Writing blogs are somewhat difficult because I am not sure who I am addressing. Hello there people of the internet.
This post will be one of very few that isn't accompanied with a visual element. It’s because I cannot just whip my camera out on the street and I wouldn’t take pictures left and right of my commute anyway. Also, as my roommate Maddi puts it, everything is “similar but different.” She literally just walked into the living room after trying our new “gherkins in vinegar” and remarked, “These pickles continue the trend of similar but different.” I'm not going to exoticize. It is not so exciting to see pictures of streets, sidewalks, and people traveling to work. It looks like anywhere. But there are some nuances that make this city this city. In Nairobi, when traveling within the downtown area, it is faster to walk than to be in a car. We walk thirty minutes to school every morning. (I have to be vague for security reasons.) The streets are quite peaceful at 7 a.m. I usually sing songs in my head, preferably tunes I’ve heard a million times and can repeat word for word. These include hits by the Beatles, Death Cab for Cutie, Dr. Dog, and Tracy Chapman. Sometimes I’ll rewind the songs over and over until I have to return to reality to cross the street properly. My fam bam would faint if they saw how people cross the street here. I have become accustomed to a whole new closeness with vehicles. Always joining a group, I’ll weave in front of buses and compacts, all jammed at the intersection in traffic. There is no sense of “you go” then “she goes” then “I go” here — “We all go.” As for the pedestrians? We walk when we see the opportunity. There are a few crosswalks at major intersections but the walk lights make no sense, are not timed appropriately whatsoever, so you’re better off just figuring it out yourself. No one faint please. (You have to be cautious about this accidentally scaring people stuff when you are the little one.) At peak hours, traffic is moving at 2 mph if it is moving at all. If I’m stuck in a cab, I have learned to not become stressed by time, but I sit back, relax, and enjoy the sunshine. It takes two hours to get back from my internship on busy days. Often times I fall asleep, only to be woken up by one of my friends when we arrive at a destination. If not then, I wake up when a big truck goes by and I get a nasty whiff of exhaust (the Clean Water trucks spew out black smoke…irony). The pollution likes to disturb my slumber in addition to shorten my life span with every breath. I try to keep the windows only cracked but sometimes dust from the front will reach me in the back. It sticks to the beads of sweat on my skin that are produced by the blankets of sun surrounding me. But I don’t find it too bothersome. (For safety reasons, it is important to note that I’d never allow myself to doze off if I wasn’t in the car with a friend. But when I’m out and about, I don’t ever travel alone.) We have yet to experience the kind of heat that makes a person sweat puddles a day. The hottest day I’ve met was 118 degrees four years ago in Zambia. I expect Mother Nature will begin to steam Kenya in the coming weeks. I like to say I am prepared since I have experienced living in a sauna before, but never in a city like Nairobi. I worry my flexible, tough exterior will wear off and you’ll hear me complaining about the heat. Thankfully, my parents raised Tana and I to be pretty scrappy young things so let’s hope I don’t turn into a pansy now. The weather has been beautiful. It is springtime, so the mornings are chilly and midday is hot and the evenings are cool. I like to do my readings on the balcony as the sun goes down. I take a picture of the sunset almost every night. I’m that person. The colors the sun creates as it goes to sleep are the most vibrant I’ve ever seen. And Delaware has amazing sunsets. But the sky isn’t as big and the color spectrum isn’t as broad as it is here. Why do we say goodnight to the moon when it is the sun who is sleeping? The poor sun has been going to bed this whole time without us wishing it sweet dreams. When it dips beneath the horizon, I either go inside or wrap myself in my blanket and bring out a light to continue studying. The mosquitoes are arriving, so the past week I’ve been spending less late hours on the balcony. My left foot is already covered in bites. So it goes. If you have noticed, I haven’t chosen a typical study abroad destination. For a foreigner, living in the developing world comes with an intense change in lifestyle and an uncomfortable adjustment that I will later outline. When I shared with my family and friends that I would be studying in Nairobi, I often was asked, “Why?”
