Cheap Hair Chops and Side Alley Shops

Cheap Hair Chops and Side Alley Shops

This week max and I decided it was time for another cultural experience, new haircuts. After some serious investigating while walking the streets of Nairobi scouting for any kinyozi with mzungus inside, we struck out on our first two attempt to locate a barber shop suitable for our delicate waspy locks. Admitting defeat after two lunch breaks of ducking our heads into every corner kinyozi and striking out time after time, I resorted to asking Nelson when I had returned home for the evening. "Of course," he said, "I know a place just down the street at the Westgate Mall that'll sort you boys out nicely. It's near Girigiri, where the UN headquarters and many embassies are, so they're quite used to cutting mzungu hair."

Needless to say, we heeded his advice and Butch kindly brought us to the barber shop the very next day. As I have heard Max explain several times already, walking into the kinyozi was like walking into a scene from the movie Barber Shop, complete with rows and rows of gentleman getting their weekly cuts and shaves in rows of black leather chairs lined against both walls. The sound of clippers buzzing and humming in harmony was trumped only by the sound of the British commentators calling the football match on the massive flatscreen tv in the corner near the sitting area. The receptionist offered us juice and water as we waited for our guys to finish with their customers.

As we waited for what seemed like an hour, we watched the match between Newcastle and Southampton, all the while nervously awaiting our new Nairobi hairdos. Perhaps because of the match playing in the background, at one point we were both wholly convinced that we were going to leave the shop with some awesome Eurotrash footballer haircuts with longer top sections and practically shaved sides. We also joked about getting ourselves some classic shape-ups, complete with the razor straight lines cut into our sideburns. After more careful deliberation, we decided that although the hair would grow back, our pasty white scalps would likely suffer from the intense midday African sun, especially on our safaris in Tanzania for the next two weeks.

Eventually our guys finished with their customers, and called us over to their stations, two chairs side by side closest to the tv and the game. With some very broken Swahinglish, in the next thirty to forty seconds, I did my best to explain to my man what I was looking for in the cut. Eventually we came to a mutual understanding that I would like it cut shorter. Not surprisingly, the aforementioned decision on "shorter" was entirely relative and his definition turned out to be much different than my own. At this point he grabbed a tuft of my hair in his fingers and with his comb indicated a length of about half the former length towards which he would be working. Sawa sawa, I told him, agreeing to the abbreviated length. Soon he began to work his way around my head with his scissors, all the while laughing at the conversation Max and his man were having about his intended style. Of course, Max has shorter hair already, so he had significantly less at stake in this endeavor from my perspective.

I tried not to look in the mirror as he worked, and instead fixed my eyes and head on the nearby screen, straining my neck to catch the action as the game heated up and wound down to the final minutes of play. His experience and judgement would suffice, I decided, and I stopped making an effort to explain to him that I did not want a crew cut. After a while working with the scissors lopping off the longer top sections, he fetched his arsenal of electric clippers, with which he tackled the sides and back of my head. I tried not to notice how much hair was falling onto my lap and apron. Still, I knew it was getting shorter. Much shorter. Some 25 minutes later, after what seemed like the longest and most precise cut and shaping my head has ever experienced, I was ready for the finishing touches, all of which were performed with his trusty clippers. I thanked the nice barber, shook his hand, paid the receptionist, and headed out the door with a new spring in my step and a "smart" new haircut, as Kenyans would say. Although my hair has not been this short since my mohawk post-season days on the soccer team back in high school, I think it looks nice. Either way, it's much less maintenance at this length, and much cooler in the midday heat.

Here it is, folks. I've just taken this picture with my webcam as I sit in a lovely rooftop Java and cyber cafe, which I have made my camp for the day because I have no classes and tons of work to complete before we head to Tanzania Saturday morning.

Some inspiration for all you chilly SLUzers back in Canton. We've no maple syrup here.

NCPR Photo of the Day for 12/31/1969

Lazy Sunday

Breakfast of Champions

After an action-packed night at the club with Haley, Katie, Kate, Max, Allie, Danny, Megan, Addie, Butch and friends, I woke up this morning around 8:30 to the smell of sausages and eggs wafting down the hallway from the kitchen. Although I miss lazy Sunday mornings strolls to Dana and the ceaselessly amusing ritual of watching people piece together and recount their evenings over french toast, waffles, and blue powerade, there is something to be said for waking up in a warm home to the smell of a home-cooked breakfast. I think Kenyans have just the expression for this; to borrow from the wonderful language I am learning to love, asante sana.

