Day 34 v2.0

For breakfast the kids usually have tea and toast. And by toast I’m mean un-toasted white bread. I bought 2 jars of Nutella and spread it on their bread this morning. They loved it (who wouldn’t Nutella is AMAZING) and were again really grateful. I don’t know if it’s the fact that I’m leaving or if they’ve just really come to appreciate me, but they are so thankful and appreciative of everything. It’s really fantastic.

After breakfast I did some laundry and started packing. I’m leaving almost everything I brought here for them, but I couldn’t very well give them my old, dirty clothes, so I had to wash it all and give it time to dry. Of course, since all of Kenya is virtually an oven, they were dry much sooner than I had anticipated. The children then went to church and of course asked me to come along and then questioned me about Buddhism. I mean, it’s gotten really ridiculous. I don’t even have all the answers to their questions about Buddhism. I know very cursory stuff because I had looked into learning more about it prior to leaving, but to tell them that aside from my own personal beliefs I’m pretty much religion-less would have killed them. When I told them that I’m not going to church with them because I’m not Christian, they didn’t start crying for my soul nor did they spurn me like a leper, so I guess it’s ok.

Despite the fact that I would love to spend every minute with them, the two hours they were gone were the most blissful two hours I’ve had in Kenya. The pipes in the volunteer house are working again and there’s water, so I was able to take a “shower” (hunched over a faucet that’s at waist level), and eat some cereal and just be alone. No staff, no kids, no Kiambis, no nothing. It was really nice. One thing that struck me was that the house mother locked up the entire house before they went. I still had access to the volunteer house and she offered to leave the gate key, but I told her I wasn’t going anywhere so she could take it. I guess I’ve been really lucky in that I’ve never been super fucked over nor lived in a country with tribal feuding nor have been subjected to rape, robbery, nor murder, but it did slightly offend me that she locked up the house. Did she think I was going to steal their stuff? Was it just habit? Did she not trust that I wouldn’t let someone in beyond the gate? I’m thinking it’s a little bit from column A and a bit from column B, but it did strike me as a little weird.

The kids came home and we were milling about a bit and I took an opportunity to sit with older Mary and sort beans with her. The only thing I tried to talk to her about was that I asked her what happens if a bad bean gets through (I already knew but wanted to get her to speak to me) and she just smiled and looked down. I didn’t press it. If and when she’s ready to talk to me, she will. Jumwa apologized yesterday for not talking to me more last year. She said she was shy. I told her it was fine and in fact I thought she spoke with me a very fine amount, but it was nice that she recognized that and wanted to apologize for it. Maybe in a few years Mary will say the same thing.

The children have essentially made me sign in blood that I will come back next August. Even if it’s for a few days only, I definitely will and have to. I can’t imagine going more than a year without seeing them. They also have been begging me to talk Dara into coming. I don’t think he will, this is so not up his alley, but I will definitely try to talk him into it. Wrestling is so huge here. It’s mostly John Cena that they’re all obsessed with (to the point where some mutatus are decked out with “Cena” and “John Cena”), but they’re fascinated by Dara and are dying to meet him. They are amazed that he’s younger than me but bigger than me and that I freely admit that he could probably kick my ass. They always try to pair me up with someone. Who would win in a fight? You or Chris? You or your brother? You or the mutatu driver? I make a fair assessment and tell them. I think they’re shocked that I’d freely admit that anyone could kick my ass, but the fact that I do it with my younger brother just floors them. They also get a real kick out of the fact that he has a fiancée (I say wife because they don’t understand fiancée) and that I’m unmarried. I thought about telling them that Brad Pitt simply hasn’t asked me yet, but I think that’d go over their heads.

After the chores were done, I distributed the photos to the children. I had 95 of them made and gave the kids the photos of themselves. They were all really happy. It’s so funny how some things we totally take for granted are such a big deal in other parts of the world. I remember when we were in Iran I had like a kids camera (or maybe it was a disposable one) and everyone was fascinated and wanted pictures of themselves. We think it’s such a chore to look through someone’s wedding pictures or family vacation, but they love seeing photographs, especially of themselves.

We were watching “Transformers”, which is such a movie of its time- it combines aliens, technology, the war in Iraq, titties, explosions, and fast cars, when the mutatu driver came to take me to the airport. Somewhere along the line it was decided that the older boys were going to come with. The older girls got pissed about this and asked me to ask if they could come too. I asked the house mother and she said no, only the boys, so I said goodbye to everyone at the gate. I hugged all of them, including Mary and Beatrice and some of the other ones who I didn’t really spend too much time with, and to my delight they reciprocated. I started to get really worked up hugging Manu and Mwangi and then Moses asked me where I was going and I almost started crying because I realized that he thinks I’m just leaving for the day as per usual. Peter, Kiio, Emmanuel, Ongeri, and Vincent came with me to the airport to drop me off. Nothing was said in the car, we just listened to music, but I looked over and Vincent and he had tears silently running down his face and that’s when I started crying and I’m crying now as I type this. I tried to not cry because I didn’t want to exacerbate the situation, but I couldn’t stop the unyielding tears from running down my face. I kept looking out the window so they wouldn’t see, but I definitely felt Vincent’s and Emmanuel’s eyes on me. When we got to the airport all the boys shook my hand but Vincent gave me a big hug and I just held him and couldn’t think of anything else to say, so I said “Be good. I’ll see you next year.” This is so frustrating and difficult. Why does it have to be so difficult and far and expensive to come here? If I could make it out here a couple of times a year for shorter trips, I’d gladly exchange that for this large block of time. I just wish I could see them with some sort of regularity or at least exchange videos or SOMETHING but everything is so fucked up here that nothing would get to anyone. Argh.

My flight to Nairobi was fine. They served these chicken sandwiches and the plastic on mine was already opened so I told the flight attendant and he took it but then failed to bring me another one. By the time I saw him again we had started our descent so the sandwich was a loss. Bastard.

I managed to fly from Mombasa to Nairobi to Amsterdam with well over a quart sized bag of 3oz or less liquids and gels. I don’t want to check my bag given the last debacle and if I could avoid having to get my luggage at JFK, which always takes FOREVER, I’d be happy. I highly doubt I’ll be able to board the plane carrying-on everything in my suitcase though. I left all my clothes so it’s only a few things, but I do have sharp tweezers, sharp cuticle clippers, lots of liquids and gels, 32oz of water, produce, cocaine, and a monkey. I don’t think the Dutch security is as lackadaisical as the Kenyans so I may end up having to check my bag. Let’s hope all that legalized marijuana mellows them out a bit.

Monday Morning

I slept horribly on the plane despite having taken an Ambien. That rarely happens to me, but I just couldn’t get comfortable. There were a MILLION movies that I wanted to watch, but being the raging homosexual that I am, I of course watched “Sex and the City: The Movie” despite having seen it. I took the Ambien at the beginning and told myself “I’ll only watch through the opening credits” (which were beautifully done to catch up the non-viewer), then I thought “Only through the wedding” then I thought “Only through Mexico” and finally I just finished it.

I arrived at Schipol and piad 100 Euro (about $180) for a hotel room so that I could get some sleep and take a shower and stuff. Best money I’ve ever spent. When my wake up call came I first thought I was at the Kiambi, then the volunteer house, then I finally thought “Oh my God, where the hell am I?” until the 4th or 5th ring of the phone when I realized I was in the hotel.

I’m now madly typing at the airport because my flight is boarding but I wanted to post like I said I would. So here it is. USA, here I come!

Day 33 v2.0

Saturday Morning

On the way back to Dickson I was packed into a mutatu with all these big fat men. And it was incredibly hot already. I felt like I was sitting in a sauna the entire way. I was literally, literally, dripping sweating all over. I was merely sitting and sweat was just running off every inch of my gorgeously formed body.

I got back to Dickson before the children came home from school. I sat with the little ones and awaited their arrival. When they got back they promptly started their homework and I went around helping everyone. And by helping I mean giving them the answers. These kids go to school from 7am until 6pm (Kiio is in Class 7 so he goes until 7:30pm) and they have like an hour of homework every night and a few hours worth on the weekends AND they go to school on Saturdays from 8am until 1pm (8am until 6pm for the older ones). It’s utterly ridiculous. Thusly I did not feel bad about just giving them the answers. I always used to wish I had an older sibling to sign me out of school for lunch or to give me answers on homework.

Speaking of someone signing children out of school, I’m also responsible for them all getting permission to skip school today so that they can come to the cinema! Heehee.

After homework they did like 20 minutes of devotion. Devotion is singing and praying and dancing. It was pretty wild. I’m going to try to film it tonight so I can post. It was like “I’ve got Jesus in my heart, yes I do, yes I do” and stuff like that.

