A Very Kenyan Saturday

We have an acquaintance called Mabongha. He is an elderly gentleman, tall, thin, and always neatly dressed in white clothes. Most Sundays we bump into him at church, and also as we walk to the market. His 'home' is next to the main road, between the school and the market. When we walk past he always comes out and beckons us over for a chat. On one such occasion he informed me that he had once talked to a wise man from his village who told him that he was destined to meet and befriend a European. Even though Australia is a long way from Europe, I fear that I am that European.

Mabongha has been asking us for many months to visit his shamba (farm) in the village where he grew up. We would also get to meet his wife and children. We thought that he lived with his wife in Kamukuywe - apparently she is one of his relatives (we hope). Mabongha describes himself as a marketer. We assume that he sells farm produce in Kamukuywe market during the week and sometimes gets home to see his family on weekends. He has four sons who look after the shamba while he is in town.

A number of times a date was chosen, but for one reason or another it fell through. One weekend was the time the builders started to construct the new kitchen at the school - they dug trenches and built up huge mounds of dirt, then we realised that our car could not exit our driveway. That took a few days to solve (eventually a fence was removed temporarily).

So today (Saturday) was the day. We were keen to see his farm but also aware that he was a fairly eccentric sort of character. At 8 am we arrived promptly outside his home. As expected, he was sitting on the wooden seat outside his front door, waiting for our arrival. Upon seeing us he quickly ducked around the side of the house and came out with two live chickens (one hen and one rooster). These were tied together by a piece of rope about 50 cm long. He put them in the back of the van, informing us that he could not possibly go home without fresh meat. They were certainly fresh, and so were the deposits they left in the back of the van.

Without a word Mabongha then scurried off across the road to the 'general store'. After a couple of minutes he was visible in the doorway with a plastic bag in his hand, however he did not move in our direction. He must have been having a good conversation with the shopkeeper, because he did not return for at least another 10 minutes.

Finally Mabongha is in the van and we are on our way. As we pass the market (500 metres down the road) he asks us to pull over by the side of the road. He leaves the van without a word and starts a conversation with three men sitting outside a shop. After a few minutes he hurries back to the car to tell us that we must be patient for a while. Another ten minutes passes and Mabongha returns with a 'relative' who is going to accompany us to his farm.

We had already been told by Mabongha that his farm was near Kimilili, a town about ten kilometres from Kamukuywe. In one way he was right, it was nearer Kimilili than Kamukuywe, because it was at least another fifteen kilometres past Kimilili.

As we entered a small village with no obvious signs, Mabongha asked us to pull over again. He entered a shop and, after a quick conversation, was back in the car. The four of us head off again. Two minutes down the road he asks us to stop near the trees. There were trees all along the road. We slowed and soon found the next place we were to stop. At this location he entered a house, being gone about five minutes. Out he comes with another 'relative' who is also going to join us on our trip. Before we leave, the rest of the family comes out and shakes our hands through the window of the van. After many 'habari's' and 'nzuri's' we were on our way again.

Two minutes later we approach a rural lane. "This must be the farm" I thought erroneously.
At this stop we met another three people, one of whom loaded up the back of the van with firewood. Off again, wondering if we would have to soon set up the third row of seats in the back.

A short distance further on we left the main road and twisted our way down a narrow, rutted dirt track. The van is four wheel drive but it has a very low plastic guards on the front and back. My main task now was to ensure that another visit to the auto repairer was not required (don't ask, okay!!).

It was now coming up to 9:30, but the house was in sight.

We pulled up near a mango tree which offered some shade. The five of us got out to stretch our legs at which point Mabongha once again disappeared from sight. We stood around wondering what to do next. Ten minutes later a young man arrived with some plastic seats. He had not come from the house ten metres away, but from a track on the other side of the car. Minutes later Mabongha appears, telling us that his wife is not home and he doesn't know where she is. The five of us sit under the shade of the mango tree. Around us, except for the grassed area outside the house, is six hectares of farm land planted with maize and sugar cane. The sugar cane is a new variety with a narrower stem, which has not proven superior to the traditional variety. Yields, Mabongha tells us, are very low.