I am so thankful for all the opportunities I have been granted on this adventure so far, and I think this is an excellent time to take a minute to thank some of the people who have made this trip possible. Chiefly among them is loving and supportive family. Mom, Dad, Lilli, and everyone else: All of you keep me going. Every time I open my laptop I see your smiling faces gathered around the great room in Ruru and Grandpa's beautiful home (except for you Anna Leigh, as your facial expression in the particular photo I've set as my desktop clearly shows a playful spite fixed on our aspiring professional photographer, Andrew, whom I always imagine is grinning from behind the lens while perched atop the staircase landing). Hearing updates from home, like Dad's most recent email about Grandpa and Andrew skiing together at Waterville, Mom and Ruru's bake-a-thon and harrowing delivery/visit to Lilli at the Naval base in a blizzard, and Jay's recent successes leading the Masco Ski Team, are treasured by me while I'm so far away from you all. To all my friends who encouraged me to apply to Kenya, and to all the faculty who helped make this adventure possible: words would only betray my gratitude towards you all, as I am so incredibly thankful for your efforts and support. I will continue to make the most of this experience with you all in mind, and please know how thankful I truly am for this opportunity.

Tree House 

Last night was easily the most exciting, spontaneous, and amazing night out yet. We started the evening the same as Thursday and Friday, by checking out the scene at the bars in Westlands (at which I think we will soon be regulars). After we hung out there for a bit, we headed to a club called Tree House, which ended up being the place to be for all aspiring Nairobi night owls. Despite initial difficulties some members of the group encountered at the door due to the seemingly arbitrary discretion of certain doormen, we all made it into the club eventually and gathered in a couple booths for a while as we checked out the scene inside the club and acclimated to the deafening thump of sub-woofers and European house music. The crowd was a nice mix of young people from all over, including many Europeans and exchange students like us. In retrospect the name of the place should have prepared us for the unfamiliar genre. Two Swedish DJs perched above the main stage and dance floor did an excellent job hyping up the crowd of young people, and the vibe was really enthusiastic the whole night.

The night spent at Tree House was marked by hours of dancing, mingling, and people watching that combined for an amazing night to remember. In addition to meeting many fascinating characters from all over Kenya and elsewhere worldwide, I was able to learn much from two nice young guys  who live and work in Nairobi. Both work for local NGOs in  that work directly with development agencies and the operating branches of government programs like USAID and UKAID working to ensure Kenya continues to progress politically and economically while maintaining peace. The opportunity to speak with these recent university graduates working in the very fields I'm studying provided some great insight into their particular fields of expertise. We exchanged contacts and I hope to meet with them in the future and learn more about what they do.

Church

This morning I went to church with Trevor and my dad at 9:00. Although the venue for the service was a bit unconventional, it was lovely just the same, and I really enjoyed the sermon delivered by an enthusiastic American pastor lady. The Pentecostal service was held in a gigantic wedding tent located on the grounds of a local primary school, and the whole experience was so far from any conventional church service I've participated in. Instead of a choir, there was a full band onstage leading the congregation in a nice mix of English and Swahili gospel songs whose lyrics were projected on two large screens flanking the stage. A large section of the service revolved around a powerpoint prepared by the visiting pastor, and the interactive sermon called on audience members to participate. The general demeanor and tone of the entire congregation and clergy was both inviting and enthusiastic, which made for an overall enjoyable situation. I was also given the opportunity to meet some of the pastors in a less formal new visitors meeting following the service, and they were all young and interesting. I would like to return to this church as it is surely a welcomed change from the more rigid services I'm accustomed to back in the states.

Nyama Choma


This afternoon we went out for a late lunch/dinner to experience a treasured favorite among many Kenyans, nyama choma, or roasted meat. Unlike the cheesy atmosphere at the Carnivore, which we visited with the program, the place we went this afternoon was far more authentic, especially since we were able to pick out the butchered meat ourselves and sit nearby the open charcoal grills on which it was cooked by locals. Accompanied by chapati and some fresh tomato chili salads, with the amazing backdrop of Ngong hills surrounding us, we feasted on delicious goat ribs, legs, fresh spicy sausages for hours. We all had a blast walking around the restaurant and resort area and watching the staffed Maasai men and women perform traditional songs and dance for all the customers. I had an opportunity to dance with the Maasai men when they came to our table, an experience that was pretty cool, even if somewhat touristy and contrived.

