Paperless Society

The biggest culture shock during my first two weeks in Kenya has been not being able to access the internet easily. Cyber cafes are numerous and priced right at 1 Ksh/minute. But not being able to connect my laptop to the internet means I can’t upload photos to this blog and can’t write blogs ahead of time, unless I write them by hand—which is time-consuming to enter. Worst of all, when I’ve written in tiny letters across every blank space on every piece of paper I have at work, I’m told TICH does not have notepads. Nor pens. There is only one printer and we must notify the IT guys to get permission to print. All photocopies are made on the back of already-used copy paper. It’s hard enough not being on the internet—or even on my laptop until a three-prong adaptor was located—but most hard to bear is the lack of blank paper for simple note taking. At least we know TICH, a non-profit, isn’t spending money willy nilly on office supplies.

This Little Piggy Went to Market

The market is absolutely crazy! Anywhere you go in Kisumu, someone is selling something. They drape their bodies with ties and shirts, toys and electronics and walk the streets. Or they set their goods out on the sidewalks. At the market, though, chaos reigns as people walk into each other along the narrow passageways, between wood kiosks selling household goods, grains, tea, shoes, furniture, vegetables and fruits. 'Karibo, Mama, they say to welcome us, as a way of getting me to stop and look at their wares. 'Karibo, take your time, please!'

Stephanie, who appears to be about 12 years old, attaches herself to me. Her English is very good and she walks with me and Ian as though she, too, is an adult. I take this opportunity to learn about Stephanie's family and the price of goods at the market. She asks a vendor the price of his sugar, for if I ask, the price would be quadrupled. Stephanie's parents are dead. She lives with her grandmother. Her uncle makes furniture and we pass him as we explore the market. He seems affectionate toward Stephanie. She helps me pick out a pair of rubber sandals. 180 Ksh (about $2.25 US). To compensate for her assistance, I give Stephanie 20 bob and tell her to buy some sweets. 'What do you like?' I ask her, wondering what her favorite candy is. 'Shoes,' she replies very seriously and she points to a pair of smart-looking lace-ups. I laugh out loud at her cleverness and courage. 'How much are they?,\ I ask the vendor. '550 Ksh,' he says with a straight face. Stephanie asks to hold the shoe. I tell her I can't buy her a pair of shoes today, especially not a pair for 550 Ksh. 'They're too small, anyway,' she says.

Having a child stand next to me and ask for shoes is the most natural thing in the world. I feel totally comfortable when she asks. My children have done that very thing thousands of time and continue to ask for things, even though they're grown. So I tell Stephanie I'll look for her around her uncle's furniture the next time I visit the market. Perhaps we can find some shoes that fit her then. 'Okay,' she says. She shows us the way out of the maze, the fastest way to the road leading away from the market. I head to town and Ian goes home to nap, exhausted after our pass through the chaos. I hope to see Stephanie again one day. It would bring me great joy to buy her a pair of shoes.

Rain!!

Steve, Ian, Rachel and I take Boda Bodas to Kiboko Bay today to meet Ed Yarrow, a fellow VSO volunteer for lunch. We travel down wide and shady streets with well-groomed yards. Parts of it remind me of being in Hawaii. As we pass the Impala Reserve, the paved road ends and then the dirt road narrows. We pass cows grazing among the structural bones of an old house. We turn down what looks like a private, though unpaved, drive and slowly come up to Winam Bay, the part of Lake Victoria that juts up into Kenya. It's quite beautiful, this lake, especially from the patio of a nice restaurant. Lunch is a little more pricey than we're used to paying—400 Ksh compared to the usual 100 Ksh. As the afternoon ages, the wind off the lake picks up until it's quite forceful, creating crashing waves at the lake's edge.

The boda bodas are a great way to travel. The guys try to charge us twice as much as they charge the locals, but we know enough now to insist on lower fares. Steve and Ian are big guys, though, usually bigger than the boda boda drivers, so I tell them to pay more. But I'm not so little, as one boda boda driver told me,'Madam, you are much weight to carry.'