I wonder if I had chosen to study in Western Europe that the immediate response would be the same. I assume it wouldn’t be, and that’s okay, I get it. Even today, as I sit here in my furnished apartment with a balcony and TV, the only news the Western world is sharing about Africa is Ebola in the West, starvation in South Sudan, and genocide in the Central African Republic. Did I forget to mention political corruption and African leaders being charged for war crimes everywhere? Don’t get me wrong, these are important stories. But there is a lot more to this continent than bleakness. There is a rich history— a history before colonialism that babies of the standardized Bush era learned nothing about. There is culture— cultures and languages that extend far beyond the stereotyped “tribes” of Africa. There are people— people who live in poverty and people who live like movie stars. There is nature— from the sand dunes of the Sahara to the forests of the Congo and the lakes of East Africa. There are beautiful places to see and ways of life to experience that I can’t embrace anywhere but here. You could say that about anywhere that isn’t where you’re from, but the place I’ve chosen this semester is Kenya. Yes, it is challenging. It is vastly different than my life in the States. But I don’t feel like I’m on this planet to feel totally comfortable all the time. Not that I have some profound idealist destiny, because I don’t. My feet just keep walking in some sort of direction, my parents support me in doing so, and my head keeps saying that as an aspiring journalist there is an uber importance in learning about an under-reported part of the world. I’m really tired of reading articles that discuss Africa like it is a country. I’m in Kenya. I’ve spent a little bit of a time in Zambia, Mozambique, South Africa, and Swaziland and even in my brief introductions they are all very different places. The more I blog the more I hope to paint an accurate picture of this city. As a reader, you have to keep in mind that I am an American and my account is that of an outsider. The Nairobi I see is clouded by my own culture and when I feel too much of the “Western perspective” leaking into my posts, I will be sure to point out that I am doing so. Please be patient as I learn and experiment and possibly go on for too long about things I didn’t set off intending to write a post about. Like this post. Wasn’t I writing about culture shock? Well, that was a hell of a preface. Okay, here we go. In my book, assimilation quite literally begins from the inside out. And as I’m sure you’ve experienced or heard, the exciting process of assimilation is not smooth sailing— I tend to be slapped in the face with culture shock. To describe it bluntly, since I’ve never seen it done so, here is a brief summary of how I experience this phenomena: Pre-Phase: No Expectations. Literally, do not set any expectations because if you’re going to the developing world every preconceived notion is going to be flipped upside down on its head. It’s okay, it’s part of the deal and worth it. Phase I: Retreat. The “honeymoon” stage that my Cross Cultural Professor taught does not last over 24 hours. In this stage, people sometimes become literally ill from homesickness or in my case, altitude sick. Nairobi is higher than Denver and I felt like a weak potato walking around the first few days. I also experienced some stomach problems due to change in diet. In addition to having to be extra careful about water, meat is prepared and cooked differently here. I am just now coming out of my week long vegetarian phase after a bad interaction with a piece of beef. But when it comes to the mindset part, it's just a baby phase that I tell myself I'm being a nut and it ends fast. Phase II: Adjustment. HERE I AM AND I'M PUMPED ABOUT IT. I identify with this stage right now. For me, enforcing a routine that includes personal reflection time usually in the form of journaling, exercise, and making healthy food (next post!) helps me process. Running and lifting helped me acclimate to this altitude while food is one of the loves of my life and always makes me happy. These are my ibuprofens for culture shock. I'm so excited to write all all all about cooking and baking soon. Phase III: Sense of Belonging to the Extent that a Foreigner Can. I’ll let you know when I get there. Let’s not be unrealistic— it has only been two weeks. But when I’m there, I would love to send you a postcard! Check out my new tabs up top that connect you to a form where you can put in your address and a link to the blogs from other students on my program. I look forward to writing to you! Due to mass amounts of homework and wanting to go out tonight, I will have to write about our visit to The David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust another day. But for now, enjoy some photos from our day trip to the Nairobi National Park elephant orphanage and giraffe center. It was time to do some touristy things after a really intense week of courses and internship. I’m sitting on my balcony with a glass of sweet white South African wine while the voice of the legendary Sam Cooke streams out the window of a nearby apartment.