In order to get something (anything) happening, I ask Mabongha to give us a tour of the farm. "No", he says "first we must take tea". So we sit and wait for at least forty minutes. Our two hitch-hikers chat on in Swahili - they don't know English, and we don't know Swahili. Mabongha is flitting around, although sometimes present to start some conversation. "Do you grow maize in Australia?" He asks. "No" we tell him. "How then do you make your ugali?" he adds. "We don't eat ugali" we reply rather sheepishly. This idea must stun him because he remains silent for quite a while. Then he asks "how many cows do you have?". Des informs him that we live in the city and have no room for cows. Our grass is kept short with a mechanical lawn mower. "What about fowls?" he asks hopefully. "No, we don't keep fowls either. We buy our chickens and eggs from a supermarket". More silence.

Finally, one of Mabongha's daughters-in law arrives with tea. Fortunately it is not pre-sugared (you would not believe how much sugar Kenyans put in their tea). The tea is poured from a thermos, coming out milky and hot. Mabongha then retrieves his shopping bag from the van and hands everyone a small loaf of bread. Tea and white bread is a very common combination here. Both are usually very sweet.

The four sons live in separate houses scattered around the property. They have their own families and so, from time to time, grand children would arrive and introduce themselves. The youngest of these was not more than four or five years old. We suspect that she had never seen white people before because she fought vigorously so that she would not have to come near us. We were reminded how remote this corner of Kenya really is.

After our tea is cleared away, Mrs Mabongha finally arrives. She is welcoming but knows very little English. After a few minutes she disappears into the house. Mabongha disappears too.

All this time, the hobbled chickens have been clucking around near us. Outside the house, one of the sons is sharpening a knife on a rock. Mabongha comes out of the house and gives him a hand. Mabongha takes the knife and the son picks up the two chickens ( read "boilers"). The chickens are taken into an open-sided hut. One of the 'relatives' comes over and starts to chant at the chickens. This continues for a few minutes. Not much later the chickens are dispatched. They are taken away but come back half an hour later, completely plucked. The largest bird is laid on a table (under the mango tree). A swift incision opens it up, and the same 'relative' begins to dig inside and inspect the bird's vital organs. He holds some up to the light and seems to be pleased with what he sees. Did I really just see someone examine the entrails of a fowl?



At this stage, encouraged by Des, I remind our host that we must be back at the school by two pm. He seems okay with this request, although I was expecting the insistence that we stay for lunch.

Mabongha invites us into his house. It is a traditional mud and stick house with a relatively new corrugated iron roof. The front door leads straight into a lounge room, as it does in most Kenyan homes. The room is filled with armchairs and lounges, there is hardly enough room to move around. We sit on one of the lounges to find that there is no padding under the slip covers. We are left alone, presumably while the family attends to the chickens.

Our parting gift is one half of a chicken (to cook at home we are told), a bag of sweet potatoes and a bunch (yes a whole bunch) of green bananas. Des organises plastic bags for the fresh meat and we remind Mabongha, once again, that we must be leaving. "Perhaps a walk around the farm before we leave" he suggests. We do not refuse the offer. We walk past some of his sons' houses, past the sweet potato plot, the sugar cane and then out to the road. There is a largish group of people hanging around the nearby primary school and we are taken down to meet them.

Back at the farm we say our goodbyes to the family and take a few photographs. Mabongha's wife tells him something in Swahili and he translates that she wants him to keep reminding us to come back another day. We do not give a definite guarantee.

The trip back is much quicker, although each passenger asks to be let out at a different location to where they were picked up. We arrive back at the school at about 1:30 pm. Upon reflection we both agreed that for one morning in Western Kenya we were "Mabongha's white trophies" for the day.

It is certainly a day that will provide us with some unique and humorous recollections for many years to come.

Permit me to Explain

So here is the work permit update, seeing as so many people have asked about it. I may as well give you the full story, so here goes:

The normal visitor to Kenya obtains a three month tourist visa. We had to do this when we arrived, because work permits can only be applied for, in person, in Nairobi.
On our first day in the country (January 6) we applied for a work permit under the 'missionary' category. I also fronted the Education Ministry to organise authority to teach.
A work permit, when granted, automatically gives you residency status - oh, you then have to go and register as a legal alien.

