It's midnight. I'm suddenly woken up by my cell phone ringing in my ear and a familiar volunteer is on the other end of the receiver. The boys all went to the soccer game tonight together and Jared Keller is shouting, "Jen! Austin just had a seizure, is he allergic to any medicine?!" Um...what?? "Make sure his wallet and cell phone don't get jacked with all the ruckus!" I tell him as an immediate reaction. Austin is my closest friend in Kenya. He's from Texas, my brother's age, and completely insane...so of course I love him. For godsake the kid drank goat's blood during a sacrificial ceremony in the Masaailand last March. But now it's midnight, pouring down rain, and I'm supposed to know what type of medicine he's allergic to. I stumble into his room, start emptying his bags -things flying everywhere- not really sure what I'm looking for, and wondering how I somehow came to be his "In Case of Emergency" contact. I have this self-induced sense of obligation to take care of Austin, and somehow I think this consequentially leads me to take more responsibility for myself. As I'm throwing on whatever clothes I've left on the floor, I think of how I watched my friend Megan have a seizure in the middle of a Blink 182 concert in 10th grade. Well, at least I'm prepared.
Next thing I know I'm pulling up to the Emergency entrance of Karen Hospital in a cab, and as I get to Austin's room he's lying in a bed, still wearing his highlighter-yellow Chelsea soccer jersey from the game he was at, and looking like hell. "What happened?!" I almost yell at him. "I have no idea," he says in a daze, still in shock. "Are you sure you didn't just blackout from drinking??" He barely had four over the course of three hours--totally acceptable. "Are you on any drugs??" He wasn't. The doctor suddenly comes in and starts showing me all of his negative test results an I'm strangely trying to process whether or not my appearance screams mother and if that's why I'm being trusted with all this information. There were three other volunteers there, but whatever. I'm trying to focus on the piece of paper she's showing me, and remembering how my mom would always say, "Jenny! Why didn't you pay attention!" everytime I couldn't recall what my own doctors would say to me about my own test results or diagnosis. I try to concentrate, I really do, but only recall that he was negative for meningitis and malaria, and that the doctor said that was the most important thing.
It was a long night but we made it home safely...and Austin is back to normal, sort of. Seizures, foaming at the mouth, hey--at least now I know how to get to the hospital...
May 29, 2009
May 27, 2009
Gonga'd
Dad: "You've got us on edge again Jen...just planning on living in South Africa for awhile...no big deal..."
Mom: "So Jenny, if you turn up missing, like...who looks for you?"
Today was national "Don't Pick Up the White Girl Day" for all bus and matatu drivers. I walked three kilometers and waited two hours just to get a lift. Then on the way back home I stepped in what looked to be dried dirt and sunk six inches deep into mud wearing flip flops. As if it wasn't enough, later on I walked through the gate to our house and scraped my arm on the protruding nail normally used to keep the gate shut, so I look like I was clawed by an overgrown mountain gorilla in the mist. It was a day of being gonga'd for certain. In Kenya when you get taken advantage of, whether you're overcharged, or just plain screwed, it's called being "gonga'd." Most newcomers are often getting gonga'd by Kenyans, and shamelessly. It's like this game and they like to laugh at you...lightheartedly, of course.
Last time I was in Kibera in an Empowerment Group, a 17 year old student asked if I could help her with her relationship problems. I didn't realize at the time that high school dilemmas are slightly more complicated than 10 and 11 year old kids and their problems. Seventh grade students ask if they should like boys. Twelfth grade students ask what they should do if their boyfriends threaten to commit suicide if they break up with them. Not to mention I haven't had the best track record with past boyfriends, so I'm pretty sure this makes me the absolute least qualified individual to answer these inquiries. The 17 year old looked as if she was about to break down in tears as she explained to me that her ex-boyfriend has been stalking her new boyfriend(both 24) and threatening to kill him if she doesn't break up with him. He's not only pulled a gun on the new boyfriend, but it's fairly realistic that he'd actually do it. He's killed people before, and has even threatened this girl's mother after showing up at her house. The police won't do anything about it even if they were notified, and the only reason the boy hasn't done it yet is because he wants to kill the boyfriend in front of this 17 year old girl. So what do I say? She asks me what she should do, and people around us don't even sound surprised...like it's common. No one is here to protect her, it's not like I can offer her anything of the sort, and even other field officers just shake their head and tell me that's the way it is. There's really only so much we can do, and no more.