Before they started devotion I went into the volunteer house and tucked in my mosquito net (so that no new ones could get within the vicinity of my sleeping area) and lit a citronella candle. I also doused myself and my bed in DEET. They live in the slums of Mombasa so the mosquito population is quadruple that of town.

I then gave myself a shower by wiping my body with a dozen baby wipes. Luckily Matheka stopped by during dinner and I took this as an opportunity to tell him we had no water . I had already told Ria but I figured if they both were on it, it would get done more quickly. This morning we found the tanks had been filled over the night. Praise the lord.

After devotions we popped in a DVD I bought yesterday on the way back to Dickson. I purchased an Eddie Murphy collection because it had “Dreamgirls” on it and while I thought it was a pretty mediocre movie, it’s filled with attractive, successful black people and has lots of singing (which is easier to follow/be entertained by than dialogue). Only about 4 of the kids were into it and 20 minutes in we switched to “The Nutty Professor” which I have to admit, although completely retarded, I didn’t mind as much as I thought I would. It’s horribly offensive, utterly ludicrous, and stupid as hell, but watchable. I’m sure after that glowing review you’ll all run out and get it.

The best part of the movie was that during the first half Ongeri and I were leaning on each other so as to prop the other up and then the second half Vincent rested his head in my lap while we watched. Despite their hard upbringing, they are still children and just want some affection and attention. It was really, really sweet and made me really happy that they’re comfortable enough around me to just be and not have their guard up all the time.

I finally got to bed around 11pm. It was probably the worst night’s sleep of my life. In addition to dogs barking and the fact that I was hyper aware all night because I don’t really feel super safe in this area, the god damn monkeys kept jumping onto and off of the tin roof so I’d hear a huge crashing metal sound and then another and then another. The cotton in my ears helped a little, but it also didn’t help that I was on the bottom bunk of a bunk bed, twin sized, with a pillow that was as flat as a sheet. I haven’t slept on a twin sized bed in years AND I had to stay extra confined because if any of your skin is pressed up against the net, the mosquitoes can get to it and bite you through the net, so I was this tight little ball of a person with no head support in a really confined area. This morning though, when I woke up with the kids and they saw me first thing made it so worth it that I really regret not having done it more often. I am finding myself stopping and taking really deep, calming breaths on a semi-hourly basis. I’m not ready to leave them.

I’m going out now to kick it with them and then head to the cinema. Will try to write more tonite.

Saturday Night

I purchased nail polish for the girls. Most of them didn’t want to apply and I started asking why. It turns out their teachers at school will beat them if they wear nail polish. Can you believe this shit? I don’t really see what concern it is of the teacher, isn’t it the parent’s worry? At any rate, I promised I would purchase remover, so the older ones applied. Of course Brian begged me to apply for him and I don’t want to get in trouble with the house mothers or something so I only allowed him to paint one. Of course, I would have gladly painted all but, ya know. Crazy Christians and all. Still, how many more bits of evidence do I have to present? Brian is gay, gay, gay, gay, gay.

So, the cinema. Getting there nearly gave me an aneurysm. I thought the kids would be difficult, but it was getting the adults to get their shit together that killed me. Given the whole pole pole attitude here in conjunction with the fact that almost none of them have ever been to a movie means that they did not understand 2:00pm means 2:00pm. I had to keep saying “We have to leave” “We have to go” “We’re going to be late” and the cook didn’t have lunch ready for the kids. He said “I thought the movie was at 2:00” and I said “Yes, but we have to be there when it starts” and he said “Oooooh.” But, by the grace of God (and “The Secret” since I willed us to be on time), we made it on time. I also managed to change the movie from “Kung Fu Panda” to “The Mummy 3” which was really nice because the kids have already seen “Kung Fu Panda”. In hindsight, we should have seen “Kung Fu Panda” again. So. “The Mummy 3”. What can I say? It is probably Brendan Fraiser’s worst film. This is a bold statement because Mr. Fraiser’s resume includes “The Mummy”, “The Mummy Returns”, “Encino Man”, “Dudley Do Right”, and many other cinematic gems. I can’t decide if the worst part was the constant exposition “The mummys are coming”, “I’m going to go drive this car”, “I need an acting coach”, the horribly cliché dialogue: “Here we go again”, (upon using a gun to kill a mummy) “Welcome to the 20th century”, “Why don’t you fight like a man?”, “I’m getting too old for this” or finally, when our heroes were in distress on top of a mountain, one of the characters called for…yetis. Yes, she does a call and all of a sudden these three yetis come to save the day. Brendan Fraiser, upon seeing them, says “Abominable snowmen?” to which Monica Bello replies “Actually, the Chinese call them yetis”. Thanks for the lesson Monica!

I really can’t stress how terrible this film was. Of course, it did fairly well in the box office (people are idiots) and the kids liked it because not one lick of dialogue was necessary or did you have to speak English to figure out what was happening. The kids were all really thankful and appreciative, so that was really nice and felt really good.

After we came back we were all milling about and Emmanuel asked to see the pictures I had developed. Then everyone started asking so I just busted them out and let the kids pass them around. When Beatrice came to ask she was in the midst of undoing her braids so I asked if she wanted me to continue working on her hair while she looked. She asked if I knew how to. Even if I didn’t, I can’t imagine ANYONE not being able to figure it out, but one by one everyone inquired as to how I knew how to open a braid and then asked for me to do their hair. Now, am I missing something, or do most people not know how to open a braid? In case you don’t, here’s how. From the bottom of the braid you work your way up and you just pull it apart little by little. Difficult, huh? Anyway, it was really nice because this was the first time Beatrice and I did anything one-on-one. She’s older and is usually up in her room, so it was nice to bond with her a bit.

Before dinner one of the house mother’s asked me to stop undoing Roda’s hair so they could pray. I left the room and when I came back the house mother asked why I ran away. Didn’t I want to pray? I said no, and I didn’t want to be a bad influence on the kids by standing around not praying- I was afraid they’d want to follow suit. She was so aghast that I didn’t want to pray that I don’t think she even heard the second part. I understand religion and that people need it, but when they’re so fanatical and so narrow minded I just wanted to tell them “Actually, sometimes I don’t even know if I believe in God” because honestly I’m back and forth. But most days I’m pro-God, so I keep my flip-flopping mouth shut.

I bought a little present for all the children. The little boys got wind up cars, the girls got these fake Barbies that are called Lucy dolls. I got them because they are black and the few dolls at Dickson are all white. I really hate this black is inferior bullshit that goes on here. There’s even this HUGELY popular wide selling product called Fair and Lovely and now a men’s version called Fair and Handsome or something. It’s a skin lightening cream and the ad is a before/after with a black person who is now lighter thanks to the cream. It’s so infuriating and offensive. So I wanted them to have black dolls. I got the boys binoculars and all the older children I made a different CD for each of them. They always have to share everything so I bought 11 blank CDs and burned a bunch of pop, hip-hop, and rap for them and labeled each CD with their name. Everyone really seemed to like their present. I think I’m in denial about leaving tomorrow because I was just laughing and playing and having a great time. I guess it’s not that I wouldn’t if I weren’t in denial, (I always at least try to enjoy things for what they are and while they last) but it’s this crazy emotional rollercoaster so I’m up and down like a hooker’s head.

Another thing that’s killing me is that the kids keep giving me things. They have NOTHING and they keep trying to give me their stuff. Kiio gave me a necklace he made, Vincent gave me a wood cut out he made and painted, it’s really, really, really touching. If you own like 5 things and give one away, you’re giving away 20% of all your possessions. It’s nuts. After much protest there’s nothing I can do but accept them.

Day 32 v2.0

I feel like a fugitive.

The little ones are taking a nap, Marion Milka and Yvonne are in class with the teacher and the older ones are at school until 6pm, so I used this as an opportunity to run to town. I needed to exchange money from shillings to dollars and then slipped into the internet cafe to check my email and write a post. I'm such an addict. I fear that when I return and FINALLY get to use my iPhone, I'll wear it out in a week.

Last night I didn't get to see John before I went to bed so I didn't get to tell him I'm gay. I really wanted to because I feel it's really deceitful to keep that from friends and he has definitely become a friend. I'll add him on Facebook and hopefully he'll see it there. It's funny because I don't really ever tell anyone in America, I assume it's a given that I'm gay, but here the subtle clues (women's jeans, limp wrist, Madonna obsession, and Oprah follower) aparently are not enough.

We chatted briefly this morning and settled up (I owed him for the rent and he owed me for the laptop), but he paid me in shillings. I wanted to get to the project on time today and help out in the morning so I knew I was going to come back to town to exchange the money.

I've been cleaning the volunteer house every day despite not staying there. Tonight will be the first night. I've been mopping and scrubbing, but I still feel like it's filthy. I mean, I've been camping several times so obviously it can't be worse than that (as far as convenience and sanitation goes) but it's really not that far away. Oh, and we ran out of water. Hopefully we get some today. Just in case, I have over 15 litres of drinking water there so I should be able to manage even if we don't get water.