I was born by the river in a little tent Oh and just like the river I've been running ever since It's been a long, a long time coming But I know a change gonna come, oh yes it will The song too perfectly suits this calm Spring evening, where everything feels as if it is in a lull before the heat and traffic of summer swarms the city. It is also the end of the first day of classes, which started off slowly and with review. I could’ve written the first few lines of this post anywhere in the world, but I’m addressing you from Nairobi, Kenya. Thus, my classes today were about all things Kenya. First, an hour and a half of Swahili at 7:30 a.m. Then I worked through 3 hours of Institutional Strengthening in Kenya followed by the Social and Political History of Kenya. Our Swahili class is much more than just language instruction and I attribute this to our professor being a trained linguist. His name is Fred and he speaks eight languages. Eight! His instruction does not only cover vocabulary and grammar, but he also weaved through the history of Bantu languages this morning. By doing this, he instills excitement to learn this new language and also a deep appreciation for its survival in a world of dominating Western tongues. Institutional Strengthening was the heaviest of courses today. We began with a discussion about why we each decided to study in Kenya then jumped quickly into our assigned readings. Our professor made insightful remarks while she breezed through the history of aid in Africa. My notes go on for four pages. I won’t bore you with them. We concluded the class with a “light” review of Easterly and Sachs’ economic theories of development. There is hardly anything light about summarizing their thoughts. Nevertheless, it was a good review and jumping off point to begin discussing the present institutions of Kenya. As professors often do, her last remarks were questions for us to think about for next time: What is the end game of development? Who gets to choose what these goals are? Who are the recipients? Why is a strong middle class essential? After class, we were dismissed for lunch. I love African time. We had a two hour lunch break and started our afternoon course 45 minutes late. Our professor didn’t mind a bit. He came sauntering into the classroom around 1:45 p.m. asking us how we were doing with the transition and what our expectations for our internships are. It was a good start to the next hour of discussing the historiography of East Africa. I learned that word today: historiography. It means the study of historians and the story they write. Africa is a peculiar place because it was first documented by explorers, missionaries, settlers, colonial administrators, and imperial scholars… not natives. Many early African languages were not literate, thus they did not keep written records. So when studying African history and primary sources written by Europeans, we have to take their bias into account. They were looking at regional culture through the lens of their own. This is an idea I learned early in a cross cultural class. When living within another culture, we are seeing it through the tainted window of our own. So when we travel, we tend to distance ourselves in a way that leaves us feeling uncomfortable within a different way of life. Learning to break down that barrier takes time and patience, it often starts with familiarizing yourself with the local language. And this is why it is worth it to wake up at 6 a.m. for Swahili class. Wait a moment - I have to take some pictures of this sunset. It really looks like this from my balcony. Sidenote, this is my internship: http://hotsunfilmschool.com . I'm only sort of melting in happiness about it. I meet my supervisor for lunch today!!!
Tonight we couldn’t decide if the days are going by slowly or quickly. We do so much in one day that I can’t possibly write about it all. So here are some highlights: 1. Adventuring to the top of the Kenyan International Conference Center (KICC) to see all of Nairobi from the helipad. 2. Receiving my internship placement and finding out I get to meet my supervisor tomorrow! 3. Blackout #1 (playing card games under the emergency light), #2 (in the middle of eating dinner and having my first drink in Kenya, a fancy shmancy Medusa), and now in the middle of #3. But the wifi is still working (?) 4. At the beginning of our Swahili bootcamp, our Orientation Assistants asked us what words and phrases we would find useful. Among the inquiries were: yogurt, eggs, apples, “Turn up”, “Get turnt", newspaper, and notebook. 5. Touring the university and receiving my new student ID. There are cats in the cafeteria. 6. Learning all the rules then realizing there are no rules. 7. Being the only student to sit at the “adults” table so getting to know a whole lot about the history of the program and the staff. Also making friends with the Australian partner of one of our guest speakers who conveniently has class at the University the same time I do AKA I have a ride during rainy season. 8. Going to the gym with Alex in the middle of a blackout, attempting to run after eating Indian food, changing mind, doing yoga then deciding we should run a 10k next month. 9. Everything Kirindi, our mental health expert, said about life: “The monkeys keep coming but you get better at ducking them.” 10. Every conversation with Walker, particularly today’s lunch where we attempted to rap some hits from our youth, including “Candy Shop”, “Yeah”, “Hot in Here”, and “Because I Got High.” 11. Kenyan food. OH MY GOODNESS IT IS SO GOOD. The absolute best part has been getting to know the program staff and fellow participants. Our attitudes and skills compliment one another, which is essential when being here during a bit of a tumultuous time. We take the security very seriously when the situation calls for it, but most of the time we are laughing our faces off, pressuring Walter to freestyle rap, and talking about all we are excited for during our time here. It is good news all around albeit completely strange and wild at times. What can I say...T.I.A. Written 9/3/2014
