on HIV and nutrition, but quickly realized they were really interested in learning the basics of nutrition. So I spent over an hour discussing the food groups and a balanced diet. And of course, BMI, one of the most popular nutrition topics here in Kenya, much to my surprise! We had a nice snack of yogurt and bananas (upon my request, otherwise it definitely would have been donuts and soda) and I spent time talking with them about their patients and their work. It was a very rewarding day, and humbling. They stopped to pray before we ate our little snack, and it made me so aware that I was in the presence of the disciples of God working hard to help those in need, and their work was not easy by any means. I took their photo to remind me of how we are called to help others even when its not easy or convenient, or even when we have our own battles to deal with as well.
Later that day, Rachel and I ventured into downtown after work to pay for some airline tickets Morgan and I need for going to the coast in a few weeks. After getting the plane tickets, my toes were sore from my new stiff sandals that I bought in Mombasa, and I requested that we jump on a bus back home, even though it was only about a 15 minute walk. We surveyed the busy bus lane for a conductor's sign that read a location near where we were going, and jumped on a bus that said a hospital I knew was near our flat. I double asked the conductor if he went on the road we need to "alight on" (thats what they say here for getting off the bus) and he seemed a bit confused by my question. Chalking it up to language barrier, we sat down and hoped for the best. Well I'll be honest I was worried after we passed the first bus stop near our house, but then when we turned the opposite way and passed another stop, I insisted to Rachel that we demand to get off. We were now way past our flats, further than if we would have just walked from downtown. We scrambled to get off the bus, and pay the fare, which usually 20 shillings, but in rush hour, its 30 shillings. The conductor insisted we pay 40 shillings each, and I tried to argue with him, but gave up and found the extra change. I fumbled in my rush and dropped half of the fare on the floor of the completely packed bus, just as I felt the strap on my sandal snap in half. The bus had been waiting at the stop for us to get off already for at least a minute, and everyone was starting to look at me in impatience. I handed him 10 shillings instead of 20, begrudgedly because frankly he was obviously soaking us because we were white, and limped off the bus to Rachel waiting on the dirt sidewalk for me. Talk about feeling trapped! Now maybe its hard to understand how much of a problem this was, but imagine if you will, standing in the middle of rushhour (which also applies to the sidewalk as most people walk), being the only white person for miles and miles, with a completely broken shoe, that I couldn't even step one step on, and being at least a 20 min walk from home (in the opposite direction from where we started out. Oh and as Rachel later reminded me, it had just rained and it was therefore very unsafe to walk on a dirt path with no shoe, as hook worms are very common here, not to mention garbage, broken glass etc. So, Rachel came to my rescue, and walked down the block by herself to a strip mall and found me a pair of men's size 10 flip flops from a hardware store for 100 shillings. She said these particular flip flops were likely to be of the first ever batch of flip flops ever made as they came from a dusty bag under the counter that looked as if it had not been opened since 1960. But, alas, I was saved. As an aside, while I stood on the busy sidewalk, waiting for her to come back from the store I saw a large flat bed semi truck drive by with about 100 + men standing back to back in the truck box. They were likely construction workers being transported back from a day at work, but it was quite a sight to see, I wish I had had my camera.
I was feeling pretty sorry for myself and my bad luck lately, as the day before, I had not fully closed the cap on my water bottle in my back pack and spilled about 1 litre of water all over the contents of my bag and down my back. Oh woe is me. Or so I thought...
Then I was put back in my rightful place.... This morning, I greeted my tailor friend George who has hemed a few of my things and made me a skirt, he has a manual sewing machine in the back of a little shack kiosk on the same road as our flats. "How is your day so far?" I said, he explained that yesterday the police came by and took him to jail for not having a business license for tailoring there, and he spent an entire day in jail until he paid a fee to be released. Considering the cost of the tailoring jobs George has done for me, I know for sure he does not have a lot of money to pay the police for what is a bull shit infraction. Of all the illegal and dangerous acts that are going on in Kenya right now, I really doubt that a tailor practicing without a license should be their biggest concern. The more I live here, the more I learn about the unbelieveable amount of corruption with city police, the city council, and really every level of government, especially up to the President. I hasten to even write half of the injustice and brutality that has occured while I have been here, and this is only what I know about. Lets just say the police are not necessarily who you run to when you need help, I think you actually run away from the police in a desperate situation. I'm not meaning to scare anyone, I do feel safe, as I am not a local poor Kenyan trying to make a buck, so I am not the target, my shops are not ripped down monthly, my home is safe, I will not be thrown in jail for no reason, I will not be shot down for no reason, I will not be tear gased for demonstrating against injustice. No, in fact, I am truly the lucky one, and have been reminded to not take that for granted. And I can't help but wonder why it was me who was born in such a safe and fortunate Country and life. Perhaps that I may come here this day and try in my small way to make a difference....
Friday, March 13, 2009
You think you're having a bad day?
So, every day is an adventure here, that much is true.
