We Are All The Same

 Hanging out with the kids outside of the lion cage at Poa Place.

I seriously don’t know where the time is going lately.  I have been planning to sit down and write an update each day for the past week and a half, but somehow the availability of time and energy keeps escaping me.  I knew once the bore hole was operational, and once I returned from my first trip to South Sudan, I would find myself intentionally very busy visiting many people in many different places, but I, for some reason, just wasn’t prepared for just how busy that would cause me to be.  Though I don’t leave back to the states for about 11 weeks now, I recently discovered that I will only be in Kenya for less than half of that time, and in Ilula for a grand total of roughly 3 more weeks.  Two of those three weeks I will have a friend here from back home, which I couldn’t be more excited for.  This fact has added to my sense of urgency while I am here, in that I am no longer able to convince myself that I am tired enough to spend any time in my room during the day resting when I could be hanging out with the parents, staff, and children here, or visiting others in the community.  This has been so fun and wonderful, but at the same time it has left me exhausted and unable to complete any work I think I should be doing.  It took me well over a week to recover from the trip to Sudan before I felt like my brain and body were working at more than half capacity again.  I didn’t realize it while I was there, but it really took a lot out of me in many ways, which I think speaks to the value of my time there and excitement for my next trip, and future involvement.  After sharing some of my experiences in my last update and talking through it with friends and family back home, I realized just how wild and intense of a time it was.  While I am trying to soak up every minute I have here, I am also trying to prepare for another three weeks in that environment in June and July, which I think will be a lot smoother next time round.

All the ladies came together to celebrate and dedicate Kiprotich to the family

Part of that preparation will come during the next couple of weeks I will be spending in Uganda.  Since last time was a bit rushed, and since a bus ride to Kampala from Eldoret is only $20 and 8 hours, I will go back to spend more time with my friends there.  I am looking forward to reconnecting for a longer period of time with them and meeting a lot of new people, and also just relaxing quite a bit.  I will take my yoga mat and kindle so I can sleep in and start each day with some yoga and a good book over breakfast on the verandah.  I am also hoping to run around town quite a bit to see what is happening, and spend a couple days up in the north to see the work my friend is doing with resettling communities and former child soldiers after the LRA wreaked havoc in and around Gulu for many years.  Before leaving for Kampala on Wednesday, I will spend the three days prior in Chepkorio with the family of a man I met the first time I came here in 2009.  He was in the alcoholic rehabilitation program here when I first arrived and we just connected as I spent time with him sharing stories.  I have been to his home many times now and am looking forward to reconnecting with him and his wonderful family.  I am told they are doing very well, that he has remained sober since the day he arrived here over two years ago and is now a leader in his village.  I cannot tell you how much this warms my heart, especially after hearing from him and others how much his addiction had been negatively affecting his and his family’s life, and the entire community, for years.  He apparently now has quite the new home and garden, so I was told to bring my jembe (hoe) and be prepared to dig and weed his garden with him and his wife.  I think I will just borrow one of theirs.

Thousands of flamingos on Lake Bogoria.

So what have I been so busy doing in the past couple weeks?  Well, after taking a few days when I first arrived back to be completely brain dead in an attempt to recover from Sudan, I found myself back in many meetings discussing the piping system for the bore hole and the launch of the garden and fruit tree orchards.  As I have mentioned a few times, things simply move a whole lot slower here than I am used to, but we are really getting there.  The shamba (garden) is completed and the vegetables are planted according to the rotation plan we devised.  It is a good thing we got the bore hole in and working because the rains have disappeared again for the past couple weeks, and no one knows if or when they will return this season.  I remain optimistic, though mostly ignorant, and am hoping and praying with all I have that we do not see a similar drought to the one in 2009.  Two of those in the past three years could be devastating for the people of this area.  My friend from home has been working hard to raise money for the fruit tree seedlings, so we have spent a lot of time completing the measurements and plans for the two orchards which will be planted next month while he is here.  Each time we get another step closer to completing the entire vision of the bore hole, I am blown away by the incredible impact it will have on this community.  While the fruit tree orchard is a few years from full production still, at that time the kids will be able to eat nearly endless fresh fruits from their very own organically grown trees, and will be enjoying fresh homegrown vegetables in the meantime.  Not to mention, the excess that they cannot consume will be sold at the market to help pay for their educations and other living expenses.  It is just amazing to me how much something as simple as access to clean water can transform a community.

Learning to fish the local way on Kokwa Island in Lake Baringo.

Outside of meetings and planning for the projects here, I have visited many different communities, and just spent time with my wonderful family here.  A couple weeks ago, I walked over an hour with all the kids to a theme park called Poa Place on the edge of Eldoret Town.  There are many native plants and animals, a cultural center, and even a couple rides and a swimming pool.  No one went swimming, but all the kids got a chance to go on a ride - either jumping on a trampoline or riding a merry-go-round - and we then enjoyed a picnic lunch of bread, soda, and a mango.  It was such a fun day, though I am embarrassed to admit how tired to round trip walk made me.  We were also taken on a day trip to Lake Baringo and Lake Bogoria, neighboring fresh and salt water lakes, respectively, down in the Great Rift Valley.  We went for a boat ride on Lake Baringo, viewing crocodiles and hippos on our way to an island that is home to Kenya’s second smallest tribe, with only 570 residents.  The island was really beautiful and full of friendly people.  After a few hours at Lake Baringo, we traveled about an hour to Lake Bogoria, which is home to hundreds of thousands of flamingoes and natural saltwater hot springs.  We took some eggs to boil in the springs for lunch and then set out to see some animals in a sort of abbreviated safari.  After chasing a herd of zebras and gazelle on foot, I spent most of the rest of our time there trying my hardest to outsmart and chase down gazelles, antelope, and warthogs, all to no avail.  While exhausting and very entertaining for me and the Africans I was with, this experience also made me realize how tough it must be daily for predators that rely on successfully hunting other animals for survival, and left me very thankful I do not fit into that category.  A few days after that outing, I found myself back in Kapkokwon, the village that hosted us for the evening of failed hunting a couple months ago, which everyone in the village wanted to remind us of.  It seemed that some stories had gotten mixed up somewhere along the way, leading some people to believe that not only did we miss the rabbit we were hunting, but that we were scared and ran from it.  During the ceremony to open a mango export project for the community farmer’s group, I took a few seconds of my speech to set them straight.  As part of the ceremony, we were also entertained by the Turuturu traditional dancers, and were even escorted to the front to join them in the dances, much to the delight and amusement of all the guests and school children.  I am far from an accomplished dancer, falling victim to the stereotypical white man’s lack of rhythm, but I have to say I think I almost kept up with the group.  No matter how silly I looked, I enjoyed bobbing, twisting, and jumping with the real dancers.