I saw everyone over lunch and they are so happy and so excited that I'm sleeping there these next two nights that I'm starting to feel horribly guilty for not doing it. It's like I told them Santa and Mickey Mouse and Will Smith had a love child and that child is spending the night. They were bouncing and shouting and grinning. I'm so excited and happy to do this, but do feel a little guilty. But in all honesty, I don't think I could have stayed there for 5 weeks. I need internet, showers, and some city life or I wilt like the delicate little flower that I am.

Disney's "Tarzan" is fantastic. I cried twice! It's such a great metaphor for being different. Whether you are black or gay or just ugly, I think you'll really like it. Plus he's so hot. And shirtless.

Trust me, after 5 weeks you'll start getting hot and bothered over a muscular cartoon character too.

It's really hot. I shouldn't have even come here, but I needed to. I have to go. Love you all, see you soon (I'm staying in New York for a week upon return, will be in Minneapolis on Saturday) and thank you for reading (again). Will post again from Schipol!

Day 31 v2.0

Last night John and I were up until 1am having beers and chatting. Luckily he mostly had questions about film, television, and law, all ground that I can handle. One thing they have here that's interesting is called "Anticipatory Bail". What it is, is that you go to court and post bail before you are arrested. Perhaps you beat someone up, perhaps someone said they were going to file charges against you, whatever. If you know that you may be arrested, you can go and post anticipatory bail and when they come to arrest you, you show them the paperwork. There are a lot more complications to it, like the fact that there are no home addresses here so it's virtually impossible to locate someone unless you go to someone who knows the potential defendant and have that person physically take you to the suspect's home. So many things here are unimaginable (there's no such thing as credit, they have debit, but no credit) and no registration with the government (their driver's licenses don't have addresses because, there are no addresses) it's nuts.

I took my first suitcase to Dickson today. I have a large suitcase that was filled with crap for the kids and a small carry-on that had more crap for them plus my own clothes. In case you were wondering, carrying a big heavy suitcase while walking down a muddy unpaved road is not fun. I had to hold the suitcase in my lap on the mutatu and guess who I was seated next to? Potatoe sack woman. So there's a big fat Kenyan woman with a giant sack of potatoes on her lap in the front seat, and next to her is this anorexic mzungu with a giant suitcase on his lap. The seats are in rows of three and no one even tried to sit in the third seat.

On the mutatu ride I was looking around a lot more than I usually do. Out the windows, at the riders. This is because I normally read the paper or a book, but with the suitcase in my lap all I could do was sit and look. (BTW; I'm reading "A Tale of Two Cities"- which is really good- at a snail's pace because I used to read at night and now I'm subjected to a deafening hour, yes hour, of nightly Ramadan prayers by the Islamic community here) But back to looking around on the mutatu. I realized that it's not racist of me to think Kenyans look the same. They do look the same because they are all Kenyan. The population is like 99% homogenous here. Living in America, which is such a melting pot, we forget that in a lot of countries the majority of the population looks alike. In hindsight I remember being in Iran and Italy and such and mixing people up or confusing someone for another. So whew. I'm not racist. They really do look alike. It's funny, after being here, I can differentiate a Somolian from a Kenyan. It's not that all Africans look alike, just the ones from the same nations. Now if only they'd lay off the fried chicken with waffles and that rap music I hear so much about.

I have another caterpillar bite. I mean, it's not a bite, just that they're poison to the touch. So I have another caterpillar...contact? Anyway, I bought poison for the tree but it's industrial strength so we're having someone come to spray it. The bite is this huge welt that just burns. Fucking horrible. Although (God I love Kenya) all I had to do was take my old, empty prescription bottle to the pharmacy and they gave me another round of the medication. No prescription, no questions- despite the fact that it's a prescription drug. Love it.

Speaking of creepy crawlies, today was the first time I was actually scared by an insect in my entire life. I'm the one who laughs at other people and just takes my shoe and smashes the bug. Once in France, I was on a bus and the tourists were all shrieking and trying to shoo this wasp off the bus. I finally got up from the back seat and just smashed it with my hand. Then I found out they were all like Buddhist monks or something and COULDN'T kill the wasp. Total douche move. But ya, I smash bugs all the time. But today I flipped. I moved some wood steps and the kids started shrieking "Spider! Spider!" and went to fetch sticks to kill it. I looked and saw a daddy long legs spider so I just let them poke. They kept shrieking and I kind of ignored it because I thought they were just being excitable. Then I saw a spider- no exaggeration- the size of a gerbil or hamster crawl up into the classroom. I flew across the patio and grabbed a stick from them and tried to kill it, but it then crawled outside. I ripped off my shoe and smashed it hard. My heart was actually racing. I have never, ever, seen a spider move like that nor of that size. When I showed the dead body to the teacher and asked if it was poisonous she looked at it and said "Um, not very poisonous" so apparently I killed a semi-poisonous spider today.

Speaking of new experiences, there were monkeys all over the yard today. They don't really come to Dickson, they just are around Dickson, but today I had to shoo away no less than 1/2 a dozen monkeys by hissing and shaking broomsticks and taking flash photography of them. Mind you I'm terrified of these monkeys because they travel in packs and aren't terribly afraid of humans and if they decide to attack, they attack as a group. But I figured I could handle rabies shots better than the little ones, so I spent a good hour chasing monkeys.

I taught a math lesson in the morning and an English lesson in the afternoon. The kids were surprisingly well behaved today.

During lunch, the house mother who allegedly beats the children came to talk to me. After our talk, I'm now really ashamed of myself. Not because of what I did or how I reacted, I'd much rather over react than under react in an abusive situation, but I'm ashamed that I condemned her as guilty without any proof or even hearing her side of the story. I have a J.D. I am (hopefully) 2 months away from hearing that I am fit to practice law in the state of New York. I should know that there are two sides to every story. I don't necessarily know if I believe that she hasn't been beating the children (and she did admit that she had in the past, but had stopped when she learned it was unacceptable at Dickson), but what I do know is that I now understand temporary insanity. I went utterly berserk and was ready to kick the shit out of her on the basis of allegations. It is a very, very, very embarassing thing to have reacted as I did given what I know about the law and what I've studied for the past 3 years. I love these children so much that the idea of someone laying a hand on them put me into this blind rage. I see why people in criminal law have to be completely detached from their cases. I became judge, jury, and executioner and that's totally antithetical to what we belive as a society, what I believe as an individual, and what I want Kenya to belive in and adopt. I'm going to purchase a apology card for not waiting to hear more of the story- but I am going to stress that if it's true I'm going to be horribly pissed and that I don't apologize for immediately going to Matheka and Ria; only that I condemned her in my head before even entertaining the idea that these are children and children have wild imaginations and unrealistic concepts of time. 3 spanks become 10, a beating in January becomes last month, a lecture on homework becomes a threat. I should have waited before completely writing her off.

The other thing about all this is that it's also very difficult for me to accept that she has ever beat the children. That she had to be told that beating is unacceptable at Dickson. The problem with that thinking is that it would be like saying in America "You must beat the children if they are bad"- it's completely foreign to us. To a Kenyan, not having permission to beat a child is completely foreign. So I think a lot of factors played into my immediately wanting this woman dismissed (although I still want a thorough investigation done), but irrespective of all that, I am deeply ashamed that I reacted and condemned her the way I did. I will apologize to her and I apologize to all of you. My only defense (and it's a pretty pathetic one) is temporary insanity.

I think I get my Kenyan card today. I looked out the window and saw it was raining. I shot out of the classroom, ran up the stairs and grabbed every bucket I could so as to set them out and collect the rainwater. I didn't think about it until after I was done and I was like "Whoa, my first instict is to collect rainwater" so I thought that was pretty crazy for someone who insists on taking cabs when there's merely a forecast for rain.

The teacher came over to me and started asking my opinon about this "Dickson Report Card" she was trying to fashion. No one ever asks for my opinon. As soon as she started I cut her off and said "Do you want me to make photocopies for you?" and she smiled and laughed and said "You're so funny. Yes." I'm totally happy to do it, it's for the kids not her crazy Christians, but I again was pretty proud that I didn't subject myself to 20 minutes of song and dance. I immediately recognized where this was going and saved myself 20 minutes of head nodding. Although she does give me the heeby jeebies a bit. She's always talking about the blood of Christ washing the kids and today she again brought up the thing about children being made evil while in the womb and she also said that Mombasa used to be hotter but the people couldn't handle it so the influx of her branch of Christianity brought with it God's grace and he brought down the temperatures in Mombasa. I explained to her about global warming and that weather everywhere is being fucked with. She didn't seem too convinced.

