Kenya: Saturday 12th February

 

First and foremost, many apologies to those of you expecting a blog entry last Saturday. We’ve been very busy making preparations for our departure and unfortunately last weekend got absorbed into that time. Today, however, we’re back, sitting in an insanely hot but insanely cheap internet cafe in Nairobi, and blogging once more (so it might be a long one!).

Yep, we’re back in the big smoke having left the project, and all our friends in Kisayani, early yesterday morning. It was a very tiring journey, amplified by the slightly confusing, mixed emotions with which we left. But more of that later. We departed the project at about 9am and got a lift to the highway in an extremely posh car (for Kibwezi, anyway) from the lady who owns Kibwezi’s only shoe shop. Having been dropped at ‘the stage’ we waited on the side of the highway for about an hour and a half for either a bus or a private car to come by. Incidentally, people regularly hitch here. Well, it’s not really hitching as drivers ask for money to go to and from Nairobi, so it’s kind of a half-taxi half-hitching thing. But either way, no-one stopped, so eventually we (and our nine items of luggage, some of which were v. large) joined a comedy bus driven and conducted by the least appealing men in Kenya. It wobbled and screeched its way along the good road, and then the not-very-good-road, to Nairobi and, having negotiated the simply unbelievable traffic around the city, finally arrived at about 4pm.

We took a taxi from the bus station back to Komarock, and the lovely house (they didn’t have to move out after all) of Maggie and her family. It’s brilliant having people to stay with: it’s sociable, you get to learn so much, you get to laugh so much, it saves you a bundle in hotel rates, and they look after you so well it really is a home away from home. So we’re happy to be back here, albeit briefly.

 

Maggie's Living Room

 

And we say briefly because we’re planning on disappearing on Monday on some kind of safari. We’re hoping to head up to the Rift Valley, among some of Kenya’s loveliest scenery, and maybe spot a lion or rhino or two along the way. For those of you who have been over here (or for fans of Google Images), our tentative itinerary includes Hell’s Gate National Park (where you can cycle – so hopefully no lions there), Lakes Nakuru, Naivasha, Baringo and Bogoria, Thomson Falls, and a day climbing Mount Longonot. The plan is to come back to Nairobi next weekend, spend a few more days with the family, and then head to Uganda. We’ll see what pans out, but that’s what we’re hoping to do.

But the big news is that last week was, indeed, our last week at the Ndiwa Project. It’s hard to say what kind of impression we’ve given of it because we just write what’s in our heads on a given day. Thinking about it, it’s probably been a quite confusing and contradictory narrative, but in a way that’s kind of accurate. However, if it’s come across as in any way negative, that’s misleading. We’ve had a brilliant time. We’ve had some amazingly emotional days, we’ve had a ton of fun, and we’ve met some wonderful people. We’ve done what we set out to do with the money you all raised -and lots more- and we’ve been supported by many members of the community. We’ve lived in a mud hut with two of the funniest people in the world, and we’ve been looked after by the nicest family in Africa. We’ve been so warmly welcomed, and so humbled, and incessantly worshipped by small African children, it’s been an amazing experience.

 

Kisayani Kids

 

And yet…Yet what? A subtle, barely detectable undercurrent of something. Of wariness? Maybe even suspicion? You know, being truthful, we’ve sometimes found it hard to know who to trust. If you’re a mzungu in Africa with some money to donate, you inevitably attract people who cannot resist temptation, those who want to ‘earn’ a quick buck, or those who are so desperate that they simply have to try and tap you for money, or how else will they buy food for their children? Solutions are thin on the ground so when the two white herberts turn up with a fistful of shillings, that’s the time to strike, right? Actually it doesn’t really feel like you’re being targeted -well, it’s not personal, at least- but Africa has very many problems that remain unaddressed, and Kenya in particular has suffered at the hands of unscrupulous authorities. Politicians have been especially to blame if you’re talking about lack of scruples or exemplary incidences of belief-defying selfishness and aggrandisement; but everyone’s at it, really. Anyone who can skim money off the bottom of the pile, anyone who can pull a confidence trick, anyone who can obtain kickbacks through nefarious means: they just do it, because for Kenyans it’s kind of become acceptable. Well, maybe not acceptable, but accepted. That’s not to say that everyone in Kenya is corrupt, because there are a lot of good souls out there: we can confirm it because we’ve met dozens of them. But you come across corruption in one form or another -big or small- every day of the week. It might be a policeman wanting a bung to make sure your motorbike doesn’t get impounded for that light that isn’t faulty yet but will be if he doesn’t get his 300 shillings. Or it might be the government protecting the six men wanted by the International Criminal Court in The Hague for orchestrating the civil war three years ago. It’s everywhere, and it really hangs over the country like a cloud threatening rain, preventing you from enjoying the sunshine. And in that respect, our time in Kisayani was an incredibly informative, at times hard, but ultimately beneficial learning experience. We were never ripped off, but we could smell it in the air, and it’s taught us a lot about volunteering, poverty and human nature.