There is an essay in our Orientation Booklet called “How to Write About Africa.” It is a satirical piece from an author who is absolutely sick of his continent being personified, simplified, exploited and stereotyped for a dusty place full of “huge herds of animals and tall, thin people who are starving.” It details some characters you must include if you write about the place: The Starving African (“who waits for the benevolence of the West”), the Bad Westerner (“blame the West for Africa’s situation. But do not be too specific”), and the celebrity activists and aid workers (who are “Africa’s most important people). And finally the author makes sure the reader knows to mention the light in Africa, particularly the red sunset and always ALWAYS “end your book with Nelson Mandela saying something about rainbows or renaissances. Because you care.” It is a ruthless essay that highlights crucial points about the way Westerners talk about Africa. And in my opinion, is a fantastic jumping off point for a semester where I will be studying development at an institutional and grassroots level. In the West, we are somewhat used to “voluntourism” in Africa being glorified, and until the blog posts started about white girls who travel to Africa for a new profile pic with a starving child they’ve so miraculously changed the life of, aid was a one-sided conversation. Although that discussion feels like a slap in the face at times because in my more naive years (I refer to the present as my slightly-less-naive years) I’ve perpetrated some of these trends when writing about my time on the continent — we’ve all got to be called out on our shit. That is a rather brief way of putting it. In respect to Mr. Binyavanga Wainaina and his fans, I will attempt to refrain from breaking any of his more poignant rules. But unfortunately, my readers may have to suffer through a paragraph or two about the African big red sunset because it is too damn beautiful. So here we go… I met up with about 11 other students from my program in Amsterdam. We introduced ourselves over coffee and it all felt very adult. The flight was about 7 hours long and I was sitting closest to my friend Wyatt. When we received our Visa applications, he and I asked each other about a million questions over the aisle. Yes we were those people, sorry. We landed in Nairobi at 8:15 p.m. Walking off the plane into the 65 degree Kenyan night was unreal. We were all delirious but managed to group up so we could go through immigration together. After an hour long wait, we were all through successfully and standing around with luggage carts like new Hogwarts students searching for Platform 9 3/4. Instead of a train, we walked out of Customs and into a crowd of taxi drivers waiting to pick up travelers. They all head cardboard signs with names in thick black marker. Over the crowd, a sign began to hop up and down. It read the exact words we were told to look for. The man holding the sign motioned to two people closer to us and within moments, Sabina, Victor, and Frances were by our side introducing themselves. In a whirl, they swiftly led us through the parking lot and onto the bus. The vehicle was barely large enough to fit us and our luggage, but we managed to squeeze. It was time to bond. As soon as we were seated, Victor, one of the staff members, told us to decide amongst ourselves who would be in what apartments. I turned to the three girls I was sitting closest to and asked, “Want to be an apartment?” They nodded. I must say traveling with college students is much easier than high school. We arrived at the apartment building to find our lovely apartments waiting for us and stocked with tea and eggs. Who needs anything more than tea and eggs? Immediately, there were the little things that were different. There are locks on every door, including the bathrooms, kitchen, hallway, and bedrooms. There is an emergency light in case the power goes out, which it supposedly does often. There are bars over the clouded windows and water bottles as our only source of drinking water. But in addition, there is plenty of storage, a TV, a fully equipped kitchen, hot water, and more space than I’ve ever had in Washington, D.C. It is quite different than the canvas tents I lived out of last time. It is a darling apartment and I’m happy to be here the next few months. Our orientation began this morning along with the arrival of an old friend— culture shock. I said to Bailey, a friend here who has visited India several times, that I don’t think culture shock itself gets any easier, but how to cope with it becomes more manageable. Once you’ve survived it once you know you can do it again. So when it gets hard, you can say, “Here I am experiencing culture shock. That’s all this is. It’ll pass. It is okay to feel this way.” She agreed and I felt better after sharing my confusions. My perceptions of Nairobi are so fresh and naive, that I’m hesitant to write anything about the city from my first 24 hours here. We really only toured two places, which were our apartments and the school center. There is not a world of detail to provide you with. I can tell you two things with confidence: the indigo blooms on the Spring trees are one of the most fascinating colors I’ve ever seen in nature and the group of students I am with have got it going on. There is something truly special about our group and I hope we continue to thrive together. "There is no passion to be found playing small - in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living." - Nelson Mandela After a wonderful weekend in Antwerp with my Aunt Sam, I will be on the move again bright and early in the morning. I'm taking a train from Belgium back to Holland, where I'll board a plane to my final destination - Nairobi, Kenya. When I arrive at the airport, I am most excited to meet up with other students from my program. I plan to buy them coffee with my remaining euros given that it will feel like the middle of the night for them. Once I reach Nairobi, I will inform my loved ones that I've arrived their safely the moment I find wifi but then I plan to repeat an assimilation strategy I did last time. I call it the Western World Purge. Culture shock and homesickness sucks. There is hardly a mellifluous way to put it. It is hard, it aches both physically and emotionally, and I expect it to happen as it did last time. So I'm going to take 10 days to myself to adjust to my new surroundings and culture without the distractions of social media and overseas contact. I won't have my teachers disciplining me to stick to the purge so I'll have to rely on my own self discipline this time. We'll see how it goes. I can only ask of my friends and family to support me in doing this although I know it is a bummer. It is for me but also for you. Cultural adjustment can be a roller coaster and I don't want anyone to have to serve as a crutch for me except myself. If a crisis occurs in the area, of course you will hear from me letting you know I am okay. But other than that, I'm peacing out for a bit. Know I am well, happy, and assimilating. Here are some goofy snippets of my gallivants about Antwerp for the meantime. Some more pictures of the fam bam. I'm having quite a lovely week here in Holland and look forward to writing a longer bit about Dutch culture in the coming days. I have scribbled notes. |