Taking the boda bodas back to town, the skies in the distance, coming from the Rift Valley, look dark and dense with rain. Within two hours, the rains are falling and falling. The air immediately cools. After a couple of hours, it stops. I take a boda boda home from town and actually become chilled in the cool evening air. Ahhh. Is this the beginning of the long rains, or will it heat up again?

Julius' Taxi

Julius is a handsome, young Kenyan man. He’d be a movie star if he lived in the United States. But in Kisumu, Julius is a polite taxi driver. Steve and Rachel introduce me and Ian to Julius one night while we’re dining at the Lake View Hotel. The lobby of the hotel has tables spread throughout, so it looks more like a restaurant. The waiter’s serving station is the registration desk. Locals come here, not usually white people. But Steve and Rachel have an adventurous side, having met in Nicaragua years ago. They’re not a couple, but they meet in spots around the world when possible. We order goat and chicken with ugali and roasted potatoes—it takes more than hour for the food to be served. Once we’ve eaten it is very late. A little late and it’s okay to take a boda boda home. But this late, 11 p.m., and a taxi is in order. So Rachel calls Julius and he arrives promptly.

We all pile into his car of indeterminate make. But it’s old. And it smells of gasoline. The windows rattle, there are rips and tears throughout the interior and the seats lack cushioning. The car has a 3 on the tree gear shift and nothing powered. It reminds me of my 1964 Ford Fairlane and it smells like it, too. The car is heavy and heaves when Julius releases the clutch. A couple of times, it dies because we’re on an incline. But Julius manages to get it started and up through the gears, but we go no faster than 20 mph. When we turn onto our dirt road, every single rock sends a shock through the old car. It rattles noisily and the landscape jolts our feet against the floorboards. Ian puts Julius’ phone number in his phone so we can use Julius over the next two years.

We arrive home at 11:15 p.m. to find the gate chained and padlocked. While Ian and I climb over the 8-foot gate, being careful of the spikes across the top, Julius works hard to turn his big car around in the narrow road. We laugh at him and he laughs at us. Julius lost both parents before he finished high school, but he was able to get his diploma. College is out of the question for now, so Julius shares the cab with another guy. I’m hoping our patronage over the next two years is a benefit to Julius. He’d be a movie star in the U.S. For now, he’s happy to receive 200 shillings for dropping us home. When Julius picks us up at the Roof Top Bar last night, he teases us by asking, 'Will you have to climb the gate again?'

Toenail B'Gone!

Two days ago, I notice the toenail on my left big toe is very narrow at the tip. I flex my foot and peer under the nail, where a small gap appears. Ugghhh! It’s separating from my foot! Yesterday, the gap is larger and today I can’t bear to look at it. At dinner tonight (potatoe chips and a cold Tusker beer) I rest my heels up on the table and am shocked to see bare flesh where my burgundy painted toenail had just been.

'I didn’t even feel it come off,' I tell Ian. He’s sitting next to me at the table, munching chips and sipping his beer. He looks down at the floor and points, 'There it is!' He’s genuinely excited, but I can’t look. 'And it’s huge!' he adds. Gee, just what every girl loves to hear.

There is now a wedge of new nail. This bald toe is gruesome and stands out against the other painted toenails, so I remove the polish only to discover the right big toe is still purple. Ian is convinced this nail will also fall off. He gives it a month.

Wife Inheritance

HIV/AIDS is epidemic in Africa and a large percentage of the population in the Kisumu area is HIV positive, nearly 40 percent. Funerals are common and the impact is devastating; many children are left homeless or must be supported by extended family members. The economy is weakened because wage-earners between the ages of 18 to 30 are sick or dying. Kenyans are aware of ow the virus is spread,yet there are unusual ways of infection in this culture, such as the sharing of knife blades by Masai when cutting holes in their earlobes, or the sharing of instruments used for male and female circumcision.

I read somewhere that wife inheritance is also a contributor to the spread of the virus but couldn't fathom how. Until Roselynn share her story with our group during training in Nairobi. Roselynn works with Frank in Ndewa and is from that area. When her husband passed away, her father-in-law was eager to have Roselynn inherited by another male member of the family. But before a male family member can take the new wife, she must be 'cleansed' by a man from outside the family. Roselynn said men who 'cleanse' women must have certain qualifications, such as being single and of a certain age, so there aren't many men who meet the requirements. This means the same man goes from widow to widow, 'cleansing' each one. Often, however, and tragically, these men are HIV positive and spread the disease to the women, who spread it to their new husband, who may spread it to other wives and girlfriends.

