Shirazi

For the last 10 days, I stayed in a Muslim Village called Shirazi. It was part of the programs’ rural home stay component and it was indeed rural. No running water, or electricity. Life there is a lot slower, and more peaceful. The daily chores of women there are primarily sweeping, cooking (using collected firewood) and fetching water from the boreholes, installed with the help of UNDP and a Canadian organization about 16 years ago. Having the borehole seems to have improved the lives of the villagers there. Before the boreholes, wells serve as a water source and often times cause illnesses when poisonous snakes fall into it. As for electricity, there are rumors that it would be installed in the village next year. But they are not sure who/how it would be funded. Having electricity would definitely benefit the lives and livelihoods of people there. But is it really necessary?

Eid

We also celebrated Eid in Shirazi. The celebrations were much less simpler than I had anticipated. The night before, my home-stay mom stayed up to make food for the celebrations, and it is shared to other neighbouring houses. We had a scrumptious late breakfast of all the food in this photo, followed by a meal of pilau, or spiced rice cooked with beef that was slaughtered and shared among the villagers. That meal, eaten around 4 was both lunch and dinner. After the meal, a group of drummers went around, house by house to play sing songs. Children followed them to dance. In the evening, my family sat around and talked on a woven mat, waited for our food to digest before saying goodnight.

SunriseIn the mornings, just before the sunrises over the baharini (ocean), the women would be out in the streets, sweeping or collecting coconut husks to start fire for chai.

Backyard

This is a photo of my backyard, through the living room. In the backyard, we keep goats and chickens. The bathroom is just to the left of where the little bucket is, and yes, outdoor showers make good stargazing.

The dock

Many tour groups use the dock in the village as a way of transport for tourists on their way to Funzi Islands, a beach resort about 20 minutes boat ride away from Shirazi. I spent most afternoons sitting by the dock, dipping my feet in water and watch the sun paint the trees with a warm glow.

Kibera

Kenya, in many ways, mirror what Myanmar/Burma is. Or at least what it was like during my childhood. The roads here are not well maintained, and are full of potholes, if they are cemented at all. Most of these roads, even those in the city would have you walk in a cloud of dust, when a car or a lorry drives past you.

When I was young, I used to skip over the potholes on the pavements of Inya road, pretending that there were monsters; crocodiles and sharks in them. This afternoon, I was reminded of those times, as I took a walk in the neighbourhood where my school (SIT office building) is. During this time, I was looking down, cautious about not tripping on the uneven sidewalks. Along the way, I also noticed several little tuckshops that sold homecooked lunch meals, for less than a dollar. Although the food is served in utensils that were merely rinsed after use, the Kenyan staples of corn and maize flavored by the heat of the sun and the dust in the air serve to satisfy the hungry stomachs of the workers employed near by. They work as drivers, security guards, house helps, etc at the residences and office buildings in the neighbourhood.

I don't know how their wages are, but there is no doubt that they find it difficult to make ends meet. Yesterday, there was news about the slum upgrade, and the new apartments that the people are moving into (according to my host mom's translation), cost 1000 Kenyan Shilings a month for a room. That works out to about 13 US dollars a month or 44 cents a day. And many of them are still unable to afford that "luxury" of living in an apartment. Most of them choose to live in slums, one of which is Kibera, the largest slum in Africa, second largest in the world.

I had visited Kibera with 2 video journalist of the organization, Carolina for Kibera (an NGO that does a wonderful work in community development). My language limits the description, but what I saw was just simply heart-breaking. They live 3in1 rooms.

Just like the shacks in Guguletu South Africa, and the bamboo shelters in Hlaing Tha Yarr, Myanmar, many family share a room which is their bedroom, living room and kitchen. But Kenyan slums are in much worse condition. Water is a huge problem here, and many have to walk a distance or buy water for daily consumption. Ironically, places for human waste displosal are plenty, not because of the abundunce and accessibility of toilets, but because the residents of the slums can claim any open space to be one. (I saw a kid poop-ing right by the road side, in broad daylight, as a group of us walked by.

Kenya is also where they coined the term "flying toilets," when people just do their business in their rooms and throw out the plastic bags, too lazy to dispose off where it should be.) The streams and drainage systems are filled with rubbish, making floods abound during rainy season, (although Kenya has been short of rainfall in the past couple of years). Darkness fills their homes at night, because electricity is rationed unreliably. And when there is light, Kerosene smell fills the atomosphere.

And to the residents of the slums, the lives of the upper and middle income families, whose homes are in compounds guarded by electric fences, seem unreacheable. They are in contact with wealth and the wealthy on a daily basis, when they walk past these places that are just a stone-throw away from the slums, or when they step into their employers' offices/homes. I am sorry if I sound condesending, because I am not. I had lived their lives before, although not in conditions as bad as these residents were living.