Apparently, the Education Ministry was quite happy to have me passing on teaching expertise, so they said they would expedite my work permit (Immigration checks with Education when an application is for a teacher). They were sure that it would be finalised in two months.

April came, still no word, and our visas were about to expire. We went to Eldoret (the largest city in our region) and asked for a visa extension. We applied ten days before our visa ran out, and so they were unwilling to grant it. After some humble pleading they agreed.

June came, yes, still no work permits. However our contact in Nairobi (Pastor Isaac, from the inland mission) assured is that if we came to Nairobi we should be able to pick up our work permits. All three of us took the opportunity of exam week to drive the 350 km to Nairobi. On the Wednesday we fronted immigration. My permit was 'almost complete'. If we come back tomorrow, it will probably be ready. Tabby had only applied a month before so, although hers had initial approval, the permit would still be a month or two away. Des was a completely different story. The Immigration Department had reversed their initial decision and decided not to grant her missionary status. Their reasoning was that she had no credential that qualified her as a missionary (Tabby and I had teaching qualifications). She would have to re-apply as a dependent spouse. First she would have to prove that we were married ... Did we bring our marriage certificate? No, of course not.

Thanks to a technologically handy brother and an organised Des, the required document is faxed over within 24 hours. Now there is the two to three month wait for the new application to be processed.

In the meantime our visas were about to expire. A quick visit to a new immigration office and Des and Tabby had their tourist visa renewed for another 3 months. This may have been some small indication that the ministry realised they were taking a very long time. I was given a form explaining that my work permit had been approved and was almost ready.

The next day my work permit was not ready.
The next day after that my work permit was not ready. This was a Friday and we knew that immigration was not open over the weekend. We had to return to Kamukuywe. I left my passport with Isaac who agreed to complete the process and send it on by registered mail. It is now six days later and I have heard nothing.

So, as of June 26, Des and Tabby are tourists for another three months (with some hope of a residency permit). I have no tourist visa and no passport. I do have a document explaining that my work permit will arrive 'anytime soon'. The saga continues.

Ah, the efficiency of the public service in Kenya. Somehow, I don't think they really want volunteers in the country, imparting technical skills, helping children, orphans and widows, and spending lots of foreign exchange. Go figure!

Kibera

 It sounds like a gross exaggeration, but there is a 'suburb' in Nairobi that holds 1.5  million people. Actually, the number is somewhere between 800,000 and 2 million, nobody knows exactly. The place is called Kibera and it is one of the largest slums in the world.
The land was leased to refugee Nubian soldiers after WW2, but has always remained crown land. Different ethnic groups gradually moved in; people who had some work but could not afford the rent demanded by the owners of traditional apartments.



Des, Tabby and I had a morning to kill in Nairobi (waiting for news of our work permits - no we do not have them yet) so we took a paid tour of Kibera. For about $30 each we were taken on a guided three hour walk around the poorest part of Nairobi. Phillip was the tour leader, and Charles was the 'muscle'.



Ironically, we met our tour guides outside the trendy Java House coffee shop in a nearby shopping centre. After a short 'briefing' we were off on foot. Unfortunately for us, it had rained quite a bit over the past 24 hours so the ground was very muddy.

Our walk took us through Toi Market, the second largest market in Nairobi. You can buy anything here, prices marked on the goods and no bargaining expected. It is a labyrinth of makeshift stalls and service providers. We didn't hang around as Kibera was waiting.

The word 'slum' is easy to define geographically, but it evokes images that are not always correct. A slum is a residential area where the occupants/landlords do not own the land and are dwelling illegally. This is true in Kibera. We were told that the water was the only utility obtained legally. The land and electricity is illegally procured. The Mombasa-Nairobi railway line also bisects Kibera.



However, a slum is not a place where people sit around doing nothing and bemoaning their poverty. In fact, the amount of enterprise in Kibera is astounding. There are many factories producing good quality merchandise, with employees working in basic but clean premises. We visited a 'bone factory' where animal bones were obtained from the abattoirs and turned into jewellery. The level of workmanship was high but I would not like to continually breathe in the bone dust that permeates the air.

We also dropped in to the 'power women's cooperative'. A group of 15 women support HIV positive women, teach them new skills and produce handicrafts for sale. We were very impressed with their dedication and selfless effort.
Phillip has a project where he is collecting plastic, chipping it and selling to recyclers. He also distributes plastic bags to members of his neighbourhood so that their refuse can be collected, sorted and also recycled.