So, this is probably my last post until I get to Schipol on Monday. I'm staying at Dickson tomorrow night and Saturday night and leave Sunday. I might be able to slip out for a bit at some point on Saturday but I don't think so and what's more I don't think I'll want to take the time. I gotta soak up a year's worth of them, so I think I'm Dickson-bound for the next few days.

Don't unsubscribe to this blog just yet, I promise there'll be a post on Monday at the latest.

Lots of love to all you beautiful people. Talk soon.

P.S.

Big shout-out to Mae for sending me money within minutes of this post. I love you!

Day 30 v2.0

Sigh. CANCEL emergency...for now.

I had a meeting with the founder of Dickson for an hour and a half today. Here's the gist of it. He is going to talk to the children and the house mother and he is going to give her another warning to the house mother (assuming the children don't tell him something horrific). It's really hard to wrap your head around I'm sure (it's hard for me and I've been here twice now) but what we consider child abuse is actually the norm here. I asked John about it last night and he said that when he was growing up, it was very unusual to go home from school without having been beaten by the teacher. Everyone got caned every day (as in beaten with a cane/switch/stick). Matheka says that because the house mother grew up in a children's home herself, one that was really physical with the children, she has some growing to do. He said that the children tend to exaggerate when together, that they could be referring to past incidences that have been addressed, etc. etc. I begged him to at least have a meeting with the children with me present so we can get to the root of this and he said he's going to do his best to see that it happens before I leave on Sunday.

Matheka is a pastor. He uprooted his family from (wife and two kids) from Holland so that he could build a church, a boys center and a children's home in the 3rd world, underdeveloped nation that he grew up in. I trust him and believe in him. I wouldn't have come back if I didn't. Although it was very hard (and I'm still trying to wrap my head around it), I have to trust him and believe he is doing and will do what's right. Further, he claims the house mother has dramatically improved the children's school work and English, so she is having some positive influence. I basically ignored her today and will continue to do so for the rest of the trip. I cannot look that woman in the eye knowing what she did. She had a warning in the past and to me once is one time too many when it comes to beating a child, but again, that's not the case here. If upon his investigating Matheka finds that the beatings were grossly excessive, he'll dismiss her, but if it's just the routine kind of beating, he's willing to give her one more warning. He was also telling me though that when he counsels married couples within his church that are dealing with physical abuse sometimes he'll tell a couple they need to separate and sometimes he'll suggest they work through it. Now, again, for me, there is no working through it. You do not beat your spouse. Here, if you do it once or twice in the heat of the moment and vow never to do it again, apparently it's ok. Again, 3rd world, different culture. Think mob justice, corrupt police, and starving little children on the streets. It's a different world here. That said, I don't see how I can forgive this woman. I have been forgiving of the other mothers for occasionally caning the children because I've chalked it up to culture, but this goes far above and beyond what I can forgive. The children have been pulled off the streets in the hopes of a future, not beatings. Matheka stressed to me that his intention is not to just give food and education to these children because if that were the case then his work is done and he'd go home. He wants to help rehabilitate these children. I believe him and thus will trust in his judgment, but I was honestly ready to slap her in the face today. I will reserve from threatening her until I meet with Matheka and the boys simultaneously and thus get the full story in front of Matheka, but if it's true (and I believe, at least mostly, that it is) then I will tell the house mother that when I return next year, if she's still there and I heard she laid so much as a finger on one of the children, that I'll grab a strap myself and beat the shit out of her. I was thinking about it last night and she's lucky I don't do it this time. What's she going to do? Hit me back? Call the police? They don't come when there are bodies on the road, you think they're going to come when a house mother says a mzungu beat her up?

Speaking of being mzungu, it's insulting how much deference we get here. Remember that I'M the foreigner, and yet I get more respect and trust than any Kenyan. I never have to check my bag before going into a store, I get let into places that Kenyans don't, and I'm the first to be helped (assuming someone comes to actually help). It's pretty sad. This nation is in a horrible state.

Matheka apologized to me profusely for being in this situation. He said he's mortified that I should even have to deal with this. He repeatedly talked about how much shame this nation has brought him, from mob justice to the violence this past year to the street kids. He wants to rebuild Kenya to what it was before he left and not see it go down the same road Rwanda has. During our meeting I found out from Matheka that one of the boys that was recently at Onesimus was the victim of mob justice. In order to hide the evidence, he swallowed the gold chain he stole. The mob cut him open to take it back. One of the volunteers at Onesimus purchased his casket for them.

Aliens are landing in Baltimore tomorrow.

So, as much as it pains me, I have to trust him to handle it.

While I was writing this Chris (Jurjanne's husband) called me to see what went down and he has made me feel a lot better too. He and Jurjanne are staunchly for getting rid of the house mother because they too have heard some things and would rather be safe than sorry. They get back Sunday so we'll be able to figure things out. I'm really so happy they're around.

Last night there were ants crawling around on the toilet seat. And there was a lizard in the kitchen this morning. And monkeys on the roof and in the garbage all day long.

I went to Dickson late because I had to get stuff done this morning. I went to 5 different photo shops to see about developing some pics for the kids. I has quoted everywhere from Ksh20 per picture to Ksh60 per picture. I got the last woman down to 20 by saying "How much to have a picture developed?" and she said "Ksh30" then I said "What if I do 50?" and she said "Ksh25" and then I said "What if I do 100?" and she said "Ksh20". I knew that the price was 20, but the only way to get her down was to bargain in increments. Had I started with 100, Ksh25 would have been the lowest she'd go. It's such a game here. I hate it. I had 100 pics on the CD that I took so obviously I was going to get 100 regardless, but knew if I bargained in chunks that I'd get a better deal. It took me 2 visits and 11 weeks total, but I think I've finally got the system down here.

I got to Dickson and the staff was having another massive meeting. This one was the regular weekly meeting whereas on Monday it was the meeting to catch the founders up on what's been going on while they were gone. Also, this meeting went long because of the accusations against the house mother. Ria and Matheka used the meeting as an opportunity to reinform and reprimand everyone. So again I was with the kids for 3 hours. Luckily one of the women from Onesimus has a friend visiting from Holland so that chick helped me out with the little ones. I've picked up on the teacher's habits and learned to really drag things out. Today I bought them potatoes at the kiosk by Dickson and the potatoes come 5 in a bag, so first I took them all the way to the other end of the route we normally walk, then made them collect 5 rocks to trade for the 5 potatoes in their bags and then after they ate the potatoes we practiced throwing those 5 rocks (and others) over the wire. So a 10 minute walk and munch fest turned into an hour outing.

Strangers here love to shake hands. I work in the slums of Mombasa. I have shaken more filthy hands than George W. Bush. It's a different kind of filth, but you get the point. I use so much hand sanitizer and wash my hands so much here that I'm going to have to wear my nighttime moisturizing gloves every day for at least a month when I get back.

Funnily enough, I realized today that there's something I really miss that I don't think any of us really think about. I miss Googling and Wikipedia. How many times a week do you Google something or use Wikipedia. It's a fast, cheap way to get answers. I have so many things I wonder throughout the day from how far my commute is to what the population of Kenya is to games to play with children to the story of mangoes. I would just randomly Google these throughout the day and have my answer within a few minutes (or, if not the full answer, at least a satisfactory one). Here, all those thoughts go ignored. I try to list them in my pad, but it takes so long to do a simple search that I've given up. So ya. Easy information is something that one misses after a while. I thought for sure I'd be consumed with my forced celibacy of the body that I forgot about the celibacy of my mind.

Because this has been such a long post, I'm going to put this last bit at the end so you can skip over it if you want. I'm reading "A Tale of Two Cities" right now and Charles Dickens is obviously a much better writer than me and he has these 3 passages that really spoke to me. They describe the conditions here in Mombasa so well that it's scary.

The first passage describes what would happen here. I've seen it happen, albeit not with wine.

"A large cask of wine had been dropped and broke in the street...All the people within reach had suspended their business, or their idleness, to run to the spot and drink the wine. The rough irregular stones of the street, pointing every way, and designed, one might have thought, expressly to lame all living creatures that approached them, had damned it into little pools; these were surrounded, each by its own jostling group or crowd, according to its size. Some men kneeled down, made scoops of their two hands joined, and sipped, or tried to help women, who bent over their shoulders, to sip, before the wine had all run out between their fingers. Others, men and women, dipped in the puddles with little mugs of mutilated earthenware, or even with handkerchiefs from women's heads, which were squeezed dry into infants' mouths; others made small mud embankments, to stem the wine as it ran; others directed by lookers-on up at high windows, darted here and there, to cut off little streams of wine that started away in new directions; others devoted themselves to the sodden and lee-dyed pieces of the cask, licking, and even champing, the moister wine-rotted fragments with eager relish."

The fact that they were licking up wine from the streets of London was not enough to stop these people and it would not stop the people of Mombasa.