 Doing the traditional Kalenjin jumping dance with the Turuturu dancers in Kapkokwon.

As I settle in for the busyness and intensity of the next 2 ½ months on this continent, I am finding myself very thankful for all the people I am getting to know and all the lessons I am learning.  I have always noticed how amazing the connections and wisdom gained are when you take the initiative and courage to step outside of yourself and your world to really experience and learn about other people and their worlds.  This concept has been proven day in and day out during the last four months, along with one other lesson.  I have noticed in most development projects I have been involved with the tendency for the donor side to position themselves as the savior, of sorts.  They seem to look at the participants as people who need help, and themselves as people with all the answers and resources.  I certainly have seen myself taking to this frame of mind in the past, though I would never look at myself as someone with all the answers.  Recently I have been really struck by the need for donors and development workers to spend time with potential participants first as simply people like themselves.  We are all people and we all have the same needs and problems, manifested in infinitely different and changing ways based on our own complex situations.  The man I came here to spend so much time with this year, who I consider a close friend and a mentor when it comes to life and community development, has been driving this point home to me very much lately, both in word and action.  When I think about all of my valuable and healthy personal and business relationships back home, not a single one was initiated by one side intending to simply give something to the other.  They all began due to circumstances of an even playing field, and have all grown with mutual respect and understanding as their nourishment.  I think I have been applying that same operation in the work I do in the field subconsciously for the most part – I don’t think I really know how to operate any other way, thankfully - but now I have begun to consciously pay attention to it and make real efforts to make sure I stay within that territory.  As I sat in a meeting with two elders yesterday discussing future involvement in South Sudan, that became the theme of our conversation.  I do not want to ever see anyone here as a needy African; I want to see them all as people just like me, people with needs, wants, dreams, shortcomings, failures, joys, and sorrows.  That is the only way I will ever develop any type of meaningful relationship with anyone, and ultimately the only way I can help the people here with their tangible needs, and they with my intangible needs.  There is a song I love by a guy about my age I met in Oregon a couple years ago, named Sam Martin.  The song is called “We Are All The Same.”  It is beautiful and all about this idea – I suggest you give it a listen.  On that note, let me sign off here so I can go make chapati and hang out with the kids before lunch.  I am sending peace and love from Africa to wherever you are, and please be good to yourselves and those around you.

Halfway Home

The serenity of the River Nile in Juba.

Wow (not to be confused with Wau, the capital of Western Bahr el Ghazal State in South Sudan, as was the case in so many of my conversations over the past couple weeks).  That one word sums up my life since I last wrote a few weeks ago, encompassing all of the intensely wonderful, saddening, and frightening experiences I had.  I came back here to Kenya earlier than I originally had planned, but only because things actually went a lot faster than I anticipated they would or could, leaving me in the position I only hoped I could be in after twice the two weeks I spent in South Sudan.  Having never been involved in starting something absolutely from scratch, with only vague ideas and zero contacts, I found myself somewhat discouraged the first few days I was there, during which time I was simply walking around trying to familiarize myself with the town of Juba more than doing anything that felt productive.  I kept telling myself that I was there primarily to learn, and only if an opportunity presented itself would I pursue a project.  Once we met a certain man at the hotel we were staying at, things really began to fall into place and roll quickly.  Before we knew it, we were at a gigantic Anglican church with his family on Palm Sunday, were moving from the hotel to a room on one of his properties in town, and were meeting all the people we were seeking and many others we didn’t even know we wanted to meet yet.  You know that strange feeling when you connect unusually quickly and strongly with someone?  Well, that is what I felt with this man’s entire family – himself, his wife, his son and two daughters, and even his brother and nephew.  He is a prominent doctor and business man in the country, is friends with all the leaders in both the north and the south, and is even president of the Sudanese Basketball Association, which meant he could connect us with pretty much anyone he felt could help further our understanding of the country and also set me up to play in the basketball league in Juba.  I was only able to play once, but had a blast as the shortest and palest player on the court, and look forward to playing more when I return in June.  He said he will register me on his team so I can play whenever I am around.  I am pretty sure I am the first white man since Kevin Bacon to play in the Sudanese basketball league (sorry if you didn’t get the “The Air Up There” reference).  After spending days chasing elusive meetings with country leaders, with just a few phone calls by our new doctor friend, we were sitting with countless village elders, county commissioners, members of parliament, national ministers, and even the former vice-president of all of Sudan.

Giving my speech to the elders of Adior, a village outside of Yirol.  I am locking arms here with my new friend, Cheran, to demonstrate my point that if you link up and work together with your neighbor, regardless of which tribe they are from or what they have done to you in the past, you both become stronger.

I can’t even begin to explain how impacting and intense it was to be sitting with these people and the people in the communities they represent, talking through their experiences and their now optimistic visions for the future, following a 99% vote for secession from the north in the referendum in January of this year.  The former vice-president was intimately involved in all of the discussions that finally lead to the Comprehensive Peace Agreement in 2005, which made the referendum possible this year, so hearing his insights was really fascinating.  For those of you who haven’t read about it, Southern Sudan will officially separate from Sudan and become an independent country on July 9^th of this year, hopefully putting an end once and for all to the conflict between the mostly Muslim north and the mostly Christian and Animist south, though religion isn’t the end all of the friction between the two.  That remains to be seen, but so far it has been startlingly peaceful in the transitional period.  I have read so much about the conflict of the past twenty-plus years, so to be finally be walking through and sitting in the villages that hosted it, and the especially to be chatting with the people who carried it out was incredibly impacting.  Simply put, all of Southern Sudan was an absolute war zone for decades, apparently leaving no corner untouched by the conflict.  Anyone who refused to leave their home and become part of the more than 2 million refugees fleeing to surrounding countries inherently became a soldier, which has produced more than a generation of people who know only the fight or flight system all too well.  They have either learned how to take and carry out unimaginable orders or flee and rely on donations for survival.  I talked with countless men who fought in the first Sudanese Civil War, which began in 1955, and then found themselves fighting again in the second war, which began in 1983 after an eleven year ceasefire between the two.  Though it has been years since the CPA was signed and the fighting effectively ended in the south, the pain and anger is still very evident on their faces and in their voices as they talk of their experiences and what they have been fighting for for far too long.  The good news is that sprinkled in with this pain and anger, there is now hope and optimism that they will finally see peace and autonomy for their children and grandchildren. 