If that sounds a bit heavy, it’s a point that actually shouldn’t be overstated. It was only subtle, and it was sometimes only in our heads, but for anyone who might be planning on getting involved in aid work, charities or volunteering, we would say that it pays handsomely to maintain a healthy scepticism about certain members of the community you might be working with. Equally, if you stray too far and become hopelessly cynical about the people around you and their motives for helping you, the whole thing will quickly become counter-productive. It’s not an easy tightrope to walk, between naivety, trust and faith on one side, and jaded, overly suspicious cynicism on the other, over the Niagara Falls of need, poverty and desperation. But then again, no-one said this was going to be easy. What’s hit us during this project is that volunteering in Africa isn’t just a physical, environmental or cultural challenge: it’s a sometimes stressful, confusing and tricky emotional challenge, too.

Anyway, regardless of all that, we’re going to miss the place. On Wednesday we said goodbye to the staff and pupils of Kisayani Primary School. We’ve only been there a short while, and it’s hard to say how relevant or how much of an impact on a class full of goatherds and housegirls our lessons on drawing and sketching have had, but the staff have been very welcoming and the kids, with only one or two exceptions, have made our time there enjoyable. We wish them all success, especially our Standard 8s who take their big life-defining KCPE exams later this year.

We also bade a sad farewell to the children and adults in the Special Unit. Although it’s perhaps even less clear what we’ve actually been able to do there, we’ve really enjoyed working with the wonderful characters. We probably received the warmest welcome yet here: when we turn up each day the children are really excited. And although the stampede of a dozen kids with cerebral palsy or Down’s Syndrome coming to greet you at the gates does -if you were really cruel- resemble something out of Dawn of the Dead, we knew the smiles were genuine and we loved spending time with them. They do the funniest things, and they sometimes do the bizarrest things, but you can’t help being touched by the enthusiasm which really reaches through their tremendous -and tremendously sad- difficulties. And enormous kudos must go to the staff there who, despite sometimes using techniques straight out of the Miss Havisham school of child care, do a sterling job in very limited circumstances, and still make progress with children who you think just defy the word progress. It’s impressive and humbling  in equal measure. We will miss them.

 

Linda and friends

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A load of blocks

 

And speaking of school, we’ve had to say goodbye to the two boys who we decided to sponsor through their secondary school years. We’ve used some of the donation money, as well as some of our own, to fund two deserving students. Secondary education isn’t free in Kenya, but if you want to make anything of yourself you really have to complete it. It takes four years, and works out to be quite a burden on poor families. We think it’s unfortunate that education, and the opportunities it might eventually afford, are denied to the poor, and it’s a pretty damning indictment of the way the Kenyan government treats some of the most vulnerable and needy people in its society. Granted, it’s not a massively wealthy country like Britain, but surely the priority is to give your young people as much of a chance as possible in the now globalised world. Remember, the median age in Kenya is 18. Yes, half the population is under 18.

Anyway, one of the boys is a volunteer who has worked with us throughout our time here called Shedrack. His father died of AIDS and his mother is HIV-positive. She has no income and just works every now and then on other people’s farms for 50/- or 100/- per day (40p or 80p). He’s worked tremendously hard, and we think he’s an ideal candidate to kick start the children’s programme that might one day exist at the Ndiwa project. So we’ve provided him with all the books and clothes that he needs, and have agreed to pay his school fees for the four years he will be there. The other boy is Kiminza, the nephew of the family we live with. Both his parents are dead and he is looked after by Mary and Nicholas. They planned their own family to ensure that each of their children would have a chance to go to school (there’s four or five years between each child), but, despite it totally disrupting their plans, they agreed to take on Kiminza as well. He’s a really conscientious boy, and we think he’d really take the opportunity provided by attending school, and maybe one day he will be able to repay his surrogate family. But for now, the family are really struggling for money to put him into Form 1, so we (and you) have given them a little helping hand. Both boys started school on Monday and looked extremely smart in their new uniforms.