"...Hunger. It was prevalent everywhere, Hunger was pushed out of the tall houses, in the wretched clothing that hung upon poles and lines; Hunger was patched into them with straw and rag and wood and paper; Hunger was repeated in every fragment of the small modicum of firewood that the man sawed off; Hunger stared down from the smokeless chimneys, and started up from the filthy street that had no offal, among its refuse, of anything to eat. Hunger was the inscription on the baker's shelves, written in every small loaf of his scanty stock of bad bread; at the sausage-shop, in every dead-dog preparation that was offered for sale. Hunger rattled its dry bones among the roasting chestnuts in the turned cylinder; Hunger was shred into atomies in every farthing porringer of husky chips of potato, fried with some reluctant drops of oil."

The starvation here is in your face at every corner. Begging kids, emaciated elderly, and families living in mud huts that are grilling a few ears of corn for all 7 of them.

Regarding what will happen to an accused:

"Ah!" returned the man, with relish; "he'll be drawn on a hurdle to be half hanged, and then he'll be taken down and sliced before his own face, and then his inside will be taken out and burnt while he looks on, and then his head will be chopped off, and he'll be cut into quarters. That's the sentence."
"If he's found guilty, you mean to say?" Jerry added, by way of proviso.
"Oh! they'll find him guilty" said the other. "Don't you be afraid of that."

This sums up mob justice and what happens if you escape the crowds and are then convicted by "the system". Mind you that in the system here you are guilty until proven innocent.

To end on a good note, Manu was in a cuddly mood this afternoon, so I just sat and held him while we had a "conversation" for like 10 minutes. It was pretty wild because I don't really understand what he says and I don't think he even knows what he's saying most of the time, but we had an exchange of English, Swahili, and gibberish for a solid 10 minutes. It was by far the highlight of my week.

Day 29 v2.0

EMERGENCY. I found out last night one of the house mothers has been beating and berating the children. When I first heard it, I asked for the full story and then went around and asked a bunch of different kids if it was true and they confirmed it for me. She has bashed children’s heads into walls, beats them with the metal handles from buckets, has a large rubber strap that she uses by making them lie down on the floor and then beating them with the strap, she slaps, spanks, and repeatedly degrades- the most offensive one being that in a fit of anger she told one of the children that her grandmother is dead (she didn’t know this yet). The directors are in Uganda until Saturday but I’m meeting with the founders of Dickson tomorrow.

One house mom is on 2 weeks leave, another is on maternity leave, I leave on Sunday and no volunteers are coming until October so they are incredibly short handed. The emergency is that I need cash (and fast) to help them hire some new emergency/temporary staff and fire this monster. These children have been degraded and abused enough for a thousand lifetimes; they don’t need it to continue in a place where they are supposed to be safe. Send anything you can to www.paypal.com under my email FindingNima82@gmail.com

It seems really callous to go on with my blog posting, but if I stop going on and let myself become defeated, then they win, and I’m not going to let that happen. So, on to the bitchery.

I hate Muslims. I can’t stress that enough. It’s motherfucking Ramadan, so guess what happens. Every night from 8:45pm until 9:45pm they chant and pray. A full fucking hour of it. If you haven’t heard it yet, I posted a clip. It’s loud and horrible. In addition to the full hour of it, today (Tuesday) I got a 20 minute version at 4:10am. Honestly, it’s ridiculous. Subjecting everyone in the area to your religion is really unnecessary. God I love America.

It was confirmed today that I am not fit to teach new material. Try as I might I couldn’t explain 15 – 7 – 2 = ? or 3 + 4 +1 = ? to Marion, Milka, and Yvonne. In addition to the language barrier, there’s also the problem of children’s limited language. If all they know is “3 minus 1 equals what?” and I say “3 take away 1 is what?” they get confused. Also, I’m not so great at explaining simple things. I didn’t know this about myself, but I found that I can’t come up with a simple way to explain things. I just wanted to say “Are you retarded? You can’t take 1 away from 4?” but then I realized that’s offensive to retards because even they can take 1 away from 4.

Yes, I channel through comedy and today it’s coming down on orphans and retards.

I hate Christians. This morning (Tuesday morning) I could have slapped the teacher. In the mornings, Marion, Milka, Yvonne, Mwangi, Moses, and Manu sing a few songs and do some dances before going into the classrooms. One song has this part where they call out a child’s name and the child has to “Bow down to Jesus” and the teacher then called out MY name! She knows damn well I’m not a Christian and she thinks I’m a practicing Buddhist and yet she still made me bow down to Jesus (which I had to do because all the kids were watching). Fucking bitch.

After classes, the kids had porridge and it’s funny that until the other day I never even bothered to look at it. I just assumed it was another name for oatmeal. How wrong I was. Turns out porridge is another name for sludge.

The teacher is great with kids. She taught me something invaluable today. The longer you drag things out with children, the longer they are entertained and the less you have to do to come up with things to entertain them. From throwing rocks over wires along our walk, to spending 3 minutes “trying” to open a jar that’s “stuck” the kids just laugh and wait and watch in bewilderment. So ya, this is where pole pole comes in handy. I try to finish things and move on to the next thing, but when you do that all of a sudden it’s only 2:30pm and you’ve run out of ideas. So, dragging things out. Who knew?

The jar thing came up today when she was giving the kids a handful of sprinkles (like the kind you bake with/put on a cupcake) as a candy treat. After giving it to them, she offered me some. I thought she was kidding but played along and declined and then she took a handful for herself and started eating them. It was only then that I realized that I’ve seen many Kenyans eat all the gross things that kids eat. I don’t think I could eat a handful of sprinkles if you paid me. I would probably throw up a box of Runts or Nerds or a 3 pack of Fun Dip, but Kenyan adults eat stuff like that. Is it just me, or is the idea of down a Pixie Stick stomach churning? Yet I used to do this regularly. Up through 10th grade science I remember cutting up SweetTarts in class with the other kids and then snorting them. I have yet to see a Kenyan do this, but can they be that far behind?

After their sugar rush, we went outside to play group Pickle in the Middle (at least that’s what we called it at my elementary school). One player stands on each side of the playing area and all the rest of the kids run back and forth trying to avoid getting hit by the ball the two players are tossing back and forth. The throwers are trying to hit the runners with the ball. If a person who’s trying to not get hit catches the ball midair, then he gets to try to hit one of the throwers. This is so totally fucked up, but I was a runner and caught the ball and threw it at Marion a little bit harder than I normally would to any of the other kids. As soon as the ball left my fingers I was like “Oh, fuck” because it was totally unconscious, but I guess I’ve just been so frustrated that it manifested itself in a really poor way. She didn’t cry or anything, but it definitely hurt her (it was a little bean bag ball, not a wrecking ball) and when I saw her rub her leg I felt really bad. And a little bit good. But mostly bad. Later she was being bad and I started ignoring her and by the end of the day she was clamoring to sit on my lap and behave. Such a complex little girl. I definitely have to refrain from Pickle in the Middle though for fear of crippling the poor girl next time.

After classes but a few minutes before lunch, there was a lull so I sat on one of the couches and started reading my book. The teacher came by and said that I do too much; that I’m always doing something. Um. I didn’t realize that sitting quietly and reading was “doing something”. I guess I’m just supposed to sit and stare at the wall. No wonder there’s a 40% unemployment rate. I’d fire everyone too.

The Jungle Book 2 sucks.

I’m definitely going a little nuts because now not only am I hallucinating bugs crawling all over me but I’m hallucinating them crawling around too. I was in the volunteer house and kept making mad dashes all over to kill bugs that turned out to be paper clips or a leaf.

Tonight (Tuesday) I stayed late and helped the kids with their homework and hung out with them a bit before leaving. As I mentioned yesterday, they are gone when I get there and get home after I leave so if I don’t stay late I won’t get to see any of the older ones. Hanging and talking with them is how the whole story about that piece of shit house mother came out. Anyway, here are two verbatim fill in the blanks that I assisted with. 1. “Circumcising girls is ____” (illegal) and 2. We should ____ people with AIDS” (help). I don’t really remember those but I guess things have changed since I was in 5th grade back in 1998.

P.S. Special thanks to Emily for thorough comments and Tait for porn

Day 28 v2.0

Do I have "Sucker" written on my forehead? I mean, I know I have "Cocksucker" written all over my face, but seriously, do I just look like a fool?

Today Jacqueline texted me to ask for Ksh3,500 for some stomach problem she's having. That's like asking me for $500USD. I am so tired of people trying to take advantage of my friendliness and generosity. On Saturday, I paid for her mutatu ride both ways, bought her a coffee and donut at Dormans and paid for her internet usage. I thought I was wooing her to volunteer at Dickson when it turns out she wanted to "volunteer" so that she could hit me up for money. As many of you know, this is a recurring occurrence here in Kenya. I forgot to mention that at show ground the teacher hit me up for Ksh2,000 for some herbal supplements. Mind you I already photocopied her Christian propaganda for her.