Greeting the wonderful children in Adior.  If only I got the kind of reception from everyone that I get from the kids here.

I have been desensitized to a lot of the suffering I have seen in the past few years, and have learned to very much live in the moment with the people I am with, saving the tears for later when I am alone, but I found myself having to drop my head and pretend a bug or some dust had flown into my eyes more than a few times during these conversations.  This was especially challenging as I was surrounded by evidence that their struggle was just beginning in many ways, as they now face the daunting challenge of rebuilding their communities and developing with minimal resources.  When in the villages of central South Sudan, I saw more underdeveloped naked bodies with swollen bellies than I care to recollect, making it increasingly difficult for me to justify that I was simply a visitor who would go back to Juba, to Kenya, and ultimately back to the comforts of home in Seattle, surrounded by friends and family and only missing a meal when I chose to or when a bug temporarily entered my system.  We even stopped at a UNHCR camp for returnees to the south, who, unfortunately, became overexcited when the referendum passed and returned to their “homeland” to find that they no longer have claim to the land they owned when they fled years earlier.  I don’t understand the situation all that well, but it sounds like no one had documented legal ownership of the land they called theirs, which was just understood within each community to belong to different families.  When the families fled and their villages were obliterated by the war, they effectively forfeited ownership of their now unrecognizable land.  Since the referendum in January, thousands of people have excitedly returned to their areas expecting to find everything as it was and many systems in place to help them start over, only to find that it is now barren or has been taken over by people who stayed behind or beat them back home.  I cannot imagine the heartbreak they faced when they endured the 10-day bus ride from Khartoum or surrounding countries only to find that they are now in a desert with nothing of their own and only hope for food donations to sustain them.  When we pulled into the camp, I saw two big buildings for sleeping, made of tree branches and “UNHCR” emblazoned plastic sheets, a row of pit latrines, a few bath rooms made of large market bags, and a large pile of garbage, mostly consisting of tins of WFP donated food.  I was stunned to see that this was the dreamland these people had returned to after almost certainly living in refugee camps abroad for years.  I was even more stunned when hundreds of smiling faces came out to greet us.  There were plenty of Wazungu (white people) in Juba, but I hadn’t seen a single once since we arrived in Lakes State, though I am sure there must be some around, so I was hoping these people weren’t putting too much hope in me bringing some resources or good news for them.  I had neither.  Since none of them spoke English or Kiswahili, I found myself in the familiar territory of respectfully greeting the adults and goofing around with the kids.  As hard as it is to face the reality of these kinds of situations (believe me, I understand my facing it observationally is nothing compared to them having to face it as their existence), I have learned to accept that I cannot solve their problems for them, as much as I desperately want to.  What I can do is acknowledge their humanity and connect with them on that level, which usually takes shape in being incredibly goofy and doing whatever I can to get a laugh out of the kids.  When I do this, the adults usually take notice and join in, and everyone forgets about their problems for a few minutes.  Since I humbly accept that I cannot solve their problems immediately, I figure that is the greatest gift I can give to them in that moment.  It really makes you take stock of your life and think about the meaning of it all when you share unadulterated joy and laughter with a group of people who are so different from yourself in so many ways, in such a grim situation, not even knowing if or when their next meal will come and with seemingly no prospect for a fruitful future.  I have been for years, and continue to be absolutely amazed at the strength and resilience of the human spirit.

The kids at the UNHCR camp in Yirol.  I was trying to teach them how to turn their hands upside down to make glasses, but you can tell none of them really got it figured out.  Just look at their beautiful smiles and all your problems will melt away.