Also of note during our meal, which took the better half of the afternoon including the hour-plus drive there and back, was the opportunity to meet the former Kenyan Ambassador to the US, a colleague of Nelson's who was there with his wife and sister-in-law. Ambassador Ogego spoke with us about our university pursuits, our feelings about the US-Kenyan relations, and told us much about the time he served as ambassador in Washington for the last eight years. It was really valuable to be able to speak so candidly with him about his time in Washington, during which he spent much time in high-profile political circles working on important relations between our two closely-tied nations.

The restaurant/resort where we ate was called Olepolos. This roadside welcome sign is made of an elephant shoulder blade. 

I took this photo to show the freshly butchered meat we ordered. This guy had just finished butchering the goat we feasted on and you can see the ribs that we ordered sitting on the scale. 

Nelson snapped this photo of Trevor and I chowing down on our mbuzi ribs as the Maasai men danced and sang in the backgorund. 

I captured this photo of the Maasai dancers as they approached a family eating on the patio. Notice the long hair and headdresses of the men and the elaborate necklaces and collars worn by the women trailing behind them.  

The Maasai guys had a very peculiar way of getting our attention as we ate. Although we did our best to ignore them, this one persistent fellow would come and lay his arm, shoulder, and head down on my shoulder as I was eating. After maybe three times doing this, I finally agreed to appease him and get up to dance a little. There is a video, which I will try to attach later.  

Chili Challenge

This is the before shot. Notice Trevor's lovely chili mustache. 

Before we headed home, we decided to cap off the wonderful meal with a bit of a gentleman's bet. We all took one of the small chilis we had been picking around from the tomato salads and agreed to eat the whole thing. Perhaps demonstrating a wisdom none of us youngsters could manage, when we all went to bit into the hot little chilis, Nelson simply tossed his passed his mouth and over his shoulder, leaving us to sweat through a couple fiery bites before we smartened up enough to swallow the little devils. Needless to say, as the following before and after pictures show, the following minutes were spent in disbelief as we attempted to fight the spicy death thriving in our stinging and seemingly swollen tongues and cheeks.

This photo highlights the fiery death aftertaste. Notice that Nelson is not in the picture. He was cheeky and decided to toss his chili over his shoulder as we all chomped into ours. 

Just another close up to show the anguish on our faces and in my eyes. Fiery death, I'm telling you. 

More Urban Homestay News

Today marks the sixth day of my urban homestay with the Gitau family in Nairobi. I must say that I've never had such a blast living with any other family. Butch (Trevor) and I have had so much fun spending afternoons swimming at The Windsor Club, the evenings checking out the Nairobi nightlife, and lazy mornings rocking out to our morning pump-up music driving to class despite the horrendous morning commuter traffic. Believe it or not, the infrastructure in Nairobi has remained largely unchanged since the British colonial era, a characteristic that helps explain the incredibly congested roads around rush hour in the morning and late afternoon. The morning drive in to the Ufungumano house where I take Swahili lessons would normally take only five minutes without traffic, but every morning it turns into a frustrating slow-moving thirty minute ride. The good news, however, is that the delayed journey grants me time to read a sizable portion of The Daily Nation, the paper that gives me great discussion material for my government class on the elections. Here, news about the campaigns is front page nearly every day. Here the paper boy is very much a fixture, and you will find one hawking the daily paper on every major corner. Unfortunately, they do not go around shouting "Extra, extra, read all about it! Uhuru slated to win in first round!". Still, it's nice to pay for the paper and actually sit down with it in the morning before class; it makes me feel all grown up to sit with the paper and a cup of chai before class and catch up with the latest developments.

Yesterday was a normal day, which means I left for school around 7:30 in the morning and returned at 4:30. Classes have been very interesting, and my Swahili is certainly improving, but still I am a bit hesitant when trying my Swahili in public. Last night marked my first night out in Nairobi (In Kenya for that matter) and Butch and I went out to Westlands to check out the scene with Katie, one of the other girls on the program who is living with his cousins. Because he is only 19 and was in the states last year when he would have started going out here, he was just as green to the night scene as I, which made last night interesting. I joked with him that following him into bars/clubs was like the blind leading the blind. Still, friends of his made some solid recommendations for places to check out and they panned out nicely. We actually met a fair number of American students at one of the bars, most of whom are here studying on an exchange from University of Minnesota with Nazarine University here in Nairobi.