I really don't understand why being nice, happy, and friendly puts me on par with being a fool. But it's not just Kenya. I take people at their word and believe what they say and believe they are who they claim to be. Obviously this has lead to me being burned, but not terribly often. I tend to weed out the bullshitters quickly (probably why I have so few friends and millions of acquaintances), but I'm not infallible and definitely end up not seeing some people's true colors for a long time (or short time in this case). Until recently, it was mostly with the men I would date, but there have been a few times when it was a "friend" or "colleague" who turns out to just be frontin all the time.

I'm not stupid. I know there's an easy remedy to this and it's to be more guarded and less trusting/open/etc but I refuse to do that. I'm not who I am to appease others, I am the way I am because I choose to be. I can stop being so trusting and I can be rude to rude people and I can wear a suit and tie and I can stop saying things like "I have cocksucker written all over my face" but I will not. There are enough good people out there to make it worth it, so fuck this dumb ass trick; she's the one missing out on Dickson and me as a friend and all the other great things in her life she won't see because she insists on being a user.

Whew. Sorry. I'm reaching the end and I feel like I'm getting my worst period ever during menopause in the same week that my mother-in-law comes to visit. I'm a roller coaster of emotion, which signifies to me that it's becoming time to leave. I think I could stay for quite a bit longer if I just stayed at Dickson, but with spotty water and no internet, I simply wouldn't last long. I am so not ready to leave the kids (today was pretty rough) but Mombasa is making me crack. The begging and the conning and the poverty and the corruption and the pollution- like I said, I'm really starting to crack. Not in the crazy sense, but in the I-don't-want-to-be-in-Mombasa-anymore sense. I wish there was a way to transplant Dickson to the US.

So, today. On the way to Dickson, this woman climbed into the mutatu with a 100 pound sack of potatoes and of course sat next to me. THEN she kept trying to inch over and elbow her way into my space. Mind you I had already conceded some of my space because I thought "This poor fat woman and her potatoes need more room than my emaciated self" so I scooched over. I gave her an inch and she tried to take a mile! So we ended up playing that "accidental" elbow-to-the-ribcage game the whole way to Dickson. I was able to disguise my fortitude because I was reading and thus had to have my elbows up, but I definitely could have lowered them a bit but feared losing even the small amount of space I had. I'm now reading "A Tale of Two Cities" by Charles Dickens. Although it's not literature I missed out on during the past few years, it is something I've been meaning to read, so I bought it. All books are plastic wrapped here so you can't flip through them to see if you're interested. Apparently if they weren't people would just stand around the book store (and I use the words book store loosely) and read everything. So, not being able to skim and see if I'm interested, I had to go with something I knew I wanted to read, so I bought "A Tale of Two Cities" and "The Kama Sutra" as translated by Sir Richard Francis Burton. I read "The Kama Sutra" yesterday (it's pretty thin) and it was pretty whack. I was hoping for more. I guess it was wild at the time, but the only part that interested me were the parts about S&M-like behavior (pretty tame), matching penis to vagina sizes (interesting theories), eunuchs giving blow jobs, and the acceptable reasons for having sex with a married woman (if her husband is your enemy, or a friend of your enemy, etc.) Anyway, there are 64 types of sex and none of them are anything new (doggystyle, putting the lingham in your mouth, side fucking, missionary), so I suggest saving your time. Just read "Letters to Penthouse". But I digress.

All the kids are back in school so the only kids at Dickson today were Manu, Mwangi, Moses, Milka, Marion, and Yvonne. Since there isn't much child attending to do, I decided to clean the volunteer house. It's pretty gross and I bought a bunch of groceries yesterday to leave at Dickson so I figured it's a good idea to clean. Plus, I'm hopefully spending Saturday night there and I want to clean every day this week so by Saturday it's habitable. So, after 4 weeks here, how much worse can it get? Well, there are cockroaches living in the refrigerator. I scrubbed it clean and put my food away and then went back in and there were 3 cockroaches. How they got into a sealed refrigerator, I'll never know. I killed them and cleaned the fridge again and put my food in bags and stuff and kept randomly flinging the door open with murder in my eyes in the hopes of catching and killing more roaches, but I think those three were an anomaly. Or at least I hope so.

Despite there only being 7 children, the morning was very trying. At 10am Ria and Matheka came and had a staff meeting for 3 hours (catching up on everything while they've been gone) so I had to handle the kids during that time. After playing and coloring and giving them their morning porridge (I don't know if it's the same as porridge in America, but if it is, porridge is disgusting), I took them for a walk with Florence. She's the oldest girl at Dickson and she and Monica went back to boarding school today, but she was around in the morning. While on our walk, we came across a howling 5 or 6 year old girl. I asked Florence to investigate and it turned out the girl was lost. I got a little panic-y because a lost little girl in the slums of Mombasa is not a good thing. Florence calmed her down and we walked her to the main road and then she knew where she was and ran home. But coming across a lost, crying little girl kind of did a number on my head. It made me think about all our kids. They were this girl, only they didn't have a home to go to. At some young age, our kids were dumped on the streets by their family and were lost and alone and scared and subject to all sorts of horribles (and those are the lucky ones, the unlucky ones were at the mercy of their guardians or purchasers) and again it made me furious and sick at the same time. Just thinking of Yvonne or Mwangi or Milka roaming the streets, crying, was really gut wrenching.

When we got back, this former volunteer Bridgette came to visit with her sister and boyfriend. Seeing the kids with her and the interactions also made me sad. My time is ticking and I'm not ready. She was on the brink of tears when she saw them again and they were so happy to see her and I just don't know how I'm going to do this! I want to bring them all home with me.

After lunch I walked Rukia, Brian, Dorcas, Mary, and Nelson back to school. All the kids go to the same school, but the little ones I just mentioned need to be picked up and dropped off otherwise they'll roam and be late and stuff. I was walking holding Brian's hand and Rukia's hand and we were just quietly walking together and again, it was one of those euphoric moments. The sun was blistering and the road was dusty but walking with these two was like walking through Central Park. They are probably my two favorite. I mean, it's impossible to pick, but if I had to, I think they'd top the list (with Vincent probably a dead tie for Brian's slot). I hate to say any of them are favored (and really, they're not) but I hate when people give some bullshit answer when you ask for their favorite child. Yes you love them all and yes you love them all differently, but let's call a spade a spade. There's one you like more. Guess who it is in my family? =)

I was talking to Ria in the afternoon and realized that I've kind of given up on Marion. She's so horrible and ungrateful and disrespectful of me that I just can't take it anymore. They say loving a child like Marion is the hardest thing because they test and try you ragged, but I'm not a machine and I don't know if I have the capacity to see past what a mean little child she is. She hits the other children, laughs at them when they get hurt, hits me- it's endless. I'm always getting her into trouble and it has no effect. There's obviously a lot more to it than her just being a fucking bitch, but it's really hard putting up with her. I mean, if she didn't like me or care about me being around she would just ignore me. This is her way of seeking negative attention and I've noticed that if I'm really strong and ignore her completely for a few hours she'll come and sit on my lap and try to get in good with me and of course I give in, how can I not? She's just a troubled little girl, but ya, I almost started crying when I was talking to Ria about her and I realized how much this little child has fucked with me. Funny enough, as much as I wanted to slap her across the face a lot of the time, when she shows pain or fear or is upset at my ignoring her, all I want to do is scoop her up and hold her. I'm telling you this trick-ass-ho knows how to work it.

I love Yvonne so much. She's just everybody's whipping child and is smarter than all of them (she always finishes her work first despite being younger than Milka and Marion). She's a heavy little girl (but not fat, I dunno if she eats sand or what) but I love the weight of her in my arms or on my lap. Such a sweet girl.

Kids can be so retarded. We spent like 20 minutes bailing sand from a pile in the yard to the sandbox. For fun. After 20 minutes I ended it by suggesting we go watch "Cinderella". That's a pretty low move, suggesting TV when the kids are contently playing outside, but 20 minutes of bailing sand for pleasure is 19 minutes too many for me. I'll give it 1 minute just to see if it is indeed fun. It's not.

More emotional rollercoaster came when today Milka begged, full on begged, me to stay until 7:00. I wasn't ready to today, but I think I'm going to start staying late which means my posting schedule will be VERY erradict, so don't fret if I'm MIA. I need some help. Does anyone have any suggestions on how to handle this: The kids don't get home from school until 6:00pm. It takes 40 minutes to get home. The internet cafe closes at 8:00pm. I have to go to Dickson in the morning because that's when we do all the cleaning. Should I just shirk off the cleaning and get my posting done first thing in the morning? That seems kind of fucked up. Any suggestions? I definitely want to start staying late because I don't get to see the older kids if I don't. So, ideas?