Speaking of the resilience of the human spirit, I have an agreement with my mom, bless her heart, that whenever I am planning to do or happen to encounter something that will make her worry about my safety, I cannot tell her about it until I am through it safe and sound.  Though I know this is just her next best option in her concession that I am not going to stop encountering these situations in the life I have chosen to lead, I think it is a pretty good deal for both of us.  I seriously debated not telling her the stories I am about to share with you all, but I figured if I just put a warning in here for her to skip the next couple paragraphs, it would be a lot like telling someone who is afraid of heights to not look down when they are walking along the edge of a cliff.  So I called her last night from the safety of my room in Kenya and told her about two of the most frightening experiences of my life, one of which had me really believing I had reached the end.  I know I am overly dramatic a lot, but I sincerely mean that this time.  So, Mama, I am glad we could have a laugh about it all last night and now you won’t be surprised when you read the following.  The first story, which is the one that had me mentally running through my life and deciding whether I was satisfied with how it had gone or not, began in the middle of our second night in our new place on the doctor’s property in Juba.  It is a small gated compound consisting of a u-shaped series of prefabricated, construction-site-like rooms.  There were nine rooms in total, seven of which were occupied with people of vastly varying nationalities and situations.  On either side of the room I was sleeping in, there were three Egyptian brothers and a single Indian man.  Across the way was a group of young Sudanese and Ugandan boys, and at the far end were two Sudanese, one a police officer and the other a casual laborer.  Everyone was very friendly, though only only very limited and broken English and Kiswahili were spoken.  On our second night there, after a very long and positive day, a Kenyan friend about my age and I lied down in our beds on the floor, tucked our mosquito nets around us, and settled in for what we imagined would be a long and peaceful night’s rest.  About two hours into that peaceful night’s rest, we were torn from our deep sleep by blood-curdling screaming in Arabic and our door being literally kicked in.  We both leapt to our feet after untangling ourselves from our mosquito nets and prepared to fight whatever insurgence had just made its way into our room.  Keep in mind that it was about 12:30am and was absolutely pitch black, so we couldn’t see a thing other than a dark figure standing at our door.  Since neither of us speaks Arabic, we also couldn’t understand what he was screaming at us.  I will never forget the sound or the word of his high pitched shrieking though – “Fatar! Fatar! Fatar!”  In my foggy-minded stupor, I was certain he was either preparing to fight or die, or, more likely, both. After what seemed like an hour, but was likely 20 seconds, we finally turned on our flashlights and shown them on the man at the door, only to discover that he was covering a gaping wound on the back of his head with both hands.  As he continued to shout expectantly at us, and as blood continued to fill the doorway, I became concerned for the man, confused about whether he was wanting help or wanting to fight, and nauseous at the sight and smell of it all.  I tried to grab a t-shirt of mine to help him stop the bleeding, but as I approached him he shouted louder and more desperately, so I backed away, still unsure of what his intent was.  After what felt like another hour, but again was likely less than a minute, during which time I seriously contemplated finding my phone to call my mom and say goodbye, the boys from across the way came over and grabbed him, spoke to him in Arabic and took him to the field in the middle of the compound.  He quieted down for a few seconds, until a soldier rushed in from outside the compound with his AK-47, inciting more excited yelling from the man.  The soldier burst into our room pointing his gun around for a few seconds before running back out to the scene in the field.  After a few minutes, the injured man was being carried off to the hospital and one of the young Egyptians was being arrested.  We sat in our room for about 10 minutes, mostly silent and pacing and looking out the window for any signs of a continuation of the madness, considering whether we should stay inside and wait for the sun to come up, grab our essentials and make a run for it, or go talk to the others outside.  When we were confident the episode was over, I persuaded my friend into going out to talk to the others to see what had happened, and make sure there was no misunderstanding that we were somehow involved in it.  I feared that, since the man had been standing at our door, the neighbors may think that we had been the ones who attacked him, which would almost certainly, I was convinced, mean some sort of retaliation from them.  We did our best to step around the blood as we walked out to greet them, and luckily they had no inclination that we had been involved.  I was so thankful for their graciousness as they offered me one of their chairs and sat with us for over an hour, listening to our concerns and telling us what they knew and saw.  As it turns out, the young man who was arrested was not involved, but it was his two older brothers who had been involved in a fight that eventually led to one of them attacking the other with a machete, which explains the nasty head wound.  They had been fighting in the next room over from us, and when the man was attacked, his brother fled and climbed over the wall “like a monkey,” as it was explained to me later by the young Sudanese boys, which is why the injured man came to our door, the nearest one to his, and kicked it in.  I was told later that Fatar was the name of his brother, but since I have been informed that it is a declaration of war.  I am still not quite sure, but I definitely will never forget the sound of the word.  Apparently what the injured man was yelling when the soldier showed up meant something along the lines of, “Kill my brother, go find him and shoot him!”  That explains why the soldier came busting into our room with his gun drawn, as I am sure he just followed the trail of blood.  After talking with the neighbors for a while, everyone calmed down and became tired enough to retire to their rooms once again.  I didn’t find more than a wink of sleep the whole rest of the night, as even when my eyelids became heavy and took an extended blink, I was startled awake by a small sound of the wind or an animal outside.  We moved rooms the next day and had no further incidents the rest of the stay, and I am happy to report that the man who was attacked returned from the hospital a few days later, battered and bandaged, but, miraculously, alive.  I really didn’t think he would make it.  The attacker has not been seen since, and the two others staying with him were kicked out of the compound.  The whole experience really brought the rest of us together, so I am confident there will not be a repeat of anything remotely close to this.  Let me save the other story for later since this entry is getting pretty long, but just know that, obviously, I survived.  It wasn’t quite as intense and was a whole different setting.  Though it didn’t have me seriously thinking I was at the end of the road, it definitely left me thankful to be alive.  I will tell you all someday.

The evening hustle and bustle at Lake Yirol.  This is what sustains Yirol Town and surrounding villages, as most people come here for their water, baths, and fishing for food and income.

Within all the emotionally and physically (the heat and bugs are relentless, and I caught some sort of stomach bug for almost the entirety of my stay there) difficult situations I encountered, there was a lot of promise for future involvement.  The places we visited in Yirol, in Lakes State, really grabbed a hold of my heart and imagination, so I plan to put together an outline of my ideas that I will share with the doctor and former vice-president when I go back in June, in hopes that they will give me their input and will agree to partner with me in making them a reality.  I have already shared them with the doctor and he told me that he would love to look for some land to work with and schedule meetings with the right people when I come back.  I obviously make no promises, but within a few months hopefully we will have some solid plans and you all will have a video of these wonderful people telling you their story and asking for your partnership as they look to rebuild their communities.  I would love your prayers and support as I navigate the planning stage of this very challenging process.  Let me end by just sharing my gratitude for everyone that has been supporting me in so many different ways along this journey.  I am halfway home now, with my flight from Nairobi to JFK three months from today, and as I reflect on the first half and look forward to the second, I want to acknowledge all of you and thank you from the bottom of my constantly breaking and growing heart.  Without each one of you, none of what has been accomplished would have been possible, and none that is still waiting to be accomplished would have a chance.  So on that note, be good to yourselves and those around you.

Hooping it up with my new teammates on the nicest court I have seen in Africa.  If you can't pick me out in the photo, I will give you a hint - I am white and under 6'5".

A New Beginning

 The team from JB Drilling installing the pipes and pump in the bore hole last week.  Thankfully this was a much faster and quieter operation than the drilling itself.

This is going to be a quick post, as I am just finishing packing up my belongings in preparation for my departure to Uganda tomorrow.  Once in Uganda, as I have mentioned before, I will stay in Kampala for a few days before taking the bus up north to Juba, Sudan, where I will stay for the next 2-4 weeks.  I am hoping to settle in there nicely and make a lot of good connections with people in the area, but now that all of this is upon me, I am realizing that it is very possible I won't reach a level of comfort that allows me to stay by myself once the Kenyans I am traveling up there with leave on April 25th.  I am hoping this won't be the case, and that I will have some friends by then so I can stay there and build relationships that will allow me to continue to deepen my connection with and understanding of the community.  All of this remains to be seen, but those of you who know me know that I have never met a challenge of this sort that I didn't want to take on, and met very few people I didn't want to be friends with, so I would say the chances are good for a prolonged stay.

