Good morning! I’m up before my apartment mates and we’ve yet to get wifi so it only seems fitting to write. The past few days have been overstimulating and I feel sensitive, or more so hyper aware to all that is going on around. If you had told me when I was younger that when I was twenty, I would be sitting on a balcony overlooking Nairobi and sipping on hot kahawa na sukari [coffee with sugar], or that I would have a developing elementary proficiency in Swahili, or that I would enjoy baking Kenyan pastries (or just baking) at a point in my life, I’d sarcastically laugh, “K good one.” What are ovens. Lakini, ninaisha hapa sasa [But I live here right now]. And it’s not necessarily that I wouldn’t believe that I was abroad because I’ve really always had a burning inclination to hop in planes and trains and automobiles and on bikes and climbing ropes and longboards and use my feet to get places. People call it wanderlust. My understanding of the term is that one experiences it during their youth and it only applies when you are on an adventure abroad. I’m not convinced this is just a phase. From asserting my independence at 10 years old and telling my parents I’d be riding my bike to school then returning home around 5 because me and my biker gang had Tom Sawyer stuff to do after classes, to going on pilgrimages throughout the US with my youth group to the Navajo Nation or Heifer International Farms or to tent cities in Florida, to spending weekends among the waterfalls in the Shenandoah National Park because there was absolutely nothing to do at Mary Baldwin unless there was a Shakespeare show at the Blackfriars that we could get into for free—I don’t actually live my life any differently than I ever did. Wanderlust is debatably a character trait. This craving for adventure can be satisfied anywhere, it is just a matter of perspective. Even in D.C. this summer, one of my bests Nicole and I made “excursions” out of the seemingly blandest things, like walking across town to cafes or skating our apartment parking lot at all hours of the night. I even considered starting my abroad blog in July. It always seems like a huge shift, sort of a vacation from student life, when I go from being an American University undergraduate in residential NW to a summer intern working blocks from the White House among the swanky young professionals. I lived in the same apartment building but instead of going right on Massachusetts Avenue, I would catch the bus to the left, headed downtown. It is the little things. We were coming back from a market yesterday and laughing about how naps are perceived by adults and kids. For young adults, naps are this beautiful, glorious thing you hopefully get to do in the middle of the day to recharge. For kids, they are the worst. It is as if they have so much to discover and see and grasp about existence that it would be absolutely torturous if they had to sleep any bit of it away. It is like they have FOMO (fear of missing out) from living life. As frustrating as it can be when you’re babysitting a nugget who absolutely won’t go to sleep, you’ve got to appreciate their outlook. I hope to hold onto at least a sliver of this part of my youth as long as I can. Hmm… I’m rereading what I wrote and playing self devil’s advocate. So saying everything is an “adventure” arguably reinforces the theory of “the other.” Like, “here I am on my journey and your people and way of life is just a part of my experience.” That’s not good adventuring. Without incorporating a level of immersion, which is admittedly sometimes uncomfortable, what are you even doing abroad? This is a good segway to food. Assimilation from the inside out: aka digesting local cuisine. Connecting food to my previous rambling about wanderlust (I don’t know why I feel the need to continuously italicize this word), I was not an adventurous eater as a kid. I ate pasta, parmesan cheese, and butter. I’m not going to lie that is still one of my favorite meals because it is my version of chicken soup, but my taste buds have grown more accepting. Instilled by my parental units, I have a strong belief that you must at least try everything. The food experience while traveling isn’t about loving everything you eat, but showing respect for the local cuisine and give it a go. And if it is absurdly disgusting (I struggle with French meats), fight your instinct to make a sour face. On Friday, I gave a presentation on social media marketing and networking at my internship then ventured into Kibera with the crew to do some production photography for their latest short. We stopped for lunch in a roadside restaurant on the way. There was room for three tables and about 25 people if you got really cozy. The ovens and stoves were on the outside, as to not overheat the dining room. The walls and roof were made out of scrap metal and the ground was no different than the path outside. “Welcome to Hilton Hotels Kibera,” Charles laughed as the 15 of us squeezed in. "Thank you kind sir," I played along. I had spent the walk there asking them about how they felt about