I was asked to do a nutrition talk at the MOCASO non profit organization. This is the organization I had visited and blogged on a month or so ago, they invited me back to teach their community health workers about nutrition so they can improve the nutrition of the HIV house bound and bed ridden clients that they serve. There were 20 in attendance, both men and women, and they were very receptive to the nutrition information that I had to share. I had prepared a detailed presentation 
on HIV and nutrition, but quickly realized they were really interested in learning the basics of nutrition. So I spent over an hour discussing the food groups and a balanced diet. And of course, BMI, one of the most popular nutrition topics here in Kenya, much to my surprise! We had a nice snack of yogurt and bananas (upon my request, otherwise it definitely would have been donuts and soda) and I spent time talking with them about their patients and their work. It was a very rewarding day, and humbling. They stopped to pray before we ate our little snack, and it made me so aware that I was in the presence of the disciples of God working hard to help those in need, and their work was not easy by any means. I took their photo to remind me of how we are called to help others even when its not easy or convenient, or even when we have our own battles to deal with as well.
Later that day, Rachel and I ventured into downtown after work to pay for some airline tickets Morgan and I need for going to the coast in a few weeks. After getting the plane tickets, my toes were sore from my new stiff sandals that I bought in Mombasa, and I requested that we jump on a bus back home, even though it was only about a 15 minute walk. We surveyed the busy bus lane for a conductor's sign that read a location near where we were going, and jumped on a bus that said a hospital I knew was near our flat. I double asked the conductor if he went on the road we need to "alight on" (thats what they say here for getting off the bus) and he seemed a bit confused by my question. Chalking it up to language barrier, we sat down and hoped for the best. Well I'll be honest I was worried after we passed the first bus stop near our house, but then when we turned the opposite way and passed another stop, I insisted to Rachel that we demand to get off. We were now way past our flats, further than if we would have just walked from downtown. We scrambled to get off the bus, and pay the fare, which usually 20 shillings, but in rush hour, its 30 shillings. The conductor insisted we pay 40 shillings each, and I tried to argue with him, but gave up and found the extra change. I fumbled in my rush and dropped half of the fare on the floor of the completely packed bus, just as I felt the strap on my sandal snap in half. The bus had been waiting at the stop for us to get off already for at least a minute, and everyone was starting to look at me in impatience. I handed him 10 shillings instead of 20, begrudgedly because frankly he was obviously soaking us because we were white, and limped off the bus to Rachel waiting on the dirt sidewalk for me. Talk about feeling trapped! Now maybe its hard to understand how much of a problem this was, but imagine if you will, standing in the middle of rushhour (which also applies to the sidewalk as most people walk), being the only white person for miles and miles, with a completely broken shoe, that I couldn't even step one step on, and being at least a 20 min walk from home (in the opposite direction from where we started out. Oh and as Rachel later reminded me, it had just rained and it was therefore very unsafe to walk on a dirt path with no shoe, as hook worms are very common here, not to mention garbage, broken glass etc. So, Rachel came to my rescue, and walked down the block by herself to a strip mall and found me a pair of men's size 10 flip flops from a hardware store for 100 shillings. She said these particular flip flops were likely to be of the first ever batch of flip flops ever made as they came from a dusty bag under the counter that looked as if it had not been opened since 1960. But, alas, I was saved. As an aside, while I stood on the busy sidewalk, waiting for her to come back from the store I saw a large flat bed semi truck drive by with about 100 + men standing back to back in the truck box. They were likely construction workers being transported back from a day at work, but it was quite a sight to see, I wish I had had my camera.
I was feeling pretty sorry for myself and my bad luck lately, as the day before, I had not fully closed the cap on my water bottle in my back pack and spilled about 1 litre of water all over the contents of my bag and down my back. Oh woe is me. Or so I thought...
Then I was put back in my rightful place.... This morning, I greeted my tailor friend George who has hemed a few of my things and made me a skirt, he has a manual sewing machine in the back of a little shack kiosk on the same road as our flats. "How is your day so far?" I said, he explained that yesterday the police came by and took him to jail for not having a business license for tailoring there, and he spent an entire day in jail until he paid a fee to be released. Considering the cost of the tailoring jobs George has done for me, I know for sure he does not have a lot of money to pay the police for what is a bull shit infraction. Of all the illegal and dangerous acts that are going on in Kenya right now, I really doubt that a tailor practicing without a license should be their biggest concern. The more I live here, the more I learn about the unbelieveable amount of corruption with city police, the city council, and really every level of government, especially up to the President. I hasten to even write half of the injustice and brutality that has occured while I have been here, and this is only what I know about. Lets just say the police are not necessarily who you run to when you need help, I think you actually run away from the police in a desperate situation. I'm not meaning to scare anyone, I do feel safe, as I am not a local poor Kenyan trying to make a buck, so I am not the target, my shops are not ripped down monthly, my home is safe, I will not be thrown in jail for no reason, I will not be shot down for no reason, I will not be tear gased for demonstrating against injustice. No, in fact, I am truly the lucky one, and have been reminded to not take that for granted. And I can't help but wonder why it was me who was born in such a safe and fortunate Country and life. Perhaps that I may come here this day and try in my small way to make a difference....
