really really really really looking forward to Q-tips and my tongue scraper.

3) I hit a new low today. As if wiping baby shit, having urine all over my body and clothes and cleaning snot with my bare hands wasn't bad enough, I've hit what I hope is the all time rock bottom. Today, I had to clean up...MONKEY POOP! There are monkeys everywhere and they shit all over the area the kids play and if I didn't clean it up the kids would inevitably step in it or even worse start to play with it, so I had to clean up monkey poop. Even the words themselves boggle my mind. Monkey poop. It doesn't even sound real.

4) I have a canker sore inside my cheek. It's the size of Nairobi. I bite it every night in my sleep and am in an indescribable amount of pain. Good thing I'm not dishing out blowjobs.

5) So the walk that I thought was .5 miles is actually closer to a mile. I timed it today while walking at my steady, Idiot-less & C.U.N.T.-less pace. It took about 20 minutes. I walk one New York City block per minute, and 20 blocks equal a mile, so I figure its about a mile walk. Nothing really interesting about that other than the fact that I now know and wanted to share with you.

6) The song "Another Point of View" by DB Blvd is featured in a fabric softner commercial here. My kids love it, so I burned it for them and am now teaching them English via lyrics to songs. We learn what they mean and then listen to the song and read along, etc. Why do I have "Another Point of View"? Because not only is it featured in fabric softner commercials, but also on "Sex and the City", season 5, episode 4 "Cover Girl". It's the song played during Carrie's book jacket photo shoot. Into every life a little "Sex and the City" I bring.

7) I finally finished painting today. I painted a fence/gate and the entire playground. I painted right through lunch and missed a fabulous lunch of...beans. Damn, such a shame.

8) I narced on C.U.N.T. at the staff meeting. The housemoms were all up on that shit. They hate her too. So we'll see what happens now.

9) The t-shirts here are very odd. I've seen Kenyan men wearing t-shirts that say "Kinkos", "I Survived Jason's 21st Birthday Party" and my favorite, "Soccer Mom". Now these are obviously American t-shirts that somehow ended up here and I'm sure there's a very interesting story as to how those shirts got here and how these Kenyans came to own them.

10) Kenya has two newspapers. Both are shit. It's like choosing between the New York Post and The Daily News. Anyway, I've taken up reading them just to keep some semblance of a brain and there was an article on homosexuality in animals and it used the word "perverse behavior" as often as I use the word "fuck". I got your perverse behavior right here dickwad.

11) The girls in my class were bad and so I gave the boys candy and none to the girls. The girls then said "You love boys" and my heart skipped a beat. I really did not want to have that conversation. I then found out it was because they think I treat boys favorably and not because I hold the secrets to invisible make-up and can high kick better than a Rockette.

Gotta run, been online for 44 minutes now and have work sheets to print and the lyrics to "Hey Mama" by the Black Eyed Peas to edit. The song is featured in Garfield: The Movie and my kids can't get enough of it. That and "Barbie Girl" by Aqua. I love my little fag-hag/faggots-in-training.