Not once did we feel threatened within the slum, even when one guy commented on how much he would like a Nikon camera like mine! Many residents went on with their daily business, some wanted to shake hands and say hello. There were no beggars. The children, so cute and comparatively well-dressed, smile shyly and keep their distance - there are not too many muzungus in Kibera.

We learned that 70% of the children complete primary school, and a much lower percent go on to high school. Schools are private, mostly funded by churches and NGO's (even though Phillip calls NGO's Not Good Organisers). The government makes speeches about helping slum dwellers but basically ignores their existence.

Apartment buildings have been built near Kibera, and the government has moved people out of the slum and into the low-cost apartments. It has not been successful. The 'lucky' tenants are removed from their community (Kibera is divided into tribal districts) and they are removed from their workplace. Some travel back to the slum to work each day.

Others sub-let their apartment and move back to Kibera where they can live behind their workplace and keep an eye on it. Locals don't want to be moved out, they want the area upgraded. The crowded nature of the slum makes this virtually impossible.

Phillip calls Kibera the 'chocolate city', I think because it is composed of many hectares of rusting corrugated iron structures. The houses are simple sheds about 3x4 metres in size. There is a living room and a bedroom, often housing up to 10 people. The rooms are divided by curtains. Cooking seems to be done outside, or food obtained from a street seller.



There are makeshift drains and litter everywhere. On this particular morning the paths were thick, brown mud. Walking around was difficult, especially on steep pathways that wend their way around businesses and houses. As in most parts of Kenya, plastic bags are prolific -  mingled with the mud and even hanging from the few trees that have survived defoliation.



Most houses have no running water, toilet or electricity. Many that do have electricity have tapped into power poles illegally. We were shown one school which was being 'renovated' after an electrical fire had destroyed the classrooms.

At night there is virtually no lighting (except for three huge light towers that were put in by a NGO). Phillip says that it is very noisy until about 1 am - the locals like their reggae music, and they like it loud. Houses are very close together, at least 90% of the slum would not be accessible by car. Much of the area is quite steep land - perhaps this is why the government has never tried to develop it.

Phillip was very proud of his chocolate city and was keen to highlight the positive side of Kibera. He is too familiar with the negative publicity that pervades newspapers and political-speak. So to some degree we were kept away from the blemishes, and I'm sure there are many. Crime is a problem in some areas of Kibera, although there were not the steel doors and bars that exist in the wealthier suburbs. Unemployment and lack of skills is also prevalent. I have read that up to 50% of the 15-21 year old girls are pregnant. Many resort to abortion which leads to a higher mortality rate for young girls.



Undeniably, Kibera is a necessity in Nairobi, and I never thought I would say that about a slum. It provides so much more than the word 'slum' suggests. There is a strong sense of community, work opportunities, support services and, perhaps most of all, a home for the less affluent members of Kenya's growing urban population.

Saving Elephants

In a South-Western suburb of Nairobi is the David Sheldrick Elephant Orphanage. If you are ever in Nairobi, this is one tourist spot that is worth a visit.

David Sheldrick was a ranger in Tsavo National Park, and also a well-known conservationist. After retirement he established an orphanage for young elephants, a labour of love that is now carried on by his widow Daphne.

A 'zoo' for elephants doesn't seem to fit in with the conservationist ideal, but this place is far from a zoo.

Elephants younger than two who lose their mother due to illness, abandonment or poaching have virtually no chance of survival. It is not that the herd deserts them, but they need milk from their mother. The calf lacks adequate nutrition and eventually dies.



The Sheldrick orphanage takes in these young animals, providing care and safety as well as a steady diet of human baby formula. Many milk substitutes were tested in the early days and this one proved the most successful.

Young elephants are kept at night in individual stalls. A keeper sleeps in each stall and looks after the elephant. These keepers are rotated so that the animal does not become too attached to a human. At the age of three years the young elephants are taken to Tsavo East National Park. They are slowly introduced back into the wild, a process that takes five years. By the age of eight the elephants have completely lost their dependence upon humans. The elephant will live for another sixty or so years. Apparently elephants have six sets of teeth, each set lasting about ten years. When the final set of teeth wears out the animal can no longer feed properly and it dies of starvation. This seems to be the natural way of life and death in the elephant world.