I had lived a life, questioning why it was others, and not I, that enjoy wealth. It was like the 6-year old me, imagining how wonderful it might be to live in an American home, with a pretty lawn and grass flowers as I had seen in the movies; And how people cran their necks to look up at skyscrapers in HongKong. I also remember having a mixed feeling of anger, and jealousy, when my Primary 6 classmates decide to go out for a movie at the end of the week, as I walked home, wondering how it was that these Singaporeans could afford the Six dollar movie tickets, my lunch money for 3 weeks.

Now, as I walked passed the slums with comfortable shoes on my feet, a bottle of water on my back, and all the other things that I have taken for granted, I wonder what the children in the slums are thinking, when they call out, "how are you" or "mazungu (white person)".


Children of Kibera come from different ethnic backgrounds. To promote ethnic cohesion, and to prevent youths from going astray, Carolina for Kibera organizes tournaments.

The installation of the water tank that is going to be installed in the village in Kibera called Lindi. This project was initiated by the youth groups in Kibera.

A biofuel plant. A toilet that is being built to harness gas energy from human waste.

Cultural confusion.

The last couple of days in Nairobi is strangely funny (funnily strange) to me. I am not sure how to put my thoughts down in words, and if I should even post this entry on my blog. This might not be coherent, because the thoughts are still forming in my head.

--

I had wanted to type this entry, primarily to sort out endless wondering in circles in my mind; about the way I was behaving in Kenya. I feel like I am at cultural crossroads and it is stifling. The surrounding environment and the way of speech and living of Kenyans is very similar to what I have been taught during my childhood, and yet, these have been slowly eroded, or replaced by what I have become accustomed to, during my 10 years in Singappore, or the last two at Carleton. And here in Kenya, with the group of 21 other American students, and a Kenyan host family, I find myself in the whirlwind of a cultural confusion.

Having lived in many places, I feel like I could juggle between the differences, and reason out certain behaviours, and adapt myself to any group, but instead, I feel responsible for having the knowledge about the difference but not knowing how to act. There are many instances, but if it would make it clearer to you, in what I am trying to say, here is an example:

Kenyans, like the Burmese have a culture of sharing. It is rude when you are eating something in the presence of someone you know and not share it. And that was the way I had grown up. But this is not a culture for the Americans/Europeans. This summer, I tried not think deeper into why a colleague just ate the snack she had, while myself and another watched. I tried to keep what I have to myself and I felt strangely uncomfortable. Now, at home, my host mother talked about how rude a boy was, for not offering the chips he was eating, while some of my classmates commented on how "sharing" I was with people. (I am not sure if they thought I was weird). There were many incidences such as these, be it in speech, behaviour or thought process of Americans vs Kenyans vs what I have learnt in Burma vs Singapore vs Carleton... it is confusion. You get the picture? I think I am confusing you enough.

I was going to try to reason those out but instead, I endeded up writing the entry on my childhood and the living conditions in Kenya, and decided that there were many other things that I should be thinknig about; that I should be thankful for being able to come here and study amongst these people, be they Americans or Kenyans; that cultral difference may not even matter, if I am not being over sensitive and try to reason out this confusion; that allowing these thoughts to run in circles in my mind is just a waste of time. There are many other things that I could be doing or putting my thought energies into-- won't you agree?



Please write down your thoughts/comments/advice; I would love to hear what you think.

Hakuna Matata

A Kiswahilii word we are all familar with, but rarely know the meaning of. In 2 weeks that I had been in Kenya, I have learnt to to know and live the word, Hakuna Matata-it means no Worries.
A simple routine life that I had been missing in a while, I now have a pretty fixed schedule to my days, and it goes like this:
I wake up at 6.10, go for a jog, a bucket shower, breakfast (milky chai with ginger and break) and walk to school.
At 8.30 Swahili lessons start and there are 5 different teachers that take turns to teach us. Apart from the language, the teachers also tell us where they are from and bits and pieces of the Kenyan culture. And on Friday, they taught us a drinking song!
12-2 is lunch break and the rest of the students would eat out, but because I live so close to school, I would go home to eat. That's also when I practice my Kishwahilii with the house help. She is from Uganda and probably the main reason for me picking up the lanugage quickly.
2-4 is usually lessons on Kenya society or development. Or we would do site visits to different NGOs in Nairobi. Last week, we did a site visit to a local clinic in Africa's biggest slum: Kirbera....the living conditions there are very pitiful! They are living right by traintracks, in shacks (houses made of loose tin sheets). When we got there... the kids were all lined outside, chanting "how are you", perhaps not knowing what they are saying at all... so we restorted to saying HOW ARE YOU. as well...
after school, I would do homework with my host brother... he helps me with Swahili, I help him with Science and English. I would help to cook dinner afterwards... and dinner with family then news... we sleep pretty early, say around 10/11...
What a worry-less life, huh?