After we hung around at the bars for a couple hours, we headed down the street to the night club that friends recommended we check out. It ended up being quite the place to be on a Thursday night. Although Katie and I were definitely the only two Mzungu in the whole club, we had so much fun and met many great people. Among them, was a couple of young guys who invited us into their private box. We soon learned that one of them had previously been running for MP for the local Westlands district, but that he had been bought out earlier that day by his main opponent. In exchange for his endorsement and promising the support of his followers, this young man (about 26) was given a brand new Range Rover Sport and a large sum of money. The money, of course, is what had put him in such a nice mood, so much so that Katie and I didn't pay for a drink the entire evening. It's a bit peculiar to hear a candid story of what is basically corruption or vote-buying, but that is simply the accepted way of life, and especially politics here. Butch explained to me, as many other people have, that EVERYONE and everything in Kenya has a price. Now I believe him.

As for the dancing...well that's a story entirely on its own. I must say, the girls here are some of the most amazing dancers I have ever seen. Almost intimidating, especially in such a busy nightclub with an Amazing DJ and light show, is the way these gorgeous African girls will "wind" to the beat in high heels that make you wonder how they even stand up. Being the adventurous scout that I am (Thanks Troop IV and Big Jay), I mustered up the courage to make my way onto the dance floor and see if I could keep up. Let me just say that I have never so much identified so much with the popular moniker White Man's Overbite. Perhaps the only encouraging part of the experience, at first at least, was the fact the the DJ was spinning all American beats, which I at least knew the words to. Luckily, I met Eve, a lovely girl from USIU (United States International University) who took pity on the poor mzungo who must've looked like a fish out of water on that dance floor. She offered to help me find my inner Kenyan and start dancing like one. After a frustrating while trying to figure out how to move my hips and avoid stepping on toes, I finally got the hang of it. Katie soon made it out onto the dance floor and we had a blast dancing for almost an hour. I'm not even ashamed to say that I'm sore today, because it quite an experience and I have NEVER danced so much in my life. We got back from the club around 4:30 and then hit the hay. Although my body is surely not adjusted to this lifestyle, I hope that it doesn't have to take this kind of sleep-deprivation abuse too regularly.

 Luckily, today we had the opportunity to visit Kibera Girls Soccer Academy, which was really interesting. The girls of KGSA are both driven and determined young women who strive to make a better life for themselves through hard work in the classroom and on the pitch. Many of the graduates of the young school have successfully managed to continue their education and pursue higher degrees and careers. In Kibera I was able to practice my Swahili with the kids without the pressure of sounding foolish in front of my peers or elders. The afternoon spent in Kibera, the largest slum in Kenya, was truly invaluable. Not only did I gain a better understanding of the struggles of the poorest Kenyan people, but also a greater appreciation of the privileges I have been blessed with my whole life. More to come on the Kibera experience, but for now I must go meet up with Butch and his friends. We're heading out to an Ethiopian restaurant for Josh's birthday. Apparently you eat with your hands at this place. I am wearing a white shirt; this should surely put my table manners to the test (Thanks Ruru and Grandpa). Well...when in Africa...

Urban Homestay Update

Hey y'all. Recently I've been receiving some feedback from my (not-so) wide readership requesting that I do a better job keeping my blog hip and current, rather than boring and textbookish. So from here on out, so long as I have internet, I will try to post at least once a day to tell you all about my shenanigans. This is mainly for you, Olivia, so please make sure to stay tuned. 

Today marks the sixth day of my two-way urban homestay in Nairobi. So far it has been an absolute blast. My family is wonderful and very welcoming. I live with my mother, father and Butch, my 19 year-old brother who is quickly becoming my best friend. Everyday I head to school at 8:00 for Swahili lessons, and then continue with my classes until 4:30. They are fun and very interesting, especially my government class focusing on the elections. 

Well, enough about the boring stuff. So much to update you all on...where to start. I've now recovered from my harrowing ordeal with the Kenyan healthcare system. That was a trip. I returned from Mombasa last week with a lovely Kenyan blood infection, which required me to receive intravenous antibiotics for three days. Normally, I'm fine with needle sticks and getting blood taken, but I draw the line at three or four attempts. You'd think that it'd be easier to locate a giant blue vein on a pasty white arm. Clearly, this is not the case. Still, despite inadequate needle-sticking skills and sore forearms, I received all three courses of the IV antibiotics and am thrilled to only be taking an oral antibiotic twice a day. Cross your fingers that that is my last hospitalization of the trip!