Luckily, Roselynn's daughter attended a school where she learned the dangers of wife inheritance. This young girl stood up to her grandfather and argued against her mother being passed to another man. She threatened to leave Roselynn and live with an aunt if Roselynn went along with the men's plan. As uncharacteristic as it is for a young girl to speak out, it is more unusual to find an elder male who listens to a young female. But the grandfather did liten and dropped the whole thing. Roselynn is safe for now. But what about all the other young widows who aren't aware of the dangers of wife inheritance and who don't have the right to say no, or who don't have strong, wise and brave children to stand up for them?

Our House

Our House on Milimani Road

Our house is a very, very fine house. We live on Milimani Road, a red dirt road just one or two blocks off the paved roads. We're told this is a nice area of town. The wall in front is covered with blooming red, white and purple bougainvillea. The house is beige with red clay roof tiles. The windows have decorative bars built into them. Outside the bars, glass windows can be opened. Inside, screened panels cover the glass areas to keep mosquitoes out. The bars usually have a central circle or diamond through which the curtains can be held up, allowing a breeze through the house. The floors and walls are painted cement. The ceiling is about 10 feet high, which helps keep the interior cool.

Our living room is equipped with a metal table and four chairs, the form stuffing showing through rips. Ian was able to beg/borrow a couch, chair and coffee table from our kind-hearted landlady. We use the box our iron came in as a trashcan and the coffee maker box as the end table. Our bedrooms are off the left of the living room; Ian's room is toward the front and mine is at the back. In our rooms, we each have four closet cabinets that lock and a bed with mosquito nets. I'm using my suitcase as a bedside table and the water filter box as a trashcan. Between the dining room and kitchen is a bath area, including a sink in the hallway, just outside the toilet room and shower room. We have cold water only, so the shower is operated with one red handle. There is a drain in the raw cement floor and nothing else, apart from a plastic hook on the shower door. No soap holder, no towel bar; so we place a chair outside the shower room to hold our towels, clothes, soap and other bathing essentials.

Our kitchen, the exact turquoise of my Grandmother Bohannon's kitchen in Hazelhurst, Georgia, is at the back of the house. It has a huge pantry about seven by seven feet, with shelving on one wall. We joke this will be Frank's room when he visits from Ndewa. It now contains the ironing board, which supports our two water filters. The kitchen has a stainless steel sink with a built-in dish drainer under the window. There is nothing else in the room. No counters or cabinets. We keep the gas cooker on the floor behind the pantry door. The back door is thick, thick metal, with three heavy-duty bolts. Just outside is an area of about eight feet deep leading to the back wall. Trees shade the area. Perhaps one day I'll plant flowers next to the wall.

The Little Institute That Could (Can!)

Tropical Institute of Community Health (TICH)

The Tropical Institute of Community Health and Develop (TICH) was started as a private institute in Kenya in 1998. One of its founders, Dr. Dan Kaseje, is the current director and inspirational leader of the institute. Dan, along with many dedicated men and women who believe in TICH and its philosophy, have brought the institute to the brink of being a university. Over the last six years, they raised funds and library books and hope as well as buildings.

TICH is unique in its academic program because the curriculum couples classroom learning with hands-on, practical experience working with communities to improve their health and livelihood. Communities seeking expert guidance in farming, husbandry or health issues contact TICH. Partnering with the community, TICH will send out instructors and students to research the community’s needs and write recommendations. Part of the student’s course work is doing the research, analyzing the data, interacting with the community and assessing progress as the program is implemented.

There are thought to be approximately 300,000 young people in Kenya who want to attend college. The University of Nairobi has about 30,000 students. Combined, private and public schools of higher education in Kenya are capable of servicing only 50,000 students each year. Currently, TICH is running diploma and bachelor programs in Community Health & Development (CH&D) while awaiting accreditation as a university from the Commission of Higher Education (CHE). Until that comes through, they cannot begin their bachelor of nursing program or their masters of CH&D. Both programs have been approved by the CHE, but TICH can’t launch them without accreditation.