I wish I could explain to you how much it impacted me to see this scene for the first time.  

The last week has been a bit hectic trying to keep everything organized and ensure that the well would actually be functional for the day of the celebration.  The team arrived on Thursday morning, two days before the event, and made quick work of completing the project.  I was running around so much that I didn't get much of a chance to see the progress, but on Friday morning after their electrician completed the connection, I walked over to see clean, clear, seemingly inexhaustible water flowing from what had just been a metal cylinder protruding from the newly greened grass only a few hours earlier.  I am not sure what I expected to see as I arrived, but the realization of what this represented hit me like a ton of bricks, in a good way, if that is possible.  After letting the water run down over my hands until they were nearly pruned, I sat down next to it in a glorious daze and watched with my jaw dropped for minutes, before one of the parents came to enjoy the moment with me. Together, as we watched the intense sun reflect and bend through the stream of water, we just discussed what it took to get this water here and how worth it it had all been, and how it would change this community and the country as a whole.  

Professor Kamar cut the ribbon just as the sprinklers soaked everything and everyone within 15 feet.

So, how about a quick update on the celebration we had to open the bore hole and initiate all the associated programs?  It went really well and proceeded in typical Kenyan fashion - little planning, a lot of scrambling, hours of speeches, and loads of fun.  We had somewhere in the neighborhood of 200 guests, including guests of honor, Eldoret East MP and Assistant Minister of the Environment, Honorable Professor Kamar, and 800m world champions, Janeth Jepkosgei and Alfred Kirwa.  Along with them were many students and faculty from nearby Moi University, a group of local government officials, and countless friends and neighbors.  Everyone was given a tour of the compound to see the start to all of the programs and the newly functioning bore hole.  The guests of honor each planted a tree next to the well and cut the ribbon to officially open the water, sending spectators fleeing the surprising streams of water from three sprinklers we set up to make the effect much more dramatic.  After the ceremony, lunch was served for all the guests, giving everyone time to chat with each other and make connections in the community.  All in all, I must say it was a lovely day.

Samro School closed for the month last Friday.  Here the kids are having an assembly to honor the top students and get instructions for their time off.

As I head to Sudan, all of the loose ends surrounding the bore hole project seem to be tied up and handed off to the staff here.  I am feeling a deep sense of accomplishment and satisfaction, and a hunger for more.  Who knows, maybe there is a community somewhere in Southern Sudan that will get a hold of my heart and imagination.  The need is undoubtedly there, but the relationships have not been forged and the ideas have not been collectively conceived yet, so that is what the remaining three months on this great continent are all about.  That is how it began here in Ilula, and I can't think of any other way to do it, so here I go, without any expectations aside from loving and learning.  That is what it is all about, right?  Be good to yourselves and those around you, and I will update you as I am able over the next month. 

The Calm Before and After the Storm

The happy recipients of brand new Brooks running shoes

I finally found the time to write again, unfortunately only because I caught some sort of cold or flu yesterday and am forcing myself to rest today.  People keep trying to tell me that it might be malaria, but I don’t believe them.  Those of you who know me know how stubborn I am when it comes to taking medicine, so in that manner I am going to wait this one out and let my body identify and fix the problem on its own.  I have to keep telling people, “Mimi si mgonjwa (I am not a sick person).”  As soon as I send the message to my body that it is sick, then it will require medication and a trip to the clinic, so I am instead just sending the message that I am being nice and giving it a day to relax.  I think it is receiving the message well so far.  I may just have caught something small in the whirlwind that has been since I last updated you, as seems to be the trend so far this trip.  I don’t anticipate that trend changing any time soon with everything that we have coming up, which is just fine with me.  This Saturday is the big celebration that we have been planning and preparing for since about this time last month.  We are anticipating over 100 guests, including many local and national government officials and forest officers, large-scale farmers, churches and NGO’s, and friends from the community, each of whom will receive a tree seedling to take home and plant on their farm in remembrance of this day and our tree nursery.  We are still waiting for the team from the drilling company to come and install the pipes and pump, which seems to be somewhat crucial in showcasing the new access to water we have.  I am told they have arrived in town this evening and will be on the compound very early tomorrow morning to complete the one-day job.  We have decided that we will hire some people from the community to dig the trench for the piping from the borehole to the holding tank and from the holding tank to the taps that will be used for irrigation.  We have tried to include the surrounding community in this project as much as possible, both as an effort to support those in our own backyard and to create as much goodwill as possible with this blessing of water.  I still wish I could put into words just how humbling it is to be involved in a project with this magnitude of effect on an entire community.  My heart is so completely full of joy everyday by playing a role in seeing this vision become a reality, getting and giving updates on its progress, making decisions that affect its completion and application, and just sharing in the bliss of it all.

The kids hard at work preparing and planting the shamba for the upcoming growing season.

 After this weekend, the real work will begin.  We have already prepared a lot of the land for the tree nurseries, standardized and planted most of the seeds for the garden, and made almost solid plans for the fruit tree orchards, but there are still a lot of unanswered questions and uncompleted work.  I put together a document with all of the questions we need answered before we can make accurate projections and appropriate plans for each program, which will be handed out to the managers to divvy out to staff.  Once all of these questions are answered, I told them they can either wait for me to get back from Sudan and help them put it all together, or they can do it themselves and get moving.  My preference is the latter, though I want them to make the decision.  What I am trying to accomplish, as I mentioned last post, is to slowly let go of the leadership role I have assumed in this and pass it off to the managers of the programs themselves.  I know they are very capable, and I think they do too, but I am seeing how easily they concede to me, and really any westerner, as someone who must be more of an expert than themselves.  I have told them that they are the experts here and the only ones who can actually pull this all off, but I am seeing that they may not really believe me until I tell them I am no longer in the lead and am just here to be a part of the team.  This seems to be the next step in the realization process for me that this is their project and they must own it for it to really succeed.  No matter how badly I want it to flourish, I can actually prevent its success by not letting go and letting them be the ones driving it forward in whichever direction they choose with their own ideas and initiative.  I have now told them all of this very directly and stepped back, and, wouldn’t you know it, have seen more initiative and creativity out of them.  Funny how that works, isn’t it?