Yesterday my father’s macbook and iPad were stolen from his car as he ran into the supermarket to grab something and forgot to lock it. We spent much of last night trying to track it down via findmyiphone, which he was very excited about. Because he works for the government, he has sensitive information on both devices, so finding them is a big priority now. He told me this morning that he got clearance to authorize the anti-terrorism department to track his computer down using its IP address. Apparently they have the ability to locate the device with an accuracy of 30 cm. Today his bodyguard and security personnel are going on a manhunt to find the device, which findmyiphone located within the very complex he believes it was stolen from. Having met his bodyguard already, I am very glad I am not the culprit on the receiving end of the beat-down surely headed his way.

I’ll update more later, but for now this should suffice, Olivia.  

2/11/13

Today I woke up around six a.m. to go for a nice run on the beach. Upon my sweat-drenched return and before I showered, I decided to sit on the seawall and watch the tide come in (unfortunately not without the company of some pesky beach boys trying to sell me starfish among countless other woodcarvings and souvenirs). After breakfast omelets and much mango juice, we again headed down to the Old Town in Mombasa where we met local Swahili history and culture professors, whom we had a discussion panel with in what used to be the high court building during colonial times. It was really wonderful to be able to talk to ask such candid questions of people from a fascinating culture so different from our own. The influence of Islam in this area is huge, and it is nice to get a bit of the local culture and flavor from such genuine and inviting people.

Following the panel discussion, we had a chance to tour Old Town with one of the tour guides from Fort Jesus, who took us on a grand tour through the narrow streets with so much history. We had an opportunity to see the two oldest mosques in Kenya, built in 1565 and 1584 (prior to and around the same time as the fort). Also, we saw the first post office, fish market, and port landings in addition to the shipwreck site of the Portuguese ship documented in the museum at the fort. We had a lovely Swahili lunch prepared by local mamas (as they say here) that consisted of many local dishes full of spice and excitement. As a crossroads of cultures, Mombasa boasts some great foods borrowed from several diverse flavor profiles of the Bantu Swahili people, the Portuguese who occupied the city for a long time, and the Arab spice traders who also came through and to the fort for a long time.

Julia took this picture of the main facade at Fort Jesus. Locals play soccer in the afternoon on this pitch in the shadow of the fort. Photo credit: Julia Hall

In the afternoon before we headed back to Jumia for some more time in the pool and on the beach, we had a chance to visit Biashara Street on more time to do some shopping. While I mostly abstained from buying anything, I did enjoy the chance to further hone my bartering skills with the locals. I think my best bet is to learn the numbers better in Swahili, so I can get better prices that cut out or down on the hefty Mzungu (white person) tax. For now, I must head to dinner, but I will check back in later after the debate we plan to watch at the German resort next door where we caught the football match last night.

photo credit: Abby Martin

2/12/13

Today started out like any other; a beautiful sunrise, a short run on the beach, and a nice breakfast omelet. I had a great conversation with Celia about Obama’s Stat of the Union Address, which we missed early this morning. We also discussed the outcome of the debate, which certainly got mixed reviews. One thing that truly floored me about the debate, however, was how cordial the candidates were towards each other, and also how well the moderators held them to their proscribed time limits. Perhaps the sheer number of candidates, at eight, prohibited the back-and-forth banter we are so accustomed to during presidential debates in the states.  

Soon after breakfast, we loaded up the bus for our one-and-a-half hour trip to the sacred Kaya forests at Rabai, where we spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon. After the long right through the unbelievable Mombasa traffic in the sweltering heat, we arrived at Rabai for our forest adventure. Soon after a harrowing drive down rough roads in the bus, we arrived close to the entrance of the sacred Kaya forest. There we met William, who serves as the Rabai Kaya museum curator and also as an active member of the Rabai community who has been working closely with the CFC (Coastal Forest Conservancy) and the Rabai to promote an ecotourism conservation project there.