 

Linda, Shedrack, Kiminza, Andy

 

We were also sad to say goodbye to our fellow volunteers, the motley crew that are the resident characters at the project. We’ll miss Francis and his unending positivity (not to mention his ridiculous stories); Masumbuko and his permanent yet unintentional Richie Benaud impersonation; Shedrack and his tireless work; and Biki for her Fanta fetish and for just being Biki.

 

Francis; Masumbuko; Shedrack; Biki; Linda

 

Of course we will miss the widows at the project, too, many of whom we have become good friends with. We don’t share a single word of the same language (actually, that’s a lie: when the women say “Wacha?” we can say “Ah“. Not sure what it means, but it’s what you’re supposed to say. Actually, Kikamba is quite a funny language: it sometimes sounds a bit french -there seems to be a phrase which sounds a lot like “Il y a“- and it contains some seemingly too-easy words such as the above-mentioned “Ah“, plus “Eh” ,”O” and “E“), but despite not really being able to communicate at all, we felt like we were friends with each other, and were able to enjoy time with each other. In truth they were all a bit daft -silly dances, singing, fooling around- but it was so nice to see that people who have nothing, no visible means of support, and who are often very lonely, could come together once a week and find solace in each others company, and in each others shared experiences.

 

Some of the Ndiwa mamas

 

And nowhere was this more true than in the new HIV support group, set up by the twenty or so widows who have been diagnosed as positive. HIV/AIDS isn’t as astonishingly overwhelming a problem here in Kenya as it is in some (especially Southern) African countries, but it’s apparently on the rise again and, as we all know, once it gets a grip it can properly devastate communities, let alone families. As we’ve said before, Kibwezi is on the highway from Mombasa (East Africa’s biggest port) to Nairobi (East Africa’s biggest city). Truckers, delivery drivers and travellers represent one of the major contributors to the geographical spread of AIDS, and they’ve put Kibwezi right in the middle of the map.

But the HIV positive women from the Ndiwa group decided to help themselves by setting up a support group. The idea is that they can talk to each other, confidentially, about their issues (there’s no other counselling on offer in Kenya), help each other financially via a merry-go-round scheme, and raise money for the group through various income-generating activities (at the moment they make baskets, jewellery and souvenirs). This week they’ve received their official certificate from the Ministry of Social Affairs meaning that they are now a bona fide self-help group and are therefore entitled to support from local and national government agencies. And they’re going to open a bank account next week and are all tremendously excited about it. You see, it isn’t always about actually reaching your goal or finishing your plans; it’s sometimes just as valuable to know that you have something to aim for, that you are on the way there, that you might just have something to believe in again. And above all, that you are not alone. We wish them all the best, and we think they are among the bravest, most inspiring people we have yet met.

And then there’s the rest of the Ndiwa group, and all the weird and wonderful characters contained therein. The really ancient ones, the ones who fall asleep during meetings, and the ones who buzz around trying to get things done. Yes, we’ve sometimes felt a bit frustrated with them, but we’ve realised now that when a group of people have been let down so many times, and have been on the losing end of so many situations (remember, they are among the poorest people in the country, living in a place which suffers periodic drought, and they are widows) you can’t blame them for sometimes lacking motivation or optimism.

The news this week was that the women have decided to hold an election (only a year late!) and voting is planned for next week. We’ve heard from many of the widows that they are no longer happy with the work the committee has been doing: some members have been sloppy in their approach to the project, some never turn up, and some have been downright corrupt. We’re hoping a new committee which features the widows who do work really hard could just be the catalyst that finally drives this project forward. It’s been a long time, and practically all the promised development is yet to materialise. Surely it’s time that things changed for the better? And while we have heard that the partner charity Watoto wa Dunia is planning on starting up the construction work again (and although they did finally pay the builders their money -after much pressure, it had to be said) we’re not going to hold our breath, and we’re happy that the women seem to have resolved to look after themselves and not to rely on external sources of funding. After all, it’s not a sustainable way of keeping a project going and, as they have realised to their cost over the last seven years, is not always a reliable one either.