On a lighter note, ZanaAfrica is going so well. I'm working on editing the website content and layout(some changes have already been posted) and I'm taking a look at the business plan today. Later I'll be in the field working with the kids again, praying that the 17 yr old is in her seat...P.s. Check it out...I'm famous: www.zanaafrica.org/zinner.asp?pcat=people&cat=staff and please look around the rest of the site too!
Mom: "So Jenny, if you turn up missing, like...who looks for you?"
Today was national "Don't Pick Up the White Girl Day" for all bus and matatu drivers. I walked three kilometers and waited two hours just to get a lift. Then on the way back home I stepped in what looked to be dried dirt and sunk six inches deep into mud wearing flip flops. As if it wasn't enough, later on I walked through the gate to our house and scraped my arm on the protruding nail normally used to keep the gate shut, so I look like I was clawed by an overgrown mountain gorilla in the mist. It was a day of being gonga'd for certain. In Kenya when you get taken advantage of, whether you're overcharged, or just plain screwed, it's called being "gonga'd." Most newcomers are often getting gonga'd by Kenyans, and shamelessly. It's like this game and they like to laugh at you...lightheartedly, of course.
Last time I was in Kibera in an Empowerment Group, a 17 year old student asked if I could help her with her relationship problems. I didn't realize at the time that high school dilemmas are slightly more complicated than 10 and 11 year old kids and their problems. Seventh grade students ask if they should like boys. Twelfth grade students ask what they should do if their boyfriends threaten to commit suicide if they break up with them. Not to mention I haven't had the best track record with past boyfriends, so I'm pretty sure this makes me the absolute least qualified individual to answer these inquiries. The 17 year old looked as if she was about to break down in tears as she explained to me that her ex-boyfriend has been stalking her new boyfriend(both 24) and threatening to kill him if she doesn't break up with him. He's not only pulled a gun on the new boyfriend, but it's fairly realistic that he'd actually do it. He's killed people before, and has even threatened this girl's mother after showing up at her house. The police won't do anything about it even if they were notified, and the only reason the boy hasn't done it yet is because he wants to kill the boyfriend in front of this 17 year old girl. So what do I say? She asks me what she should do, and people around us don't even sound surprised...like it's common. No one is here to protect her, it's not like I can offer her anything of the sort, and even other field officers just shake their head and tell me that's the way it is. There's really only so much we can do, and no more.
On a lighter note, ZanaAfrica is going so well. I'm working on editing the website content and layout(some changes have already been posted) and I'm taking a look at the business plan today. Later I'll be in the field working with the kids again, praying that the 17 yr old is in her seat...P.s. Check it out...I'm famous: www.zanaafrica.org/zinner.asp?pcat=people&cat=staff and please look around the rest of the site too!
May 18, 2009
Derailed
Last week two of my good friends were caught in the middle of gunfire in downtown Nairobi. It happened while riding on a normal matatu route when mechanics flared up over the debate of certain property with the government. The girls said they couldn't even tell from which way the shots were being fired, and to top it off, they were mugged while running for cover. Just another day in Kenya....
Tensions have risen with my current NGO...since finding ZanaAfrica my activity has exponentially increased. Not only am I spending time with kids participating in running empowerment groups in schools within Kibera, but I'm helping to play a part in building up this new NGO...from website development to streamlining the business plan. When you realize that government is the problem in Kenya, your efforts need to be turned to a project that initiates redirecting the power to generate income back to the people. I couldn't be happier with my new project, and apparently GVN/VICDA(my current program)is not finding this to coincide with their motives. I'm as confused as you are, since we're all here for the same reason, but they want to kick my partner and I out of the program since we're not working on a weekly basis playing with kids at one of their schools. I'm a little defeated at the moment trying to understand how this is acceptable, but excited at the discovery of a project that puts my skills and passion to work. Additionally, the money given to GVN for my stay here will be reimbursed(in part) so that I can pay for my own accommodation and transport until my flight out of Kenya to South Africa on August 1st.
I came to Kenya with a one way ticket and an existential crisis, hoping to find a clue and a conscience. I'll let you know how it turns out...