So ya, time is ticking, Milka begged me to stay, Mwangi asked me to hold him for like 10 minutes solid today, just hold him, nothing else, I walked Rukia and Brian to school, saw Bridgette reunite with the kids, and just said no to some street kids because I have no food with me. It was a very emotional day.

I CAN'T BELIEVE I forgot to mention yesterday that I rode the mutatu home from White Sands sitting next to the cutest baby ever. His mom didn't really speak English and I think I'm the first white person the kid has ever seen because he was fascinated with me. He was probably around 1 year old, so he's just becoming aware of the world around him but still seeing many things for the first time. He kept handing me his little bag of peanuts he was holding and I would take them and then hand them back to him. We did this for 20 minutes. Then he projectile vomited peanuts all over me.

Day 27 v2.0

7 days left. It’s coming way too quickly.

Yesterday, the girl’s name was Jacqueline. I also forgot to mention that she said that the gays in Kenya are becoming a real problem with their spreading of AIDS and recruiting young men. I told her that gays are accepted in American society (to a degree, but I left that part out) and that Kenya’s understanding of gays is just another example of how far it needs to come. I guess that’s now ANOTHER person I have to tell when I’m leaving. Why are people so stupid? Although, they also believe in witch doctors and mob justice here so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.

Last night I was chilling out in my room when John started calling for me. It was time to drink. I’m not so into this, but he really is so I’m trying to indulge him. After a lot of drinking I had to finally be really firm with him and say I was done. I hate doing this. Why can’t people just respect my boundaries the way I respect theirs? I’ve noticed this to be common amongst drinkers. I don’t necessarily need to drink to have fun but I find they are very uncomfortable if I’m not drinking. So after 3 cocktails I finally had to tell him, adamantly and firmly, that I was done.

While we were drinking we were watching the 2008 B.E.T. Awards (they don’t have B.E.T. here, it was airing on another network) and just talking about Kenya and stuff. I got quite the lesson.

So to go to college here, the process is as follows: In 10th grade, all students (roughly 800,000 Kenyans) take a test that does an assessment of them. Before the test, they are told to select their top 3 choices for what they would like to do. Within these choices, there’s 1st, 2nd, and 3rd tier. 1st is doctor, surgeon, architect, and oral surgeon. 2nd is dentist, lawyer, and any type of engineer (civil, chemical, etc.) and 3rd would be something like an economist or political science major. If you do well enough, depending on availability, you will get to do what you want. To put it in perspective however, there are only 8 national universities (which are the only ones worth attending) and each one specializes in something. For example, the school in one province specializes in architecture. They accept 20 students each year. 20 out of 800,000. John was lucky enough to get a score that allowed him his third choice, economist. If you don’t do well enough, you do not get a college education. 10 years ago, this changed and universities started offering “Parallel Programs” which permit those with money to also attend. It costs an insane amount and it’s called “Parallel” because they don’t get to sit with the students who actually tested in. They two groups (those who are given a free education and those who pay for it) never meet, the courses just run alongside one another, hence the name parallel. This infuriated those who tested in because now the value of their degree would go down. Further, everything is corrupt here, so if you weren’t rich, the one way to get ahead was with a degree because rich people couldn’t obtain those without the proper scores. Now, they can. So, when this was first instituted, there was massive violence here. Students were destroying campuses and killing people in protest. John’s friends killed several people. He claims he didn’t get too involved with any of the violence because he was very young for being where he was at in his education and thus was intimidated by it all. Whether that’s true or not, I don’t know.

Apparently something went down recently with the Parallel Program, because the campuses are in turmoil again. I was reading about it in the paper (which is how the conversation came up) and asked him for the story. Now, in addition to killing and trashing the campuses, they’ve taken to destroying the areas around the campuses and raping staff and faculty.

It’s so crazy to hear this stuff. The president here lost the last election but won’t step down and since he controls all the government, no one can stop him. That was what sparked all the violence last year. Then add on mob justice. And HIV rates. And child prostitution. And corrupt…everything. I was telling John that the things I hear about in Kenya are as foreign as if someone were to say “Tomorrow, aliens will land in Baltimore, MD”. I mean, can you imagine if George Bush said in January “I’m not stepping down” or if UCLA had garbage cans on fire and corpses along Westwood or seeing a mob of people set a man on fire on the Upper East Side? It’s just so fucking crazy.

While talking we were watching the B.E.T. Awards and I used the opportunity to mention that Alicia Keys and Queen Latifah are both lesbians. (I haven’t personally seen them munch on a lady’s box, but I have it on good authority). I also mentioned that Oprah likely is too. He is fascinated with Oprah because Esther considers Oprah her idol whereas John thinks she’s nothing more than a wannabe-white woman celebrity. I’ve told Esther and John about how any product mentioned on her show is sold out the next day, how any book is #1 on Amazon, how she got the National Guard to go after Nate Berkus’ missing boyfriend after the tsunami, and they are just amazed. As they should be, Oprah is amazing. He started asking about her core audience last night and I said it was predominately women and gay men and he was shocked that gay men would be into Oprah. He asked why I was into Oprah. I gave him the following answer, which is fully true, but I omitted the fact that I am a gay man and thus part of her target market: I told him that her philanthropy is obviously very inspiring to me since I consider myself a budding philanthropist. That seemed to satisfy him and his phone rang before we could get any deeper, so the conversation was dropped.

He then said that his idol is Nelson Mandela. At first he made a joke that this rebel tribe leader was his idol, but I didn’t know who he was talking about at first, so the joke fell flat. I’ve seen the man on the news and in the papers. Kenya has 42 tribes, and basically none of them get along. There’s this one tribe that is out in the middle of nowhere and has this wanted-criminal-rebel-leader who like lives in the woods. He is constantly cutting off the ears of people in his tribe for what he thinks is them planning and plotting against him. They show it on the news a lot, a guy with a huge bandage wrapped around his head, one side of his face blood soaked because his ear was cut off. That then reminded me of a story in the paper yesterday about a father of twins who cut off the right ear of one child and the left ear of another so that he could differentiate them. Ya. Aliens are landing in Baltimore tomorrow.

After all this, abortion came up and John is pro-choice, which is nice. So is Jacqueline. Unfortunately, the majority of Africa, and Kenya specifically, is not. 50% of all the women in the world who die from illegal/make-shift abortions are in Africa. (That stat was in yesterday’s paper). It’s pretty nuts, but what’s even more nuts is what legalized abortion could mean for Kenya. “Freakonomics” is an amazing book and you must read it immediately. In it, an economist makes the argument (very persuasively) that the #1 cause in the decline of crime rates in the early 1990s was because of legalized abortion in the 70s (Roe v. Wade). Because children born to women who would abort them if they had the chance are more likely to become criminals, the drop in crime is related to the increase of aborted fetuses. The crime drop occurred when the would-be criminals would be reaching the age at which they'd start committing crimes. It’s obviously a lot more complicated than that, but you must read it. Anyway, I think legalized abortion would solve MULTIPLE problems here (crime, street kids, deaths from illegal abortions, etc) but of course one of the Members of Parliament said the other day that the bill would “…never see the light of day” so that’s out the window.

I also learned that Kenyans drive drunk all the time and it’s not illegal. John killed a quarter bottle of vodka and 2 beers and then drove off to go out with his friends (at 1am). Basically, if you’re conscious, you drive. Scary. Jaqueline said the clubs he goes to have bad reputations for cheating and drugs and stuff. That’s another thing about Kenya that’s nuts to me. It’s assumed that all the men cheat and it’s accepted. All the advice columns and all the women’s magazines and everything about relationships is how to deal with and how to cope with cheating. I have a solution. Leave him. Can’t cheat on you if you’re not with him. But ya, it’s pretty much given that all men cheat on their wives here. The men are always going out to nightclubs and strip clubs without their wives and the women are supposed to just shut up and take it. In fact, there’s a huge campaign going on here (to fight AIDS) that is based on the premise “Stay faithful to your partner” because infidelity is such a problem and spreads HIV. I don’t know if people in American cheat a lot too and they either don’t talk about it to other people or if they keep it from me specifically because I’m such an ardent supporter of monogamy, but I can’t imagine that everyone out there is cheating. Here, it's weird if they're not. Although I guess what do you expect from a nation that allows a man to have up to 6 wives? So nuts.