Accompanied by two village elders and William, we headed into the sacred Kaya (forest), which the native Mijikenda people believe is both sacred and integral to the preservation of their culture. Before entering the forest, we passed by several gravesites of elder Rabai diviners, and also a ‘gadget’ used to ward off evil spirits. To enter the most sacred sections of the Kaya (that they allow outsiders to see), we first had to sit and reflect for a while. Additionally, we had to take off our shoes. In some areas, the sun had heated up the rocky, sandy, forest floor to a temperature almost unbearable to all but the hardened and calloused feet of the ancient Rabai elders (who stood by smiling as we sprinted across the hot spots like we were running over coals). Inside the settlement area, we were able to learn about some of their traditions and rituals, most of which involve the Elders going to spend several days living in the Kaya; there they spend multiple days taking oaths, praying to their ancestors, and performing many other traditional rituals. Following the tour of the Kaya, we were treated to a lovely traditional Rabai meal before we headed back to the hotel to spend the rest of the day poolside. 

2/13/13

Today we were able to sleep in a bit (until eight o'clock!), which is a luxury, if you can believe that. Breakfast was more relaxed than usual, as people came to eat at their leisure. There were somewhat slim pickings, though, for those who arrived later because the other group of guests at the resort was about 50 young men training to be poll monitors for the upcoming election. Needless to say, if you've been keeping up with my previous posts, but young Kenyan men eat A LOT of food. Following breakfast and nice chat with Celia and Jau, I had time to take a dip in the pool and journal on the seawall for a short while before class. 

Soon, we headed to another panel discussion with four local Mijikenda women, who shared much of their experiences living as women in a very traditionally patriarchal society. Through the hour and a half of fielding questions, I learned much from these educated women, who discussed all manners of social, economic, religious, and other issues and challenges they continue to face. Perhaps the most interesting to me, was the discussion raised about the presence of a secessionist party known as the MRC, or the Mombasa Republican Coalition. For the most part, the coastal communities are marginalized in the political sphere, underrepresented and rarely sought after, except maybe for when a politician will visit a sacred Kaya to ask for a blessing in upcoming election. 

Also, another striking topic discussed by the women was healthcare. One woman, referring to the high infant and maternity mortalities common in coastal communities, said that the Mijikenda have a saying to the effect of "when you are pregnant, you are holding your death certificate in your hands". Also, on the issue of malaria prevention, they told us that many people end up using the provided nets to protect their baby chicks from crows, rather than their children from mosquitoes. 

This afternoon we went on a "Sea Safari" with a few of the local beach boys. We saw octopus, many sea lion fish, a couple sea cucumbers, tons of sea urchins, and equally as many coral formations. Although they were somewhat helpful while navigating the coral pathways on the out to the breaking waves at the edge of the reef, the beach boys were more annoying than anything else, especially when asking for money at the end of the "free sea safari". Still, it was really cool to be able to see the marine life on and around the coral formations. Even cooler still, when we returned, we were greeted by small baboon families playing all over the grounds around and between our rooms. I even saw one of the mothers with a baby clinging to her chest drinking from the faucet by the pool, which she had turned on herself! How cool. Also, tonight we're going on a sunset cruise aboard a massive double-decker dhow. It should be really fun, especially because St. Lawrence in buying us our first round of drinks with dinner. Right now I'm sitting on the seawall watching small trimarans cooking along the horizon as I wait for the girls to get ready. It's amazing how quickly the tide comes in here. Maybe it has something to do with the reef ledge. Regardless, its remarkable. Just now a man wheeled his bike past me on the small ledge of cement at the top of the beach where it meets the seawall, complete with a bucket on the back of his bike full of squid, fish, and his catch of the day. What a sight! Anyways, it is now time for us to head to bus. Bon Voyage!  

A great photo of a local triamaran in the distance. Photo Credit: Max Miller

A beach boy carries his wares down the beach. Photo credit: Max Miller

The chef's aboard the Tamarid Dhow prepare our meal photo credit: Max Miller

The Tamarind Dhow Photo credit: Julia Hall

2/14/13

Happy Valentines Day! The first thing I have to say is that the cruise last night was AMAZING! Not only was the wooden Tamarind Dhow spectacular, but the food and band were equally as impressive. We had a blast motoring up the channel to the old port and beyond the breakwater, and then back up the river, under the causeway and up to a nice bay where we picked up a mooring (much like the empty oil tank mooring we tied up to in SABA many years ago) and ate dinner before dancing. Aboard the Tamarind Dhow the food was truly top-notch, and easily takes the cake as the best meal I've enjoyed in Kenya thus far. Also, the band was really nice and played a lot of American music, although I would have liked to see them play some more traditional Swahili-inspired music. 