Tensions have risen with my current NGO...since finding ZanaAfrica my activity has exponentially increased. Not only am I spending time with kids participating in running empowerment groups in schools within Kibera, but I'm helping to play a part in building up this new NGO...from website development to streamlining the business plan. When you realize that government is the problem in Kenya, your efforts need to be turned to a project that initiates redirecting the power to generate income back to the people. I couldn't be happier with my new project, and apparently GVN/VICDA(my current program)is not finding this to coincide with their motives. I'm as confused as you are, since we're all here for the same reason, but they want to kick my partner and I out of the program since we're not working on a weekly basis playing with kids at one of their schools. I'm a little defeated at the moment trying to understand how this is acceptable, but excited at the discovery of a project that puts my skills and passion to work. Additionally, the money given to GVN for my stay here will be reimbursed(in part) so that I can pay for my own accommodation and transport until my flight out of Kenya to South Africa on August 1st.
I came to Kenya with a one way ticket and an existential crisis, hoping to find a clue and a conscience. I'll let you know how it turns out...
May 2, 2009
Crossing Borders
So here we are. It's 2:30pm and the three of us are boarding a 24-hour bus to Kigali, Rwanda. Armed with a backpack and an ipod, slightly apprehensive, I know that it will be dark for at least 12 hours during this trip and a hijacking isn't unlikely. Not to mention, I don't think about the fact that it might cost me US $50 to enter into each country. No...I just have two US $1 bills, 3000 shillings(equivalent to US $40), and dried pineapple rings. See the thing about traveling to different countries within Africa...is that you have to cross the border. The only real experience I have with border crossings is stumbling through to Southern California from Tiajuana, Mexico. If I thought the Mexican Federali was bad...I don't know what I was thinking.
At about midnight we arrive at our first border at Uganda and we are completely delirious. The only Mzungus on the bus, we try to act casual. I use that term lightly considering we're in a bus full of Kenyans. I also realize I have no other source of cash besides my VISA credit card...so here's hoping. Inevitably, my biggest fear manifests itself as the obnoxious lady behind the glass tells me that it will cost me US $50 please. Oh for the love of god of course I don't have it. I'm staring blankly for a few moments, I'm too tired to deal with this, and I don't even know what's going on. She just returns the look as I'm clearly not impressing her at this time of night. I ask if she accepts VISA and with a look that says, you can't be serious, she spits out a "No." Somehow this doesn't surprise me as I look around at the shack of a room with no door and faulty lighting. "Jen," says Sara, "they don't even have electricity, I hardly think they'd have a credit card machine." "But it's VISA!" I say desperately, "It's everywhere you want to be!" "JEN," she pulls me together, "does this LOOK like it's anywhere you'd want to be???" I can't believe I'm attempting to use my B of A credit card to cross the border. Good thing she had some extra shillings on her, I have been saved for what wouldn't be the last time on this trip.
After that it was pretty much smooth sailing as far as bus rides go. Besides a few 4am stops in the middle of nowhere, getting into Uganda from Rwanda I was feeling confident and tried to get out of the fee. Since I had already paid to enter Uganda on the first leg of my trip I thought this would be sufficient. At first I attempted to barter with my receipt from a few days prior. He threw it away. Well that was a dead end. So I shifted focus to my multiple entry Kenyan Visa, which has proven to be completely useless during this trip. After I explained that I had already paid to have the ability to get back into Kenya after leaving, the border control looked at me and said, "But this is UGANDA." I retorted, "I already paid the first time and what happens if I don't have any more money??" He gave me the same unamused stare and emphasized each word as he said, "Then you don't cross through. Next please." Oh for godsake, I've lost his attention and I'm going to be left at the border. Really, I was almost left at the border and no one even cared. And then, suddenly, the clouds parted as Sara discovered yet ANOTHER $50 at the bottom of her bag of tricks. I don't know how she keeps doing this, and I can't think about what would have happened had she not. Thanks Sara. Now the only thing left to accomplish on this bus was another 10 hours to Nairobi at night.