Standing on the edge of the escarpment in Kapkokwon, Chereger's home.

Some other pretty major events have happened since I last wrote, including the birth of my very first nephew and my acceptance to the other two master’s programs I applied to.  I was away two years ago for the birth of my niece and now am away as my nephew is coming into the world.  Needless to say I feel like a really awful uncle, a sentiment my sister says she doesn’t agree with, though she certainly hasn’t disagreed, bless her heart.  She only told me very sternly that if there is another niece or nephew of mine arriving in the future, I must be there.  My response to that was to tell her to hurry up and make it happen in the next two years while I am in grad school, as to ensure my presence in the country.   Where exactly in the country I will be for the next two years is still a bit up in the air, though I am leaning toward being in Seattle.  I was accepted to the MPA program at UW, the MBA program at Brandeis in Boston, and the MA in Social Enterprise program at American in DC, all of which are great programs that would definitely help me get where I think I am going.  There are obviously many factors in the decision for me, finances being one of the main ones, so I am going to keep praying and thinking through it until the end of the weekend before I make my decision.  I would appreciate your thoughts and prayers in my decision, as well, and hopefully I will be able to let you know where I will be by my next posting.  

The wonderful family that hosted me in Kapkokwon.

One thing adding urgency is that I need to be solid in that decision prior to leaving for Sudan next week.  I am not sure of what my internet access will be while I am there, so I don’t want to be passive and let the deadlines pass.  In addition to that, I really don’t want to have to be thinking about all of that while I am there, as I am sure the new setting will offer plenty for me to think about.  We are set to leave one week from today on the night bus, through western Kenya and into Kampala, Uganda.  I will stay there with a friend for four or five days while the others go ahead to get things set up in our new temporary home.  I am really looking forward to spending some more time with my friend in Kampala, whom I haven’t seen in just about two years now.  This is the same friend you may remember I visited during my first stay here in Kenya, who took me camping at Lake Albert and Murchison Falls, and took me for a floating safari on the Nile on Easter Sunday.  I don’t think any of that will be happening this time, but I am looking forward to catching up with him and learning more about what is going on with the UN programs in Uganda now.  Last time I met with some really great and experienced people there who shared a lot of their wisdom and understanding with me, and even connected me to some of their small NGO partners that are running programs focused on sports.  I would love to check back in with those organizations and also get to know some others this time round.  My only hope is that the bus ride from Kampala to Juba on my own doesn’t get too tricky, like the one from Eldoret to Kampala did two years ago.  I recently met the Kenyan ambassador to Sudan, who was really nice and encouraged me that Juba is a great place to be right now.  I just hope I can handle the heat, which I found out is an average high of 36 degrees Celsius (about 97 Fahrenheit) this time of year.  I told the kids here that when I return from Sudan, all of my freckles will have joined together and I will be blacker than they are.  About half of them thought I was serious.

 

Just hanging out with the kids of the village before church on Sunday morning.

As a little warm up for the heat, we took a trip down to the valley over the weekend to stay with the family of Chereger, the tree nursery manager here.  His home is about a 3-hour drive from here, with plenty of stunning viewpoints along the way.  We arrived around dinner time on Friday and were very warmly welcomed by about 25 people from his village; apparently this is one of those places that has never hosted white people, so it is a big deal when we came rolling into town.  We met everyone and, of course, each gave a speech telling about ourselves and giving thanks for the welcome.  During my speech, which I am sure was riveting for everyone who could barely understand my broken Kiswahili, Chereger’s mother, a woman of somewhere around 90 years (no one actually knows her age since they didn’t keep birth records back then), emerged from the mud hut to my right, bent over at almost 90 degrees and leaning on a stick in each hand to support her.  Everyone stopped and looked at her, then, much to my surprise, she tossed aside the sticks and joyfully shouted a Kalenjin greeting in my direction.  She stared at me in the eyes with a huge smile on her ripened face as she crossed her hands to give me a double handshake.  It is not often that I am caught off guard to the point of being paralyzed in word and action, but she just about got me to that point.  I stammered some version of a Kiswahili greeting and then stood silent in a near staring contest with her as she prolonged the double handshake for what felt like five minutes.  Needless to say the ice was now broken and we soon all enjoyed a wonderful dinner together before retreating to our respective sleeping quarters.  The next day was full of activities from the time we woke up.  After chai we took a short walk to the edge of the escarpment to take in the view and see the baboons.  We then walked some more to the home of the chairman of the village farmer’s group.  After touring his amazing shamba and taking chai with fresh-from-the-tree mangoes and bananas, we walked to the primary school to meet with three different groups for an information and motivation session.  This was a great meeting, but was different for me because it was with people who had already formed groups, rather than with a community full of disorganized individuals.  My main message to them was to now use the group they were a part of as a source of strength, letting each member’s creativity and ambition drive the group forward, but not to allow any single member to try to rise above the group.  I told them I have met with communities and groups in many different places around the world, and the one thing that will always ruin a group is when one person starts to put their own interests ahead of the group’s.  I drew on my experiences in team sports for the same message, and encouraged them to all hold each other accountable and never let anyone stray.  I even grabbed a couple people and locked arms with them to demonstrate how strong and difficult to knock over we were when we were together, versus when I was standing on my own, briefly comparing it to the game Red Rover before realizing the culture and language gaps probably wouldn’t allow appropriate communication on my end or understanding on theirs.

The AIC church we had service at on Sunday morning.  We had three churches come for the service so they could see and listen to the Wazungu.  It was a really great service, but I don't think any of the kids heard a single word because they were so preoccupied with the presence of white skin.