The science lab is in place, the classrooms have been built, staff has been hired, all to meet the CHE’s requirements for accreditation. In a country where people are working hard to make their dreams come true, dreams of improving the lives of their fellow countrymen, the only thing stopping them is their government. However, TICH is the little institute that could…and can. The devoted staff will continue working toward the day CHE grants the letter of interim authority. The library’s inventory is being put into a computer database. Right now, to find a book, one must use the card catalogue. TICH’s IT server is on dial-up, but there is talk of getting a satellite for internet connection, just like the CDC and the Red Cross. Progressing, thinking big, dreaming big, TICH is on its way.

Malaria

Malaria is a big topic in Kisumu. Carried by mosquitoes, the disease is more common in Western Kenya than elsewhere. Folks in Nairobi don’t take anti-malarial drugs unless they travel outside the city to more remote areas. They’ll take the drug a week before entering Malarial areas, while in the area, and then for four weeks after returning home. I took Larium last December while climbing Kilimanjaro and suffered only a couple nights of very vivid nightmares, the most common side effect. Larium is taken only once a week while other anti-malarial drugs are taken daily.

On arriving in Kisumu, we immediately hang our mosquito nets over our beds. Initially, it was suspended by one central hook. But the net hung inward and sleeping under it felt claustrophobic. I put a hook in the ceiling aligned with each corner of the bed, then tied strings to the corner loops, allowing the net to drop low enough for tucking between the mattress and bed frame. The net must be tucked securely all around.

In East Africa, furniture is usually wood frames with cloth-covered foam mattresses and cushions. My bed is a single with a foam mattress that dips in the center. But it fits snugly in the bed frame, allowing for a secure barrier to mosquitos. The net is treated with insecticide. Any insect landing on it will not fly away. After three months, we’ll treat our nets with insecticide provided by the VSO office.

Locals do not take anti-malarial drugs. Eddie, the doctor in Ndewa that frank works with, told Frank not to take the drugs. Eddie recommended getting Malaria so the body can build up immunity. Yet, three people at TICH had Malaria last week, some cases worse than others. And they can get Malaria often, sometimes every few months.

Ed, a fellow VSO volunteer in Kisumu, had Malaria since his arrival last September. He said it felt like a bad head cold. We’ve been warned by the VSO doctor that our symptoms may not even be close to the normal signs and 50% of people diagnosed with Malaria do not really have it. If we feel ill we’ve been instructed to have a blood test to make sure it is Malaria and is treated properly. Apparently, taking anti-Malarial drugs can lessen symptoms. The disease can also alter a person’s perception and mental processes so they do not realize how sick they are.

The most vulnerable people are pregnant women and children under the age of five. Children die of Malaria in Kenya every day, even though it is treatable. Many community programs educate parents about using mosquito nets and removing stagnant water and tall grass from around their home. The programs sometimes offer nets at 50 or 100 Ksh—they sell in Nakumatt for 200 Ksh and above.

Rachel told us a story that happened at the health center where she works. A couple went to the clinic late at night, the father carrying his daughter in his arms. She was burning up with fever. The lab technician on duty was called to administer and analyze the blood test. The technician lived nearby but refused to go to the center at night. The family then walked on the side of the road, a serious danger at night, waving down travelers and asking for a ride to the next clinic, which they did. The little girl was tested, found to have Malaria and was treated. Using good judgment, the director of the center fired the lab technician. Most alarming, however, is that the couple had recently lost a child to Malaria. Even when preventions are practiced and treatment is possible, people still die from Malaria, especially young children.

Sinks and Soaps

Everywhere you go, in homes, restaurants, and hotels, there are small sinks mounted on the wall, hovering, with no cabinet or frilly skirt hiding the silver pipes below. Just a small, white sink used to wash hands both before and after meals. There is usually soap, sometimes, but not always. But always they are tiny bars that fit on the tiny sinks. They might be in dirty chunks or pristine with a foil label still stuck to one side. Ants may float dead in the soap water or on the ledge. It’s common to find the entire spout turning when you turn the faucet handle. When turning on the water in our bathroom sink, mounted between the living room and kitchen, I hold the spout in place while turning the handle.