The reign of terror. That's what I'm on. It's my 39th or 40th hour of bus transport throughout this trip and I'm staring out the window panes of a bus slightly larger than the one you took to elementary school. It's so dark I can't see what I'm writing, but I'm watching the most incredible lightening storm I've ever seen. I've always been fascinated with lightening, but somehow the fact that it's in Africa makes it that much better. Either that, or for the sole purpose that if I don't concentrate on something else I remember I'm riding the Death Star a.k.a. AKAMBA bus. The first red flag was that my seat belt was non-existent, and as we blew through a small village at lightening speed over rocky roads I started to get worried. The driver is a crazy SOB with a death wish for certain. I'm convinced he's the devil. He takes every bump with alarming speed and I fly four feet in the air each time. We are completely aghast at the inability to control our flailing bodies. This has got to be a joke, what is going on here?! We're traveling at a life-threatening 3000 kilometers per hour over dirt roads at 2am. I don't know what was scarier...white water rafting down the Nile, jumping out of a plane in Monterey, or taking AKAMBA bus services. That's what happens when your copy of "Lonely Planet: East Africa" is a 2006 publication...the recommended services are slightly out of date. There was absolutely no possibility of sleep, so the next 10 hours proved to be pretty much the worst sustained torture of my life. I can't believe we, or the bus, made it in one piece. Once our feet finally hit solid ground I crawled home, but not without a plethora of battle wounds on my arms and legs.
At about midnight we arrive at our first border at Uganda and we are completely delirious. The only Mzungus on the bus, we try to act casual. I use that term lightly considering we're in a bus full of Kenyans. I also realize I have no other source of cash besides my VISA credit card...so here's hoping. Inevitably, my biggest fear manifests itself as the obnoxious lady behind the glass tells me that it will cost me US $50 please. Oh for the love of god of course I don't have it. I'm staring blankly for a few moments, I'm too tired to deal with this, and I don't even know what's going on. She just returns the look as I'm clearly not impressing her at this time of night. I ask if she accepts VISA and with a look that says, you can't be serious, she spits out a "No." Somehow this doesn't surprise me as I look around at the shack of a room with no door and faulty lighting. "Jen," says Sara, "they don't even have electricity, I hardly think they'd have a credit card machine." "But it's VISA!" I say desperately, "It's everywhere you want to be!" "JEN," she pulls me together, "does this LOOK like it's anywhere you'd want to be???" I can't believe I'm attempting to use my B of A credit card to cross the border. Good thing she had some extra shillings on her, I have been saved for what wouldn't be the last time on this trip.
After that it was pretty much smooth sailing as far as bus rides go. Besides a few 4am stops in the middle of nowhere, getting into Uganda from Rwanda I was feeling confident and tried to get out of the fee. Since I had already paid to enter Uganda on the first leg of my trip I thought this would be sufficient. At first I attempted to barter with my receipt from a few days prior. He threw it away. Well that was a dead end. So I shifted focus to my multiple entry Kenyan Visa, which has proven to be completely useless during this trip. After I explained that I had already paid to have the ability to get back into Kenya after leaving, the border control looked at me and said, "But this is UGANDA." I retorted, "I already paid the first time and what happens if I don't have any more money??" He gave me the same unamused stare and emphasized each word as he said, "Then you don't cross through. Next please." Oh for godsake, I've lost his attention and I'm going to be left at the border. Really, I was almost left at the border and no one even cared. And then, suddenly, the clouds parted as Sara discovered yet ANOTHER $50 at the bottom of her bag of tricks. I don't know how she keeps doing this, and I can't think about what would have happened had she not. Thanks Sara. Now the only thing left to accomplish on this bus was another 10 hours to Nairobi at night.
The reign of terror. That's what I'm on. It's my 39th or 40th hour of bus transport throughout this trip and I'm staring out the window panes of a bus slightly larger than the one you took to elementary school. It's so dark I can't see what I'm writing, but I'm watching the most incredible lightening storm I've ever seen. I've always been fascinated with lightening, but somehow the fact that it's in Africa makes it that much better. Either that, or for the sole purpose that if I don't concentrate on something else I remember I'm riding the Death Star a.k.a. AKAMBA bus. The first red flag was that my seat belt was non-existent, and as we blew through a small village at lightening speed over rocky roads I started to get worried. The driver is a crazy SOB with a death wish for certain. I'm convinced he's the devil. He takes every bump with alarming speed and I fly four feet in the air each time. We are completely aghast at the inability to control our flailing bodies. This has got to be a joke, what is going on here?! We're traveling at a life-threatening 3000 kilometers per hour over dirt roads at 2am. I don't know what was scarier...white water rafting down the Nile, jumping out of a plane in Monterey, or taking AKAMBA bus services. That's what happens when your copy of "Lonely Planet: East Africa" is a 2006 publication...the recommended services are slightly out of date. There was absolutely no possibility of sleep, so the next 10 hours proved to be pretty much the worst sustained torture of my life. I can't believe we, or the bus, made it in one piece. Once our feet finally hit solid ground I crawled home, but not without a plethora of battle wounds on my arms and legs.
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