Each day visitors are allowed in the orphanage from 11 am until midday. The cost of entry is 500 shillings (about $6). This place is not a money-making concern. It is an institution dedicated to educating people about the plight of the elephant. It is sad to say that most of the young elephants are orphaned as a result of poaching. Even in the popular game reserves of Tsavo and Amboseli the poachers seem to be winning the war. They have modern equipment, often arriving by helicopter. They kill the elephant, take the ivory and are gone before rangers can get close to the scene.

This day there are about eighty visitors to the orphanage plus two school groups of very young and very cute children.



As you stand around a roped-off arena, a group of young elephants are led in. They need no encouragement because the keepers are in the middle with the largest baby bottles you have ever seen. The calves devour about four litres of milk and are then led around to meet the visitors. Some are extremely small and obviously very young. As this is occurring the announcer is introducing each elephant giving their name, age, place of origin and reason for being at the orphanage.



The very young elephants are then led away, and a few minutes later a procession of slightly older elephants enter the arena in single file.



They too head straight for the milk, this time being given twice as much. After their feed they entertained us by rolling in the dirt and swishing dust over themselves. Again, we are introduced to each one and come to realise the incredibly important work that this organisation is doing.



As these elephants are led away an even older group arrive. These elephants are more mature, although still virtually tusk-less. They will soon be sent to Tsavo to be introduced to a real herd.



Being so close to these animals, and being able to touch them, is an amazing experience. They seem so intelligent and so gentle. I feel very angry at those people who could kill such a majestic beast, especially with a young baby walking close by. There are theories that poor people will do anything to feed their families, but the reality seems to be that these poachers are not poor. They are well-resourced, wealthy hunters who are motivated only by greed.

A world without elephants would be very sad. I was incredibly impressed by the hard work and dedication of all involved with the orphanage.

If you want to help them, even from another continent, you can go on their web site and sponsor a baby elephant for $50 per year. They will send you regular updates on the progress of your elephant.

Go to:      www.sheldrickwildlifetrust.org

Dust and Sunsets

We were driving down a bone-shaking dirt road. The trip was from Mombasa on the coast to Taveta, a small outpost on the border with Tanzania. Our expected time of arrival was 3:30 but it was already 5:15. There was still a long way to go. The travel map gave no indication that this road to southern Kenya would be so abominable. Two thirds of the distance on the map had taken us little more than three hours, but the remaining third was a real battle against potholes, wash-aways and dust.

Dust filled the air as the sun began to set, producing an eerie glow. We came over a small rise in the road and then, this ...



The difficulties of the trip were completely forgotten (for a while) as we all marvelled at the vista before us.

Upon reflection, this scene seemed to speak of a recurring truth about Africa, and Kenya in particular; for every difficulty there seems to be a corresponding positive event.

Perhaps this is the way we should look at life in general. Too many people see the dust but don't see the sunset that it produces.

My new Kenyan friend "A" used to live about 100 Kms from Kamukuywe. About 10 years ago his family was caught up in tribal violence during Kenyan election time. A number of his family members were killed, including his father. The family land was taken by rival tribes. "A" became a refugee in his own country. With a wife and 5 young children he had nowhere to go and no land to work.
"A" is a very intelligent man, he had hoped to study at university, but the chance did not eventuate. He eventually found a new home at Kamukuywe. The local church looked after him and provided him and his family with a place to live.
He works as a labourer, earning 400 shillings ($5) per day. Despite these difficulties he is the most positive, happy man I have ever met. "A" has shown me that happiness is not a function of your situation, it is a product of your mind.

In 10 days time our tourist visa elapses for the second time. It is unlikely that it will be renewed again. If our residency permit does not materialise within the next 9 days, we will have to leave the country. This will involve travelling to Nairobi and flying out of East Africa, staying somewhere for a few days and then re-entering Kenya.
This will be an annoying and expensive endeavour, but we want to see the sunset not the dust. After all, is an enforced holiday really a bad thing? Let's look at the positive side and visit somewhere new. Whatever happens it is now a win-win situation. We either get our residency permit or we get an overseas holiday!