You’ll rarely find paper towels or napkins at hand. Perhaps a cloth towel for hand drying that could have been hanging there for months. There might be an automatic hand dryer, but it won’t work. Well, at least 90% of the time it will be broken. So I’ve gotten used to washing my hands and letting them air dry. The heat dries them soon enough anyway.

The staple meal for Kenyans is Ugali, a thick paste made of ground corn. It’s usually pressed down into a bowl then toppled out onto a plate where people dig out huge chunks of it with their hands. Ugali is always served with a meat and gravy or sauce, such as cubes of beef or goat or liver and fish still on the bones. Samuko wiki is the other vegetable served at most meals. It’s a form of kale, greens that are shredded and cooked like spinach. Kenyans eat with their hands (or 'natural forks' as they tease us white people), taking a pinch of Ugali and forming/massaging it with their right fist; never the left, always the right for sanitary reasons influenced by the Muslims. They then press the Ugali to their beef or goat or liver, gripping the meat and sliding the Ugali so sauce clings to it. They may pick up a bit of samuko wiki, too, and then pop the whole shebang into their mouths. They do not normally use napkins, but opt instead to use the little white sinks immediately after each meal.

At some restaurants, a server will bring a bowl with a tiny bar of soap and a pitcher of warm water to the table. Holding the bowl, the server will pour warm water over the diners’ hands. After the meal, the server brings the washing bowl around again.

Goat is the hands-down favorite meat in this region. The past Friday, we met Rachel from Boston. She’s been in Kenya for two months doing research on public health issues. Her last day is Wednesday and the center where she’s been working will hold a farewell party for her, though they are strapped for cash. Rachel, therefore, has bought a goat for her going away dinner. It cost about 2500 Ksh, approximately $30 US. There’s always someone around to butcher and prepare the meat, as along as they are invited to the party. And you can bet, wherever the party is held, there will be a nearby white sink attached firmly to the wall, waiting to wash away the Ugali and goat grease.

Paul

Our house is walled in with a courtyard and gate, manned by 10-year-old Paul. In addition to letting folks in and out of the gate, Paul sweeps up the yard at 6 a.m. and again at 6 p.m. and he boils our landlady's water on a fire set up outside their backdoor. When Paul isn't working around the yard, he sits in a tree outside our kitchen window, watching the children playing at the primary school next door. Phoebe and Joseph, our landlords, have raised five children who are doctors and engineers in the U.S. and Nairobi. They have now taken in Paul and two teenagers, Boniface and Joyce, a girl. Joyce and Boniface are orphans, their parents having died from AIDS. Paul lost his father and his father's first wife to AIDS. Paul's mother, Carolyn, was the second wife, is still living, but unable to care for Paul.

Every day, when we return from work or town, Paul will greet us--having heard us from his perch in the tree out back. He runs to the front to let us in. When I see his smiling eyes, I sing the old song, "Hey, Hey Paul, I want to marry you." Paul speaks very little English and mostly Luo, the language of the local tribe, and he rarely speaks that. But he smiles and giggles when we greet him in English or Kiswahili and especially when I sing to him. Even though Phoebe says Paul attends the primary school next door, we never see him in uniform and he's always at home during the day, usually in the tree outside our kitchen window.

Open Windows

It is African hot here in Kisumu. Dancing around 100 degrees fahrenheit each day, there is no relief, no air conditioning, only cold showers (we do not have hot piped water at home). Walking to town or to work on the red, dusty roads leaves our feet and shoes coated in dirt. All windows are kept open; at home, at work, in shops and hotels. When cars speed down the dirt roads, dust clouds travel indoors so that we smell and taste dirt. I keep my computer in its case and zipped in the backpack to ensure it remains dustfree. To keep our feet clean even in the house, Ian and I have taken to wearing cheap, rubber slippers. The dirt washes away in the shower and I am temporarily cooled by the cool water, but as soon as I dry off, the heat returns. It helps to sleep with wet hair. They say things will cool down when the long rains start--any day now!