This morning I went to White Sands and read and laid out and ate and while there I was overwhelmed with this feeling of “What did I do to deserve this?”. Seriously, I can’t imagine what I did in a past life to warrant the amazing, fantastic, charmed life I’ve been given in this one. I’ve traveled all over, lived in the best cities in America, was given two loving parents, have my health, was given an amazing education, I could go on and on and on. What is it that makes someone born me and makes someone born one of the street kids here who is basically pulled from the womb and plopped on a street corner? It’s such dumb luck, such unfair happenstance. I am so amazingly grateful for everything I’ve been given, but it’s also really hard to wrap my head around. I’m dreading leaving the internet café because I have some groceries I bought from Nakumatt and I know there will be street kids outside when I leave. What am I supposed to do? I can’t give away everything I buy, but how am I supposed to say no to starving children living on the streets? Why am I in the position that I am and why are they in the position they are? It’s really crazy and I guess part of the reason I believe in God. There’s just too much weird shit going on in the world, there’s too much love and misery and life and death for it to all be pointless. Still, I’d really like to know what the deal is because a lot of these people sure got the shit end of the stick.

I have two more pages of notes, but this is going very long so I’m going to just wrap it up with a few things.

Today I burned my mouth at the buffet at White Sands because I was trying to shovel the food into my mouth quickly because if I stopped eating I wouldn’t be able to start again.

Yesterday I wanted to drop kick Jacqueline in the vagina. When I introduced her to Yvonne she said “Is this a girl?”. A) Her name is Yvonne. B) She’s beautiful. C) She’s wearing a skirt. D) She’s a person, do not refer to her as “this”. I mean, how do you think that made Yvonne feel? I don’t know, but I could have shoved my foot up her stank pussy for that comment. (Although I do want her to volunteer at Dickson so I guess I should refrain from doing so)

I was all angry about this when I noted it in my notepad today (while eating) and then I put a piece of mango in my mouth and literally smiled. I went from pissed at Jacqueline to smiling because of a piece of mango. It’s like Prozac meets Spanish fly.

Finally, on a scale of 1-10, how bad is it that I had never heard of the country called Qatar until today? 3? 7? 10? I am fully aware of the fact that while I may be good at some things, I may not be so good at many other things, but not knowing of a country made me feel pretty fucking retarded. How long do you think I can coast on my abs alone?

Pictures

1. The manual ferris wheel at show ground
2. Show ground
3. Show ground- shortest woman in the world (seen below)
4. Show ground- this isn't even a really bad pic of the litter
5. One of the oh-so-fun spiders I've come across here. Isn't it horrifying? It even LOOKS like it's going to inject you with poison.
6. Show ground
7. Show ground
8. Show ground
9. Show ground
10. Show ground
11. Me, Ongeri, Vincent, and Kiio
12. Roda and Neema
13. Nelson
14. Rukia and the allegedly "shortest woman in the world"
15. Show ground
16. Brian in class
17. An obvious attempt to look like Yves St. Laurent that I thought was funny
18. Apina, Goretty, Jumwa, Rebecca
19. A far, far cry from apple, grape, and orange
20. Kezia with Marion, Moses, and Mwangi

Day 26 v2.0

I am an upper-middle class American pussy; I am not a Kenyan.

I had another one of these moments at show ground yesterday. Yesterday, for the 2nd time in my life, I got a little sunburned on my shoulders. I didn't wear sunscreen (on accident, I had it with me) and got a lil pink on my shoulders. I have been to many hot and sunny locales and the only other time I was sunburned was when I was 10 years old and spent the entire day on a beach in Miami after being cooped up all winter in Minnesota. Other than that, never been burned. It's already turning tan (it was sort of pink last night and this morning, but by this afternoon all the redness is gone) so I don't think I'm going to peel or anything, but ya. African sun. Wear sunscreen. I brought it on myself for making fun of that volunteer who got burned. What goes around comes around.

Today I took one of my neighbors to Dickson. We've become friendly over the weeks and she's interested in volunteering on the weekends. She's 22 and seems pretty great, but is sitting next to me so I'll refrain from using her name because it would be likely to catch her eye if she glanced over.

On the ride over, she informed me that Kenya is actually 10x more corrupt than I think it is. The media only covers what it's allowed to cover, numbers are always skewed, etc, etc, etc. I can't fathom how it could possibly be any worse, but I guess I'm not surprised.

When I got to Dickson, I was to get Kezia and Monica and we were going to go back to town for Monica's dentist appointment. I tried to get us to walk to Migadini and take the mutatu from there since a) the Migadini mutatu would take us basically right to the dentist's office and b) we had to either walk a lot at the front of our trip (i.e. to Migadini) or through town because the mutatu from Port Reitz stops in the middle of town, not by the dentist's office. Kezia wanted us to walk through town, which is sucks because we'd have to push through the crowds as opposed to walking down the crowd free streets of Port Reitz, but whatever.

The dentist cost Ksh3,000, about $50, which I paid for. I was not thanked, but I got to thinking and really it didn't bother me too much. I was thinking back and I can't think of any time I've heard the words "asante" from a Kenyan to a Kenyan. The only time I hear it is at the end of an English conversation I have with a Kenyan in which I am providing them with some sort of business (and even then it's not all the time). I guess saying "thank you" is not really a part of the culture. Even at restaurants and stuff, I'm always saying thank you to the servers and I never get thanked for my business or anything like that. The kids are SORT OF good about thanking volunteers but that's more about the constant western influence than the kids themselves. They rarely do it in Swahili to each other or to staff or something. It was really jarring for the longest time, but I have to keep reminding myself that this is not America and my expectations must be different. In fact, it's really assanine of me to think that they should do thigns our way because why is our way any better? It's not. It's just different. Yes, I prefer it because I think it's nice but the argument could be made that it's really fake. So, despite the lack of gratitude, I was ok with it and glad that Monica is no longer in constant pain, which ultimately is the only thing that matters.

I read the May 2008 and August 2008 issues of Men's Health: South Africa while waiting for Monica. It's pretty much exactly the same as Men's Health: America. It must be nice to be able to repackage a magazine simply by switching the words "dollar" and "USA" with the words "shilling" and "Africa". After I paid, I realized that there was a computer with internet access available to use while waiting. I was pretty pissed about that until I logged in to Gmail and it promptly kicked me off. Twice.

Everyone here is so fascinated by Red Bull. I drank a Red Bull on the mutatu ride back to Port Reitz and the conductor asked me if it was the juice of a bull. I said it was not. I can't wait to stop drinking that piss though. I can't imagine the kind of damage I'm doing to my insides while here. Packages of cookies, more carbs than a stadium filled with marathon runners, Red Bull, dust, air pollution, I've really never been grosser in my life. (That's not true. I was grosser last year, but it was still in Kenya.)

When I got back to Dickson, we played some games with the kids for a while and then they all became TV zombies. I hate when that happens, but what're you gonna do. I went and cleaned and did some sweeping and stuff like that and it really hit me as to why America has developed so much more. Obviously there are many factors, but a predominate one is work ethic. I'm not kidding when I say that if, in America, I worked at the rate and quality that I do here, I would be fired. I would fire each and every staff member at Dickson and each and every public and private employee I've thus far encountered. But it's the culture. If they aren't told to do something, it doesn't get done. The floor clearly needed to be swept, but everyone was sitting around watching TV instead. Now, I know I have a fairly strong work ethic, so that might be a part of it, but I'm really not that crazed. I didn't get all A's in law school (or undergrad for that matter) so it's not like I always work really hard; that said, I didn't get this far in my life by sitting around on my ass (yes, I recognize the generous financial support my parents provided me were key too) but my parents didn't buy my grades or promotions at jobs or what have you. So maybe I'm a little more harsh than most would be, but what would you say if you hired someone to run your home and then came home to see that the place was a mess and they were watching TV with the kids? Or if your employees ignored customers? Or if your servers took 20 minutes to get menus to patrons? It's really hard for me to wrap my head around this.

But enough complaining. I mean, I'm really not complaining (although it may sound like it), but rather I feel like I'm documenting. I'm just sharing my thoughts and experiences here. Also, as I said at the beginning of my trip, this is more like a journal that I'm making available to the world. I want to remember certain things and memories and observations, and so it can't just all be the good stuff. I want to remember the things I didn't like too.

I leave a week from tomorrow and again I had this anxiety attack about that today. I was sitting with Apina watching some Swahili film and I just got really ill to the pit of my stomach. I'm really reaching my saturation point with Mombasa as a city (a month is a long time) but I am not ready to leave the kids. I don't suppose I would ever be "ready" but it's too soon. I wish I could stay until I really couldn't stand to be here anymore. I'm annoyed with the yelling and traffic and smells and hustling, but I could still take it just to be with the kids. When we were playing this Kenyan version of tag today, I was so happy and just having so much fun it was ridiculous. Also, I'm at the part of "Freakonomics" about parenthood (PLEASE go get this book, it's one of the most fascinating reads ever) so it's making me think a lot about the kids and my own future kids and children generally and it's making me just want to scoop up all 29 of them and bring them to the US.

I don't know how I'm going to leave them. On Monday I suggest you all buy stock in Kleenex because their shares are going to skyrocket when I return.