Living in a community where you are the only Caucasian is quite difficult. I get embarrassed when elderly people come up and start a conversation, expecting that you can talk Swahili. It's also difficult to refuse the hospitality of someone when they offer unfiltered water or salad items. We know that they are likely to lead to stomach problems. Even worse is the lack of understanding when it comes to customs and traditions - it is so easy to look foolish.
However, it has taught me so much about being part of a minority, and I have never experienced that before. You think that you can adapt and fit in with local culture but in many ways it is very hard. It has been a wonderful life lesson that has to be experienced to be fully understood.

On Thursday we are half-way through our time here in Kenya. There will be lots more dust to cope with, but we are trying to keep searching for the sunsets along the way.

Selah.

June 1 Musings

The first day of Winter in the Southern Hemisphere.

The day when Australians say "here we go, only 3 months until Spring".
I feel for you fellow Aussies back home because Winter is not really the most pleasant time of the year (yes Kim, I know you love it). Those low pressure systems that hang around for days bringing cold moist air from the south; the annoyance when a new front arrives every Friday, just in time to mess up the weekend; and the occasional big storm that downs trees and puts Newcastle on the map when 400 metre coal ships get washed up on the surf beach!

Way back in the dim, dark past we used to live in the Riverina. May was the start of our Winter. We would come home from school holidays to find the plane trees devoid of leaves. Frosts would descend upon the grass most mornings, and I did quite like walking to school with the crunch of ice beneath my feet. By September we were crying out for holidays so that we could go to the coast and thaw out.

This year is so incredibly different, and we will be lucky enough to miss out on Winter completely.
Our location in Western Kenya is one degree North of the Equator. You can't get much more tropical than that. The altitude of approximately 1700 metres tempers the heat so that most days rarely exceed 30 degrees Celsius. Nights are very pleasant for sleeping (if you can ignore the sound of mosquitoes buzzing around the mozzie net). We generally sleep comfortably with a sheet and one thin blanket.

Kamukuywe, like most of inland Kenya, has a lower rainfall than you may imagine. Most months are relatively dry except for the Long Rains from April to June and the short rains in October-November. Even then, days begin warm and sunny, with threatening clouds developing in the late afternoon, followed by a short, heavy downpour with accompanying thunder and lightning.

A very intelligent first form boy asked me last week why it didn't rain more often. We had been talking about conventional rainfall being produced by localised heating leading to the development of afternoon storms.
A fair amount of Googling has produced the answer.
During the Equinoxes, when the Equator is closest to the sun, the Intertropical Convergence Zone is centred over the Equator. Trade winds from both hemispheres dump exceptionally low pressure air on Kenya. Low pressure air is warm and unstable. It rises to produce rain clouds. At other times of the year localised heating is less likely to produce rain due to higher air pressures.
(Geography lesson finished).

Resultantly, Western Kenya is tremendously green at the moment. Constant sunshine, warm temperatures and frequent rainfall means that you can almost see the maize growing. Maize is by far the most popular crop here. It is eaten cooked with kidney beans and is also ground into a flour to produce the "astoundingly popular" porridge-loaf known as Ugali.
I will include a photograph here of the maize on the neighbour's farm. It is certainly "as high as an elephant's eye", and I reckon that Africans have the right to use that analogy. Why should people in Oklahoma compare the height of their corn to an African animal? (But I digress).



Currently in season are avocados (large ones for about 12 cents each), and large pineapples that are the sweetest, juiciest ones we have ever eaten. These sell for between $1.50 to $2.20. Bananas are ever-present and very cheap at 5 for 25 cents. Local fruit sellers have realised that the lane way outside the school is a good place to sell their produce. As a result, we don't have to walk far to get fresh supplies. Tomatoes, onions, capsicum and potatoes are also plentiful and cheap in the market place.

So, friends and acquaintances, we feel for you at this transitional time of the year. Stay warm and try to avoid winter colds and flu. I think I will just duck out for a quick swim and a sun-bake.

(N.B.1. this last comment was made in jest. When you are on malaria prophylaxis, you are more susceptible to sunburn, so we are fairly careful when outside in the direct sun).

(N.B.2. the following cartoon is also meant in jest ... honestly all you Queenslanders that I love so dearly).