Even with this insistent heat and the equatorial sun beating down most furiously between 1 and 3 p.m., it's not as suffocating as the Georgia heat can be. In middle Georgia where I grew up, the temperatures can hit the high 90's, or even 100, and the humidity makes it almost impossible to move. Walking outside, it often feels like a hot, wet, heavy blanket has been thrown around you. In Kisumu, it's very dry and a breeze is always blowing off the lake. It gets slightly cool in the early morning hours, but getting to sleep is difficult unless I'm totally exhausted. Even though the dirt roads will be especially muddy and messy when the rains come, I'm really looking forward to the daily rainshowers.

Water, Water Everywhere...

We live next to the second largest freshwater lake in the world (Lake Superior is the largest). Yet only 40% of Kisumu residents have piped water. And this piped water is unsafe to drink. We can shower in it and wash our clothes with it, but we'll invite certain unsavory waterborne diseases if we drink it. So Ian and I buy a gas cooker with two burners from the Ukwala supermarket on Odinga Oginga Road, the main street through town. We also buy a set of pots for boiling water. Even though it's 34 degrees outside (100 degrees fahrenheit!!), we boil pot after pot of water and pour them into our VSO-issued water filters, allowing the water to filter overnight. The first batch comes out tasting of the chalky "earth" candles used to purify the water. The water filter literature says the porous "earth" candles capture all those nasty micro-creatures, letting only pure water through to the bottom container. We're told by experienced VSO volunteers the "earth" taste will soon disappear.

We must wash our dishes in boiled water, which is a lot of work. Amazing to have water coming from a tap but not being able to consume it. Kenyans should be outraged--and most are--that the government hasn't set up water systems and treatment plants. Or health care systems or paved roads...the list could go on and on. Lack of quality water is just another reason so many international aid groups come here to assist with improving living conditions and the health of Kenyans.

Friends

Our employers arrived yesterday evening and go through training with us today. Reverend Bonifis Obondi is the director of Administration, Finance and Marketing at TICH where Ian and I will work. The Reverend will supervise both me and Ian. He's kind, as are all the other employers, who are from Kenya and surrounding countries.

We go to dinner at The Cellar; a large group of nearly 50 people made up of volunteers, employers and VSO staff. After dinner, Pushparaj invites us all to stand around a fire built next to our dining tent. We're handed a glass bowl filled with folded pieces of paper and told to pass the bowl as Pushparaj plays "drums" on a metal plate cover with a spoon. When the music stops, whoever holds the bowl selects a piece of paper and does as it instructs. For an hour, in a circle around the fire, under a tree with the bright moon peeking through, we all laugh and clap and sing traditional songs (sadly, this even includes "YMCA") and dance tribal dances. Phillipinos, Ugandans, Americans, Canadians, Dutch, Kenyans and English are all connected through playfulness.

As Dawn is expertly pantomining the erection of a tent, and we all watching admiringly as she unzips the imaginary tent, climbs inside and curls up to sleep, I'm reminded why I chose VSO; exposure to many cultures through fellow volunteers, wrapped in genuine good will.

In Country Training

We're here for training in Kiswahili, Kenyan culture and what to expect from VSO and our employers. Some volunteers arrived last September but did not go through training, so they are joining us new arrivals this week. Pushparaj is from India and now lives in Mombasa. At 34 years of age and having training in gender studies, Pushparaj understands better than most of us how difficult life is for women in Kenya. Vini is also from India, via the U.S., and works in a village in east Kenya. Dawn is from Austin, Texas, and is awaiting a volunteer position. Gelasius is from Uganda and he works with an orphanage and school in rural Kenya.