This morning I woke up and went for a run on the beach before breakfast. It was easily the hottest run of my life, a grueling five kilometer jog down the beach that had me sinking three or four inches into the sand every second step. Still, it was a good sweat before breakfast, and I'm glad I went. After breakfast, I sat on the seawall for a while to journal and was quickly approached by a friendly beach boy eager to show me his inventory of shells he had collected overnight. For a while I spoke Spanish at him, not to him (I've found this technique has served me well with the beach boys recently), but then I decided I liked his coconut leaf hat. He did not even question my seamless transition to English, even though I had insisted only minutes earlier that I spoke none at all. After some small talk about Florida and California (where all Americans are from, according to him), I asked him about the awesome woven hat.

My hat weaving Beach Boy friend          

photo credit: Julia Hall

He told me that I could have his for only 100 shillings, "A very good price for you, my friend," a mantra we've heard quite a lot this week. After trying his on, I commissioned him to make me two of them. His eyes lit up, and he sprinted down the beach a ways to a coconut tree to fetch a few branches to use for the hats. For the next twenty-five minutes I watched him weave the intricate stitches with ease. The only tool he used, aside from the branches, was a small knife he had stowed in his belt. I have yet to pay him for the hats, as I had to go to class before he finished both, but he assured me they would be done by lunchtime when I have my break. We made a deal that each hat would cost 100 shillings (about $1.15), and I made him shake on that price (I was reminded of my favorite show to watch with Mom - Pawn Stars). I sure hope he honors our deal, but the culture here is such that no deal is final, especially with the beach boys. For this afternoon, Max and I are planning on heading to Mombasa to meet George and get some networking contacts for IDS. I'm looking forward to meeting George again, seeing his school, The Aga Khan Academy. Although I would like to take Haley out to dinner, I told her we'll have to take a raincheck and go out when we get back to Nairobi. 

Coastal Adventures: Mombasa

Going Coastal

The following excerpts are taken from a daily journal I kept during our stay in Mombasa. Please mind that during many of the entries I was a bit distracted by the tenacious curiosity of the beach boys desperately trying to strike up conversation and spin an elaborate web of lies which, of course, would lead to us buying their contraband conch shells and bootleg ebony keychain carvings. Despite abstaining from any purchases, the young men were often impossible to ignore. Hence, many conversations-cut-short later, I was able to maintain somewhat lucid entries (I hope!) that I would love to share with you all.

2/11/13

Today marks the second day of our Mombasa trip to the coastal region of Kenya, where we are studying the Swahili and Mijikenda peoples and their rich culture. Our first day, which was yesterday, included a trip into Mombasa's old town, where the original port and fort are located. Around 1854, the Porteguese reached Mombasa en route to India, where they hoped to engaged in the spice trade with traders from India and elsewhere in the Arabian peninsula and Middle East. Instead of naked savages they half expected to find in the virgin territory when they landed rather unexpectedly on the Eastern African Coast, they found a people with a rich culture, religion, and lifestyle all their own. In fact, the Coastal Swahili people have settled here for hundreds (if not thousands) of years.

The Swahili are a muslim people highly steeped in the culture, language, and religion of a region that for hundreds of years has served as a cultural crossroads for many peoples who arrived in Mombasa seeking to benefit from the elaborate existing trading networks associated with the thriving port city. While most of the reef-lined Eastern African coast is impassible to larger ships with deeper drafts, the confluence of two large, freshwater tributaries flowing into Mombasa allows for a crucial break in the reef, through which ships can pass. Coral reefs cannot survive where there is freshwater, so the salt water estuary (not unlike the Hundred Acre Cove we all treasure so dearly) effectively severs the continuous coastal reef and allows shipping channels from Somalia, India, and many other Arab states to access African markets through the port.

Anyhow, Fort Jesus, where we spent the majority of the morning on tour, is a towering fort built by the Portuguese as an outpost in the region in 1591. In fact, the fort was the first structure built outside of europe that was designed to resist cannon fire. The coolest fact about the fort, perhaps, is that it is built and carved out of coral from a natural reef almost 56 feet above sea level. Our tour guide joked that while other iconic cultural cities like Venice are sinking, due to the living foundation of coral reef, Fort Jesus and Mombasa is actually rising higher and higher each year. Built in the 16th century, the fort was under Portuguese control for hundreds of years before the Omani Arabs arrived and took control of the fort. Later in its life, the fort served as a British prison for a while, until the end of colonial rule, when it became a national historical site.