 

The Ndiwa Group

 

Even better than this news was the send off that they gave us. At Thursday’s meeting they gave us a bumper Kamba farewell featuring dancing, singing, present-giving and the longest prayer in history. We all sat round in a circle (around The Tree, the centre of activity at the project) and each mama then said a few words of appreciation. It seemed to all be positive (evidently we are pretty much the first volunteers they’ve had there who have actually done some work, rather than just bum around in the bars of Kisayani or jaunt off to the beach every weekend). Some of the things they said were very touching, and it seems as if we’ve left a positive impression. And this is important to us, because if a community is going to succeed, it needs to know that there are people who want to help them, and that those people are genuine, committed, and emotionally involved in the work the project is trying to do. We’re happy to have been accepted, and we are proud to have been appreciated. We’ve come to realise that something as simple as setting an example is a lesson and a legacy in itself, especially in communities where education and development are at a premium. But it’s nice to know that your work is making a difference, even if it is just to the way people look at their situation.

 

Yes, we had to dance. Spot the not-at-all stiff British person.

 

After the mamas spoke we were asked to do a little speech too, before they presented us with some small tokens of their appreciation. Now we weren’t expecting anything at all, because for these people the breadline is something you’d need a pole vault to get over. But perhaps we should have learnt by now that it’s the poorest people who are always the most generous. Even so, the gifts they gave us were amazing, as were the traditional Kamba reasons for giving them. Andy was presented with a carved wooden staff, ostensibly (and don’t laugh) because he has been dubbed the group’s shepherd, looking after and leading the members, although some wag suggested it was just because he did his back in whilst pushing a wheelbarrow full of sand. It’s a lovely piece of work, and a really special memento of the project. Linda was presented with a beautiful hand-sewn basket because, as a woman, it is her job to fetch vegetables from the market and bring them home to her husband (!). More touchingly, they presented her with a basket for her mum, too. They did this because, firstly, they said they are so grateful to her for making Linda the person she is, and secondly because, since they are mothers and Linda is now a daughter of the project, they wanted Linda’s mum to be an honorary member of the group. So we have some lovely items to keep, and some lovely stories to cherish.

 

Andy gets some stick

 

Chair Lady Monicah; Linda; some baskets

 

After that we were given our certificates of volunteering by Charles, our volunteer coordinator from Malaika Ecotourism in Nairobi. They look dead professional and everything, and we’ll give them pride of place alongside our other gifts when we get back. Certificates are a big deal here in Kenya because they form a central part of a person’s CV if they’ve been out o work. We’re not sure what we can do with ours, but they’ll look nice framed anyway.

 

Andy finally gets certified

 

Linda with yet more paperwork

 

After that, a wonderful but unexpected moment. One of the local volunteers who had worked with us on the building site, Masumbuko, had made a little cement plaque next to the entrance to the new orphanage block, and Francis (another fellow volunteer, project caretaker and probably the nicest, most enthusiastic man on the planet) asked us to leave our handprints in it. We did so, even posing with all the Ndiwa widows for a professional photographer, and so our work on the project has been recorded for all time, on a wall, in concrete. It was such a nice idea, and so totally out of the blue, that we didn’t even think about how totally disproportionate it was to the small contribution we have made. And moreover, thinking about it, all of the names of the people who donated should be on it, too, because without them them would be no orphanage to attach a plaque to.

 

Linda; Andy; a plaque; Francis; Masumbuko

 

Literally giving the project a hand

Finally, we met with the HIV Support Group and they gave us some gifts, too: a carved wooden elephant, representing the strength they said they have drawn from us, and some necklaces which they made themselves during their weekly Monday meetings. The things they said were really lovely -far, far too effusive for what we’ve actually done, we’re sure- but it at last seems that they have finally gained the respect and recognition of the other members of the Ndiwa group, and they talked of having found once again their pride and self-respect. Which, after all, is all we could have asked for when we set out for Africa.

We also did a couple of visits this week to say a couple of goodbyes to friends. And really they couldn’t have been much more of a contrast, while at the same time being so similar. Let us explain. First, on Tuesday, we popped round to Jennifer’s house. She’s the lady who founded and who leads the Special Unit at Kisayani School, and she’s a larger-than-life Rusty Lee-type character who says impossibly funny things in pretty much every sentence. She’s addicted to food, driving to school (even though it’s less than 1km), and terrible, melodramatic, badly-dubbed soap operas. She made us a ginormous pot of the nicest stew that’s ever been made, accompanied by dozens of some of the best chapatis we’ve ever tasted. More importantly, she has a fridge which contained cold water. In fact, she lived a almost completely western life: a big house with a car, running water, electricity, TV, lots of comfortable furniture, and just about as many mod-cons as you’ve got in your own house. But more important than all of that, she has the biggest heart. The work she does, the compassion she has: it just overwhelms you. Then on Wednesday we went to visit Lena. She’s the secretary for the Ndiwa group and lives in an unfinished mud-brick ‘house’ with her elderly mother-in-law and her 11-year-old son. Her husband died ten years ago leaving her in abject poverty, and she’s struggled ever since. She made us some mothecoi (boiled corn and beans) and some tea. She has nothing, and her house was pitiful. There’s no other word for it. And yet we enjoyed both visits equally, simply through the force of their personalities. Their laughter, their funny expressions, and their outlook on life. So, we’re not exactly sure what the lesson is here, but it must be something to do with how what you have is much less important than who you are. It’s probably a bit of a schmaltzy message, but what can you do? It’s all true.