The new volunteers are me and Ian, Tom, Heidi and Frank from The Netherlands, Hilary from the UK (she'll work as a physical therapist at a center in Dagerotti), and Lino, Mela and Sandra from the Phillipines. Lino will work near Homa Bay as the administrator of drug and rehabilitation center. Mela will work in a remote area of west Kenya and Sandra will work in business management in west Kenya. We'll hold quarterly regional meetings, which means those of us in western Kenya will see other regularly. Our next regional meeting is scheduled for April 16th in Kisumu.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Our group takes the bus to the city center. Several people want to buy cell phones (those going to remote areas of Kenya will not have access to buy cell phones) and others want to see where the internet cafes are located. We visit a Nakumatt, much like a Wal-Mart or Target. Before entering, a guard at the door tells all blacks to check their bags at the special window. White people are allowed to walk through with bags and backpacks and we are not comfortable with such obvious discrimination. Nakumatt carries everything from jam and produce to dishes and tv.

Everyone in Kenya has a cell phone. Their wireless systems are better than in the U.S., but I'm not yet convinced I'll need a cell phone. David and Babara, a couple from Canada, have been in Kakamega (just north of Kisumu) for 18 months. They kindly give me the name of a hair stylist in Kisumu who can cut "soft" hair. They also recommend a butcher and a dentist, all just around the corner from the Nakumatt in Kisumu.

We're so busy orienting ourselves to Nairobi and our fellow group members, it's hard to believe we'll be in our new home and new city this weekend. I'll be visiting Nairobi often over the next two years, so we're being instructed on how to use the central bus station for travel to and from Kisumu and for bus routes in town.

Nairobi, Kenya

As our plane banks east toward Nairobi, to the south stands Kilimanjaro, my old friend. From Kenya, Kili reveals a deeper saddle between its two peaks than it does from the Tanzanian side. The glaciers stand out brilliantly and I feel as though I'm returning home. On the flight with me are Ian, Tom and Heidi from The Netherlands and Hilary from the UK. We spend this week at the Methodist Guest House in Nairobi, a 20-minute walk from a busy commercial center.

The Rough Guide to Kenya reports Nairobi is the largest city in East Africa as well as "the youngest, the most modern, the fastest growing and, at 1700 meters, the highest." Nairobi's genesis was unplanned. In 1899, the British were building a railroad from Mombasa, on the coast, to Kampala, the capital of Uganda. When they reached the steep slopes leading into the Rift Valley, they stopped to allow engineers to determine their next move. This "camp" became Nairobi, which celebrated its 100th anniversary in 1999.

Matato rides (mini-van buses) to the Yaya center, a mall, cost 20 Kenyan shillings (Ksh). Currently, the U.S. dollar is valued at 75 Ksh. The matatos are renegades on the busy streets. There's usually a young man with his head (or body) out of the window or open door, calling out to people to jump on. Matatoes start moving before the last person has sat down, so it's a common sight to see matatos fly by with a butt hanging out the open door.

At this altitude, the weather is perfect night and day, though the equatorial sun can do quick damage to exposed skin. Security guards are everywhere. They must open the gate for us to enter and leave the Methodist center. They sit at the entrace of the resident hall at the center, dressed in official green uniforms complete with sticks. Guards at the Yaya Center are posted at all entrances and carry automatic rifles. Even The Cellar, a restaurant/bar one block from the Methodist, has security guards at the gate. Crime is high in Nairobi, especially muggings, so we are cautioned not to carry valuables such as our passports, jewelry or money.

Three Little (Mer)maids

Cathy, Me & Jan in Sugar Creek

Three sisters in a creek circa 1964. Cathy, the oldest, me, the youngest, and Jan, the middle child! Our father, Duck Brown, taught us to swim in Sugar Creek in South Georgia. A watermelon was always floating nearby, cooling. Cathy now has three children (Hillary 15, Garrison 14 and Luke 7) and Jan has two boys (Donnie 24 and Shawn 22). Counting my two children, Jaime and James, that makes seven grandchildren. When our parents married in 1959, someone wrote on the side of their two-tone Chevrolet, "Watch Georgia Grow." How prophetic!