the “Kibera slum tours”. A curious product of the tourism industry in developing countries, a few companies and organizations now offer tours of informal settlements. Kibera, being the biggest settlement in East Africa, is a desirable destination recommended in travel guides. Geared up in their hiking boots, safari hats, and cameras slung around their necks, groups are joined by armed guards on a stroll through the streets. I did not previously know that they were surrounded by armed guards, but a friend of mine who is interning throughout the districts saw a tour. In his words, there was a clump of multicultural foreigners wandering about between men with AK-47s. Maybe we don't know what these people status is, but the arms seemed unnecessary to my friend. Based on a brief survey from the crew who all live in Kibera, there is not consensus on how community members feel about these tours. One guy gives the tours and he loves sharing with others his way of life. He wants to take me on one, because he thinks that working in there I should know more about the diverse cultures and politics of the 13 districts. One girl thinks they are a joke, another finds them obnoxious and exploitive, and a guy thinks they are good for the economy. This guy is the same one who ordered for me at the restaurant. The waitress came for my order and with everyone’s eyes on me, my ability to order in Swahili peaced out. “Uhhh.. Ninatoka Marekani.” [Uhh..I’m American] I stuttered. What kind of an order is that? Sometimes I just can’t hang. So Mike cut in- “Anataka this, this, na that tafadhali” [She would like this, this, and that please]. Based on what I was given, the this and thats were chapati (a flat bread), ugali (maize meal similar to sudza), a red bean stew, and some little crunchy fishes that I can’t remember what they are called (I had actually fished for these in Zambia a few years ago but had been afraid to try them then). It is unacceptable to not finish your plate in this part of the world (I hear, “We don’t waste food in Africa” almost daily), so I dug in. I had yet to try ugali but recognized it immediately as similar to sudza, so I glanced to my left to see if Mike was eating it with his hands as I had learned to by Ngwena a couple years ago. I really wanted to not look like dumbfounded mzungu (white person) in front of the crew. He was, so I balled a bit in my palm, dug in an indent with my thumb, then scooped up my stew, using the ugali as a spoon/bowl. Mike and Chris were watching me and laughed, “You’ve had ugali?” I joked, “It’s really popular in the States.” “Yeah, yeah,” Mike smiled and shook his head. “Have you had [crunchy little fishies]?” “I’ve caught them before but never tried them.” Pressure was on. He motioned to the dish: tens of full fishies, fins and all, lying dead on my plate looking up at me with their bulging eyes. Hi friends. To hide my hesitation, I plunged— balled up a wad of ugali and disproportionately scooped five little guys on. Even in the mushy maize meal, they crunched. They have a powerful punch to them, first a wave of salt then an after taste of something like tuna. I put them under the classification of foods that I wouldn’t order, but would definitely eat if put in front of me. Other foods in this category are eggplant, zucchini, and lamb. Artists in this category are the Dixie Chicks, Madonna, and post-nineties Green Day. Movies in this category are anything with Tom Cruise, Miss Congeniality 2, and Blades of Glory. I’m writing with all this excitement because I’m procrastinating from doing the nuts and bolts of life. AKA studying for midterms. IT IS ALREADY MIDTERMS. Our classes are jam packed in our first 7 weeks here so we can spend the months of November and December interning and attending USIU. It is an awesome schedule but that means 7.5 hours of class a day right now and midterms the last week of September. I will spend this beautiful Sunday studying Swahili, the Social and Political History of Kenya, and outlining my second paper for Institutional Strengthening. In addition, the whole crew is gathering for a potluck tonight and my apartment designated themselves the vegetable ladies (+ mango + avocado). So we’ll have to go to a vegetable stand or the market at some point and scheme over what deliciousness we’ll be contributing. I think our plan is to buy a bunch of stuff, put it all in an oven pan, drizzle it in herb oil, coat it in lime juice, mix in some garlic, sprinkle chili flakes, rip up some cilantro, and of course, shake some salt and hopefully we’ll have a master piece. We are known as the food apartment. The other day I Skyped with my Mama and gave her a tour of our spice library. I’ve never had such good meals consistently in my life except maybe when I’m spending too much time at the Papp’s house. “We’re all fluid, evolving works-in-progress, full of possibilities. Home is a skill, not a shoe or a puzzle. There are people and places to be called home—after effort.” - Caley Mikesell, “Home is a Skill” 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. |