 

Linda; Jennifer

 

Lena & Family with Andy

 

Finally, we had to say our goodbyes to our host family. Now, we’re really going to miss this lot because they are our surrogate family here in Kenya. They’ve looked after us, done everything for us, given up so much for us, and still remain annoyingly wonderful and angelic. Okay, so Mutindi still cries a lot, but we’re going to miss all the squeezing and clambering, and the fact that she’s just the cutest and funniest kid. We’ll miss Caleb’s fantastic English and addiction to cuddles; we’ll miss Martha’s sublime sarcasm and gentle nature; we’ll miss Kiminza and his modest ways and impeccable manners; we’ll miss Naomi’s bolshi confidence and endless friendliness; we’ll miss Shosho (their Grandma) and her chattiness (even thought it was all in Kikamba!); we’ll miss Nicholas with his dry wit and warmth; and we’ll miss Mary, our mum, for her endless hard work, integrity and intelligence.

 

Back row: Andy; Mary; Mutindi; Nicholas; Naomi; Martha; Kiminza; Linda. Front Row: Shosho; Caleb

 

We spent last Sunday with Martha and Naomi, walking to a a local irrigation project (which was much more interesting that it sounds). Essentially a dam has been built across the Kibwezi river to create a kind of reservoir (and a very beautiful one at that) and then water, via gravity, runs down brick channels to the surrounding area for people to use on their farms. It’s a totally communal project, and no member is allowed more than one acre. The food they grow can be used to sustain their families or to be sold at market, and it’s a very impressive example of a sustainable project where a little investment at the start has given life to a district for all time. It was so green, and felt so… productive, sometimes you just wonder why it was that communism ultimately didn’t really work. Anyway, it was called Kwakyai (pronounced qwachai) and it was miles away, and the sun was almost too hot to walk around. But still, it was really nice to spend a bit of time with the two girls. They are very different characters: Naomi is all business, Martha very reserved, but when they’re together -as is usually the case with sisters- they fizz off each other in a whirl of laughter and activity. It was great fun watching them have some time off from studying. We also walked to where their other grandmother lives, and it was like walking into a 1940s book about African culture. Two small huts and a fireplace in the hollowed-out trunk of a tree, yet this scene was less than a mile from the electricity pylons and motorbikes on the main road. And that’s Kenya in a nutshell, really.

 

Kwakyai Reservoir: a slice of England in Kenya

 

So it’s probably time to leave this week’s entry there. It’s hard to write a retrospective piece only one day after you’ve left a place: you need more time for thoughts and memories to organise themselves into a clearer picture. But we had an eventful time here. Maybe it won’t sound eventful, but because you’re here, in Africa, where it’s unbelievably hot and people are, at least on the surface, unbelievably different from the man on the Clapham omnibus, and when you’re doing things that have become everyday activities while trying to remember that what you’re doing isn’t normal, it does become eventful: from sleeping in a hut riddled with gigantic mutant insects to flipping chapatis on a burning hot charcoal jiko; from picking lentils in the equatorial sun to shifting tonnes and tonnes of building sand around a baking red field; from sipping sodas as a herd of cows wanders past to spotting a load of wild Giraffes by the highway (they were really close yesterday!); from chatting about charity work to the gay tailor in town to zooming along an indescribably bumpy sand road on the back of a motorbike; the experiences always exceed expectations simply by virtue of being so different from them. So who knows what’s next for us?

 

Wishing you all the best,

Linda and Andy

 

PS we’ve emailed the latest slew of photographs to all the people on our mailing list. We hope you enjoy them. If there’s anyone who hasn’t seen them who’d like to, please send Linda an email at elvisbabeontour@hotmail.com and she’ll add you to the list.

 

 

On the road again...