A Sprinkling of Family

Smoke Gets in Your Eyes

Today my family got together at Jan's house in Sugar Hill to say, "See you later." In the photo, smoke rises from the fire used to make S'mores. My Dad, Duck Brown, is in the back on the left, then James. In the next row is Garrison, Jan, Mama, and me, with Hillary chilling in the Slumberjack chair. Mama brought finger nut cookies from Wilson's Bakery and we ate them before diving into the sub sandwiches. Cathy, my oldest sister, is hiding on the stairs behind Jaime. Cathy, Hillary and Garrison have decided they will travel to Africa for a visit. Jan is still thinking about it, as is Mama. The more the merrier. Only four more days and I'll be on a plane, leaving these caring and crazy people behind. Now when the family gets together Jan will get my share of the finger nut cookies!!

The Most Beautiful Girl in the World

Jaime Coleman: The Sunshine of my Life

Jaime brings sunshine into the life of everyone she meets. She is beautiful inside and out and has grown into the well-adjusted, caring woman I always dreamed she'd be. At the risk of sounding motherish and sappy, I must say Jaime is a remarkable person and totally delightful. I will miss, miss, miss the way she lays her head on my shoulder when she's tired, or how she calls out hopefully to me when I step in the front door. Her smile will go with me to Africa...until the day she brings it to Africa. That will be a glorious day, to have her with me in Kisumu. Love isn't large enough a word, nor deep enough, to describe how I feel about Jaime. Adore isn't broad enough a word--but perhaps a combination of love and adoration gets closer to describing the sunshine she brings. She makes me happy when I am blue...Please don't take your sunshine away!

Farewell for Now

Party On!

Goodbye certainly doesn't mean forever!!! This evening, Jennifer Miller and Deedee Johnson organized a farewell party at La Rumba Mexican restaurant on Roswell Road. The Margaritas were gorgeously strong and the crowd was sensational; a wonderful mix totaling nearly 60! How fantastic to see everyone and say goodbye--a REAL, heartfelt goodbye with affectionate hugs and promises to stay in touch. I solemnly swear to stay in touch with all these tremendous people. They were very generous with their time, love and gifts! Parting with them is bearable only because I know our paths will cross again one day. I wish this blog would hold all the party pictures--even the ones of us late-nighters who rambled over to American Pie afterward and danced until Midnight!! Shakespeare had it right when he said, "Parting is such sweet sorrow."

James Makes the News!

James Doing What he Loves Most!

My son, James Coleman, is a semi-pro skateboarder with a passionate drive to go pro. He's been obsessed with skateboarding since the age of 10. The above photo ran on the front page of the Atlanta Journal/Constitution's "Metro" page on Jan. 28th. Click on the photo to enlarge it and read the caption (James is 20-years-old, not 19 as stated in the paper). James is currently sponsored by Ruin, a skateshop in Sandy Springs here in Atlanta. He's also in a trial sponsorship with Banzai Skateboard Company. James plans to move to San Francisco with his friend, Chris Scoggins, who has friends in the industry in San Fran. I'm extremely proud of James and his dedication to what he loves. I have no doubts he'll make it as a pro, not just because he's a good "rider," but because he's a wonderful (and at times very charming) person!

Matt Creasy, videographer for Ruin's Skate Team, has completed the massive project of filming team members and compiling a skate video. The video, set to be released February 28, introduces James as the newest rider for the shop and contains excellent footage of the other very skilled team members. Call Ian at Ruin (404-943-1178) to get the where/when for the video premiere/release party. Best of luck to all those boys who dedicate so much of their goodwill, energy and creativity to the sport!

We'll Have Electricity and Piped Water in Kenya!!

We just received word about our living accommodations from Chris, the program manager in Kenya. TICH, the college where Ian and I will be working, has secured a place for us. And how glorious; we'll have electricity, water, and an indoor toilet!! That's much more than I had anticipated. Here is Chris' report on visiting the house where Ian and I will be living:

"I went to TICH last week and they have rented a very pleasant guest wing attached to a house; secure and pleasant garden area, verandah, two bedrooms, piped water and power, kitchen with store, and living room. Shower room and inside toilet. About 15 minutes walk to TICH and plenty of 'boda bodas' or bicycle taxis (the common form of moving around) passing all the day! Same to town. They have yet to arrange furniture but are on to it."

Once Ian and I are in Kisumu, VSO will provide a grant to buy essentials for the house, such as plates and utensils. I'll post photos of the house after we've moved in!