After a very long meeting, even by Kenyan standards, we walked back to Chereger’s home for a late lunch and a little relaxing before evening hunting.  I had no expectations that I would actually be able to handle the local bow and arrow, but I surprised myself during the pre-hunting practice session and hit the tree target 3 times out of maybe 15 shots.  Now maybe that doesn’t sound impressive, but even the locals, who use this weapon on a very regular basis, didn’t hit it more than 10 times, so I felt pretty good about my efforts.  As a result of this, I was given a position as one of four sharp shooters, much to my delight.  So off we went into the surrounding bush, four sharp shooters and a chase team of about half a dozen, in search of antelope, guinea fowl, and rabbits.  I was hoping we would just come across hoards of wild animals and I would have plenty of opportunities to calm my nerves and make a kill, coming home a hero with meat for the whole village.  I pictured myself sprinting alongside an antelope and making a slow motion rolling dive, Mission Impossible-like shot.  I have been known to let my imagination run wild at times, and in this case it definitely set me up for failure.  Even as we set out, I didn’t really understand the concept of our team strategy, but it quickly became clear that the four of us with weapons would be crouched in hiding, stretched out in a straight line at one edge of the bush, about 20 meters apart.  At the other end of the section of bush we designated, the chase team would spread out and walk toward us, throwing stones and just making as much noise as possible, in order to scare the animals toward us.  The scheme is pretty brilliant if you ask me.  The first section turned up animal-less, save a few small birds, so we quickly planned our next area and set up.  Within a couple minutes, I heard the excited shrieks of the chase team, which is when I realized I had no idea what I was looking for or what I was supposed to do.  I almost instantly stood up and started toward the yelling, but then crouched back down and tried to play it cool as I noticed the other sharp shooters calmly waiting with bows drawn.  At that instant, a rabbit came scurrying out of the bush right at the sharp shooter on the far end, who shall remain nameless for reasons you will soon understand, about 40 meters from me.  It was hard to tell who was the hunter and who was the hunted, as they both froze and stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity before the unnamed hunter finally launched a nervous arrow from his bow.  The arrow dove into the rocky ground in front of the rabbit, which then darted in my direction, directly at the second sharp shooter, who had his bow drawn but was unable to fire because it would have been in the direction of his fellow hunter.  The rabbit froze again and then quickly turned and ran back in the direction he came, past the hunter it first encountered, who was holding his bow in the air at this point, as if to swipe at the animal like he was holding a fly swatter.  Not surprisingly, this tactic was unsuccessful and the rabbit dashed past him down the path, being chased now by myself and the second sharp shooter.  We gave good chase for about 400 meters, nearly falling myself many times as my ankles rolled with each step on the unsteady and shifting rocks.  We finally conceded to the rabbit’s superior quickness and knowledge of the area, and headed back to reconvene with the rest of the group.  You can imagine that the first sharp shooter got a lot of heat from all of us for how he handled the encounter with the smallest animal we were hunting, but after all the dust settled and I caught my breath I realized just how funny the whole situation had been.  We tried another three sections but didn’t find a single animal, so we had a mock celebration and honoring ceremony, hunkered in a circle in traditional Kalenjin fashion.  We returned home with nothing more than a good story and an increased ambition redeem ourselves, but I had an absolute blast in my first hunting trip.  This is the only way I can see myself approving of hunting, as it seems fair that I have to work just as hard as the animal in the struggle.  The plan is to return to the same village in May for a full weekend of hunting in a different area along a ravine, which I am told is full of large antelope. 

Three members of the sharp shooter team with two great hunting dogs.  On the left is Chereger and on the right is Patrick.  Some goofy white guy is in the middle.

There really isn’t much more to tell you, but I hope to be back to share more about all the happenings of the rest of the week and the coming weekend before I head out of the country.  In the meantime, I am going to try to kick whatever this sickness is and get back to being outside working with the staff and playing games with the kids.  I love hearing from home, so send me an email any time just to let me know how you are doing.  Otherwise, be good to yourselves and those around you.

Simple Times

The fiercest basketball team you have ever come across.  This is usually how all of our games end up, with more goofing around and laughing than actually playing the game.

There really is nothing like an equatorial rain, so warm and rhythmic and soothing.  You can almost see the trees and vegetables gaining strength as they drink it up, and the dusty brown grass greening before your eyes, after a long, hot dry season.  Being born and raised in the great Pacific Northwest and a Seattleite for the past four years, after a five year hiatus in Southern California, I never thought I would really enjoy the rain, let alone look forward to it.  But, as the saying goes, “When in Africa…”  Wait, is that how it goes?  Anyway, I am in Africa, so I am sharing in the excitement of the rainy season that has arrived right on time this year.  Typically, I am told, the first rains come on March 15^th, which lasts only a few days, giving way to another 2-3 weeks of hot sunny days, followed by more constant rain through August.  As you may remember, the 2009 rainy season really never got going here in Kenya, leading to one of the worst droughts in decades and causing widespread hunger and panic.  2009 was my first trip here, and that nonexistent rainy season is what initiated the entire bore hole project, which is the reason for me being here 2 years later.  While I can’t say that I am completely overjoyed to wake up to gray, overcast skies and put on long pants and a jacket just to go greet the children before school, at least it gives me a good opportunity to explain the weather back home to the people here.  When I tell them that this is how my home is for a good chunk of each year, their eyes light up and they tell me how lucky I am and how much they think they would really like my home.  That sentiment lasts only until I tell them that the average temperature during that time is between 0 and 10 degrees, at which point their faces express concern for my well-being and understanding for why I have hair on my legs and arms.  So they remain happy to be in their home and are now looking forward to planting their crops in the next couple weeks.  I am excited to see the appearance of the landscape change dramatically, as the grass moves from brown and trampled to green and sturdy, the roads from only moderately rough and incredibly dusty to mostly impassable and swampy, and the fields from vast brown emptiness to seemingly vaster green fullness.  Planting season is always exciting, regardless of where you are, but there is another element and another level to that excitement when the entire population has been waiting months and sees those precious drops of water falling from the clouds above as their lifeline.

Sitting with the girls, waiting for the water yield to be announced.  Don't ask me why we decided to make this face; don't ask me why we do anything we do.