Max snapped this photo of me sitting on one of the cannons inside the fort.

Perhaps even more exciting, after the tour ended, Max and I split off from the group to go meet George Kaleen, a family friend of Max's mom whom she grew up with in South Boston. He is an art teacher and community outreach coordinator at the Aga Khan Academy, an international preparatory school in Mombasa. He's lived in Mombasa for seven years now, and is well known and respected in the community. He is also the proprietor of a well known coffee shop and restaurant that has a steady following among expats and esteemed locals, alike. He took us there for a snack and coffee, and while there picked our brains about our program, and also about the IDS component in particular, with which he plans to help Max and I out. Following our meeting at Jihazi, we took a lovely traditional lunch in town before heading back to the resort. We spent the rest of the afternoon frolicking in the Indian Ocean just paces from our beachside villa (the shallow ocean is almost uncomfortably warm, it must be almost 85º) Dinner was nice and afterwards we headed to our neighboring resort just down the beach a ways, where we enjoyed drinks and watched the African Cup final between Nigeria and Burkina Faso.

Megan pauses on the seawall after a morning run. Photo credit: Max Miller

More on My Rural Homestay

Rural Homestay Snaps

Meet Martha, my 90+ year-old neighbor. I met her on Monday, the third day of my rural homestay, and the day during which I travelled around to the village meeting many of the old men and women who told me (via my trusty translator, Sydney) many ogre stories and all about the traditional Ameru culture and the way the landscape and community has changed since the arrival of Mzungu (white people). The advent of Christianity and the education that came with the faith forever altered the direction of the Ameru and their ways. I learned so much this day, and I'm incredibly grateful to have been given the opportunity to have so much knowledge and wisdom imparted upon me by community elders. 

                       

This is another jojo (that's old woman in Kimeru) I had the pleasure of meeting on Monday. Although she is very old and can barely even keep her head up most of the time, this remarkable woman is 120 years-old and still very much alive. With the help of her granddaughter, she shared several stories with me and even told me about her memories of when the first white missionaries and colonial explores arrived c. 1903. She spoke of how she remembers as a girl the arrival of the first white people and how much change accompanied the adoption of Christianity in the community. 

Meet Chui, arguably the cutest Kenyan puppy on the planet. Although he is usually only allowed out at night, one day when my parents were both at work, I let him out and we played for hours. In Kenya, most dogs are not cared for as pets like they are in the US. Rather, in Kenya, dogs are used almost exclusively as guard dogs, which of course complicated my plans to spend every minute with this little bundle of joy. 

This is another picture of Chui during his token day of frolicking about the homestead with myself and the neighborhood boys.  It was pretty awesome to see these kids even just petting him, because usually no one goes near the fierce guard dogs and strays that roam the streets and protect properties, especially in these rural areas where gates and guards are few and far between. 

I had an opportunity to drop by the local kindergarten class one day. Although I was unable to speak with the kids because I arrived at naptime, I was able to capture some great photos of the little ones catching up on some sleep on the pews and floor of the church where classes are held. 

As a gift, I brought a soccer ball for the neighborhood kids to enjoy. They had a blast all afternoon just kicking the ball around. It was really humbling to see them so genuinely excited about something so modest. They would come over right after school everyday and ask if I could play with them. I hope it continues to bring them joy for months to come. 

Welcome to Meru County!

I captured this photo of enthusiastic primary school children on the sixth day of my rural homestay in the rural Meru County. Meru is a rural community which lies just east of the Great Rift Valley in the shadow of the magnificent Mt. Kenya. Known for the rich cultural history of the Ameru people who first settled the region some 400 years ago, visiting the vibrant agricultural-based communities that now occupy many of the same storied shambas of their ancestors is both humbling inspiring.

I spent the week living with a family in the small village of Kigali just outside the Meru Town Center. During the week I spent in Meru, I kept a journal of my experiences working, learning, dining, farming,  playing, and praying with the Mwongera family. I will be transcribing my entries onto this page soon, but for now I am busy readjusting to the food and finer luxuries of life back on the St. Lawrence Compound in Karen, Nairobi.