on HIV and nutrition, but quickly realized they were really interested in learning the basics of nutrition. So I spent over an hour discussing the food groups and a balanced diet. And of course, BMI, one of the most popular nutrition topics here in Kenya, much to my surprise! We had a nice snack of yogurt and bananas (upon my request, otherwise it definitely would have been donuts and soda) and I spent time talking with them about their patients and their work. It was a very rewarding day, and humbling. They stopped to pray before we ate our little snack, and it made me so aware that I was in the presence of the disciples of God working hard to help those in need, and their work was not easy by any means. I took their photo to remind me of how we are called to help others even when its not easy or convenient, or even when we have our own battles to deal with as well.
Later that day, Rachel and I ventured into downtown after work to pay for some airline tickets Morgan and I need for going to the coast in a few weeks. After getting the plane tickets, my toes were sore from my new stiff sandals that I bought in Mombasa, and I requested that we jump on a bus back home, even though it was only about a 15 minute walk. We surveyed the busy bus lane for a conductor's sign that read a location near where we were going, and jumped on a bus that said a hospital I knew was near our flat. I double asked the conductor if he went on the road we need to "alight on" (thats what they say here for getting off the bus) and he seemed a bit confused by my question. Chalking it up to language barrier, we sat down and hoped for the best. Well I'll be honest I was worried after we passed the first bus stop near our house, but then when we turned the opposite way and passed another stop, I insisted to Rachel that we demand to get off. We were now way past our flats, further than if we would have just walked from downtown. We scrambled to get off the bus, and pay the fare, which usually 20 shillings, but in rush hour, its 30 shillings. The conductor insisted we pay 40 shillings each, and I tried to argue with him, but gave up and found the extra change. I fumbled in my rush and dropped half of the fare on the floor of the completely packed bus, just as I felt the strap on my sandal snap in half. The bus had been waiting at the stop for us to get off already for at least a minute, and everyone was starting to look at me in impatience. I handed him 10 shillings instead of 20, begrudgedly because frankly he was obviously soaking us because we were white, and limped off the bus to Rachel waiting on the dirt sidewalk for me. Talk about feeling trapped! Now maybe its hard to understand how much of a problem this was, but imagine if you will, standing in the middle of rushhour (which also applies to the sidewalk as most people walk), being the only white person for miles and miles, with a completely broken shoe, that I couldn't even step one step on, and being at least a 20 min walk from home (in the opposite direction from where we started out. Oh and as Rachel later reminded me, it had just rained and it was therefore very unsafe to walk on a dirt path with no shoe, as hook worms are very common here, not to mention garbage, broken glass etc. So, Rachel came to my rescue, and walked down the block by herself to a strip mall and found me a pair of men's size 10 flip flops from a hardware store for 100 shillings. She said these particular flip flops were likely to be of the first ever batch of flip flops ever made as they came from a dusty bag under the counter that looked as if it had not been opened since 1960. But, alas, I was saved. As an aside, while I stood on the busy sidewalk, waiting for her to come back from the store I saw a large flat bed semi truck drive by with about 100 + men standing back to back in the truck box. They were likely construction workers being transported back from a day at work, but it was quite a sight to see, I wish I had had my camera.
I was feeling pretty sorry for myself and my bad luck lately, as the day before, I had not fully closed the cap on my water bottle in my back pack and spilled about 1 litre of water all over the contents of my bag and down my back. Oh woe is me. Or so I thought...
Then I was put back in my rightful place.... This morning, I greeted my tailor friend George who has hemed a few of my things and made me a skirt, he has a manual sewing machine in the back of a little shack kiosk on the same road as our flats. "How is your day so far?" I said, he explained that yesterday the police came by and took him to jail for not having a business license for tailoring there, and he spent an entire day in jail until he paid a fee to be released. Considering the cost of the tailoring jobs George has done for me, I know for sure he does not have a lot of money to pay the police for what is a bull shit infraction. Of all the illegal and dangerous acts that are going on in Kenya right now, I really doubt that a tailor practicing without a license should be their biggest concern. The more I live here, the more I learn about the unbelieveable amount of corruption with city police, the city council, and really every level of government, especially up to the President. I hasten to even write half of the injustice and brutality that has occured while I have been here, and this is only what I know about. Lets just say the police are not necessarily who you run to when you need help, I think you actually run away from the police in a desperate situation. I'm not meaning to scare anyone, I do feel safe, as I am not a local poor Kenyan trying to make a buck, so I am not the target, my shops are not ripped down monthly, my home is safe, I will not be thrown in jail for no reason, I will not be shot down for no reason, I will not be tear gased for demonstrating against injustice. No, in fact, I am truly the lucky one, and have been reminded to not take that for granted. And I can't help but wonder why it was me who was born in such a safe and fortunate Country and life. Perhaps that I may come here this day and try in my small way to make a difference....
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