I wish there was more to update you all on in the past week, but there really has been a lull in the action.  I can’t say I am too upset about this, as the amount of pressure I have felt since I arrived has been fairly high.  We are still waiting for the team to arrive and install and connect the pump and piping for the bore hole, but at least now I rest assured that they have enough water (the yield of the bore hole was measured at 1.2 cubic liters, meaning they can reliably pump 1,200 liters of water per hour for as long as they need or wish to).  I have also left behind a lot of things from home that had been unhealthy and hindering my adjustment, which has allowed me to settle in a lot better and more completely in recent days.  I even went to town and bought some comfort snacks (peanuts, snap peas, and a dark chocolate bar) and have been consistently doing my yoga routine and very modified CrossFit workouts.  Those of you from the gym would laugh at my attempts at working out in my room, with my only piece of equipment being a blue band, and more so, I’m sure, at my overall physical condition.  Mock all you would like, but I see doing my routines consistently as a victory in itself, and I am feeling better physically as a result.  You see, I have realized during my few trips to different parts of the world, intending to experience and understand what we call “poverty”, that I have only so much room in my life for intensity.  As I mentioned, the beginning of this trip was very emotionally and psychologically intense for me, so I was finding that many times I simply could not get myself to engage in anything that even remotely resembled physical intensity.  The fact that I recently have been able to do just ten to thirty minutes of exercise that makes me sweat and breathe hard each day is a very good sign that I am getting a better handle on all that internal intensity, even letting much of it evaporate.  And if exercise doesn’t work, at least I now have my chocolate.

Emmanuel and Joshua entertained themselves for hours one afternoon by jumping across this stream left over from the drilling.  Their favorite was when I held them upside down by their ankles, with their faces dangling inches from the water.

This is not all to say that I have just been working out and eating chocolate all week, though that sounds like my ideal existence.  Many meetings have been held with the managers of each program so I can get all the information I need to finally complete the business outline and expenses and projections.  This is not a strong suit of mine, and actually wears me out a great deal more than it should, but at least I am very nearly finished with everything on that front.  In the next couple weeks, leading up to my departure for Sudan, I plan to slowly hand everything over to the staff here and make the transition from vision to start-up to operation as smooth as possible.  I can see the excitement on the faces of everyone as we discuss the specifics of each program, and I know they are all capable with the right resources available to them, so I am sharing in their excitement and looking forward to being around to see everything get started, helping where I can, and then just coming back to check in and witness their success.  We are going to run all around the district tomorrow to drop off invitations for the opening ceremony to as many friends and big wigs as possible.  A lot of work still needs to be done on the compound to prepare for this day, but we are slowly getting there and all looking forward very much to that day.  It is continually amazing to me how something seemingly so small can create such a positive buzz in the communities here.  I was really struck by this at the first Watoto Marathon, and I think I have been desensitized gradually since then, but it is just so delightful to be a part of a community that always seems to have, or seeks out something to be smiling about and grateful for.  I think it is such wonderful way to live, and one that I am happily adopting.

Making Chapati with the girls one afternoon.  The iron skillet was way too hot for me and I kept getting distracted and  forgetting to spin my chapati, so I am sure I just made more work for everyone else.

Looking forward from here, I am still very excited about going to Uganda and Sudan in a few weeks.  That excitement has been present and growing since I learned about the prospect of it months ago, and it has begun to feel like one of those things that you talk about so much that it will never actually happen.  But this one will, and the date is now set for April 6^th, so there will only be a few days of preparation between hosting the opening ceremony and setting off on an 18-hour bus ride on rough and now muddy roads.  During those few days we will have to make a quick trip to Nairobi to get our visas for Sudan, which I am told is a much easier process than it sounds like.  We are going to try to get a one-year visa on the basis of being volunteers involved in environmental initiatives, as to not have to go through this process and pay again in a couple months when we head back.  I am also going on a trip down to the valley next week with a member of the staff who has a home there, which he has been inviting me to for years.  I am really excited to finally go see his home and meet his family, and he has even arranged a group of men from his community to accompany us on a hunting trip in the bush.  I have never been hunting in my entire life, and my only experience with a bow and arrow was at a YMCA summer camp in elementary school, and I remember quickly dropping the weapon and racing toward the river as soon as I learned we could get in a canoe and catch salamanders.  So, needless to say, my archery skills are less than polished, especially with the local bow and arrow, which appear to be no more than a small branch off a tree with a frayed string tied to both ends.  Determined to not make a bigger fool of myself than I already do on a daily basis here, and to have at least some moderate success, I have scheduled a practice session with one of the night watchmen on the compound.  He carries a local bow each night with him, so I figure he must know how to use it somewhat decently.  If people have been successfully hunting with this type of weapon for centuries, how hard could it be, right?  All I was told is that we will only be hunting gazelle and antelope and some large birds, since hunting any big game is seen as a curse now by many groups.  I volunteered myself to be part of the chase crew, which apparently hides in the bush and then jumps out to chase the animals to the group of sharp shooters waiting ahead.  They have been joking with me that I should be careful because I could end up being hunted myself when some of the hunters see my white skin and mistake me for an animal.  At least they have assured me that we won’t be using the poison arrows on this trip, which I suppose is encouraging.

I wish there was more to tell you, but it really has been pretty low key here since water erupted from the hole last week.  Again, I am definitely not complaining about that, and even am thankful for it.  I have been continuing my Kiswahili lessons and am told I am almost ready for my first exam.  One thing is for sure – it is really hard to get back into doing homework.  But I better get used to it, as I am starting grad school in a few months.  I heard back from the school I applied to in Boston with good news.  I was accepted and given a pretty decent scholarship offer.  UW still remains in the mix, but I haven’t heard back from either them or the school I applied to in DC.  In order to accept and secure the acceptance offer from the school in Boston, I will need to reply and send a deposit before I leave for Sudan, so I am hoping to hear from all the schools by then and be able to make a final decision.  For now, the time I am spending with the children and the staff here is more than enough to fill my time and make me feel happy and fulfilled.  I will never tire of playing one-on-14 half-court basketball, learning countless other games I am convinced the kids make up on the spot, answering pop quiz questions, being corrected for speaking Kiswahili incorrectly, and just sharing great conversations over chai with the parents and staff here.  I will try to be back after next weekend with a more exciting entry, including hopefully a successful report of my bush hunting trip.  For now, be good to yourself and those around you.