Living in cities have made me accustomed to many things; noise is one of them. At times, silence is more audible than any other sound to me.

I found that out the last Sunday, as I sipped a hot cup of chai. I came close to burning my tongue, from drinking the tea too quickly, a habit I have developed over time. For about 6 years in Singapore, I, like many others, have tight morning schedules. Wake up at 5.50. Toilet, brush teeth, shower. 15 minutes. Get dressed, comb hair. 5minutes. Breakfast. 10 minutes. Socks, shoes and keys. 3 minutes. Out of the house by 6.25am, in time to catch the 6.40 train to school.

But that morning, in Naivasha (a small town just an hour outside Nairobi), I just sat at the cafe, enjoying the feel of the sweet hot liquid down my throat. I was too caught up in blowing, and sipping the tea, I hadn't noticed the loud alarm of the car just outside the cafe, until my friend, Kali, who was sitting across the table pointed out. That was probably another habit acquired over the course of living in busy, noisy places.

You just block out what you don't need to see or hear. Anything that gets in the way of completing your (endless list of) tasks lined up for the day is redundunt. Ignore it, or you will be wasting time and your schedule would be messed up. Life is short, gotta do what you gotta do to live to the fullest. No time to waste. Always on the go.

That lifestyle is satisfying to me. And I think I have become too accustomed to revert it. But the trip to Naivasha has also shown me, how slowing down and enjoying simple things. If you paused and looked carefully enough, nature has many things to offer and teach us.

Kali and I had just woken up, at 5.50 again. But this time, there were no places we had to be in minutes. We strolled to the edge of slope overlooking lake Naivasha and the mountains in the great Rift Valley. We sat there, wating the sunlight slowly filling colours to the gigantic sky and the range of mountains, like an invisible paint brush colouring a canvas. (I could describe what I saw, but it could become a like a paragraph in the novels...)

I felt small and humble amidst those mountains, and thankful, for a chance to breath the air, the sounds and the sights of a beautiful morning unfold. The evening before, we had also been blessed to see the sun set. That, and several other beautiful sights.


Sunset.
Photo by Alex Kamweru





Resilience. A small plant, holding on to the dry, hard rock with its fragile roots and a strong will to survive.
Photo by Alex Kamweru



Alex.
The photographer and a friend, who has taught me resilience and compassion.

Naivasha

Other sights along the journey.

Naivasha Town.






The soil here is rich and fertile. Vegetables abundant.


Mount Longonot. A Dormant Volcano.


Ever seen a tree grow taller than clouds?



Unfortunately, some of these beautiful sights that [detox] your soul is taken away by the building of a dam.

Street Kids. City Crimes.

It is Sunday today. The city center of Mombasa is quiet. Closed shops and deserted roads.

I think best when I am walking (or in car rides), and think I did as I walked those deserted streets. Professor Tun Myint had just sent pupils in his Approaches to development class with a list of textbooks, and I wondered how going back to Carleton would be like and also learning more about development through academic lenses. Mio had sent me an email, and I wondered how the Carls would be studying in the libe for their finals now.

I also thought about a kid named Andrew, whom I met as I was leaving the internet cafe, after checking the emails. He is a street kid. But unlike most street kids, who sniff glue and hassle passerbys for money, Andrew said, "I want to go to school but I can't. I need a sponsor." That could very well have been a ploy for money, but he was sincere, and I could tell that he had the potential to succeed, if given the opportunity.

I think most street kids would too. They may appear aggressive, rude, and dirty. But these are consequences of their cirumstances. Once, I was hassled a group of these children. One grabbed my hand, but I just yanked it off and kept walking. It was a [natural] response but when I had sometime to think, I regreted it. These children need love, and care. Not strangers giving them hostilities when they are begging for help. I hadn't want to repeat that.

I told Andrew that I would think about how best I could help him and that I would find him again. With that, I continued walking, and thinking. And I also texted a friend of mine, Danny, who has doing a study on street kids about the organizations. He gave me two names... I was planning on finding Andrew, and refering him to one of these organizations.

Perhaps I was too deep in thoughts that I had neglected reality. It had slipped my mind to pay more attention to my my cell phone and wallet as I approached a busy matatu (bus) stand. It was packed and crowded. Conductors touted for passengers. As I creened through the crowd, I felt a tug on my pockets. I checked my pockets. They were gone.

I looked around. There was a kid walking quickly away, turning back to look at someone. Me, perhaps. I followed him. He circled the matatu. I caught up with him. He looked like he wasn't older than 15 years. He wore rugged jeans and a baggy shirt which was probably not his.

You took my phone, I accused him. He replied, No. And he showed me his front pockets of the jeans. I wasn't sure what to do then. I thought it was him who stole. But I didn't know for sure. If I had insisted on searching him, I could have get my valuables back. But I would also have made a scene.

And if it wasn't him? I didn't want to accuse him of something he didn't do.

So I walked off. Found someone that would lend me a phone and called my number. (It was probably wishful thinking to imagine that the thief would answer it...) The phone was turned off.
I walked back home. And wondered if these kids have learnt these means of survival. Stealing. Lying. Tricking people into giving money.

I am not sure.

I tried looking for Andrew on the way, but he wasn't there. There was also nothing I could have done, or wanted to do, except for thinking about

lost phone
street kids
poverty
lack of opportunities
learning skills of survival
but not education

what I could have done. Or could be doing.

------------------
What would you have done?

Streets of Old Town Mombasa

The streets of Old Town Mombasa have a colourful diversity of history, people and architecture.
As complex as the demographic and geographic make up is, the streets also hold many puzzles, and I often get lost (literally or in thoughts), as I walk these narrow allies and busy streets.

Tuk-Tuk or a Three wheel vehicle serve as taxis.




Muslim children on their way to Saturday morning school.




Another form of transport, that is a trolley/cart.




Allies.
Roof.

questions.

It has been 2 months into the SIT Kenya program and we have started with our independent study project phase.

Armed with a pen and notebook, I have gone, eagerly to practice my field research techniques; interviewing people on the streets, staff members of various organizations. It was a little intimidating at first. Like running off into the deep end of the pool without knowing how to swim, I was searching for answers to my questions, without the confidence that the questions I have will bear answers.

But I am enjoying it immensely. This form of learning appeals more to me than learning through books. I have to admit that it is partly because I don't enjoy reading a lot. More importantly, though, I it is inspiring to witness the work and efforts of many, in the stride for a better quaility of life for the Kenyan communities.

My search for answers have also raised more questions.

Last week, I spoke with a counselor at a clinic where commercial sex workers (CSWs) (or prostitutes, as some of us know them) are given free ARVs (Antiretroviral durgs, or medicine to keep HIV+ people healthy). He is an advocate and an activist for the fight against CSWs' stigma and discrimination. Many of them, he says are victims of circumstances. Teenage pregnancies, the leave them with children to take care of. Irresponsible boyfriends that have left them scared and angry parents who have stopped loving them, in the time that these girls need love, and guidence more than ever. "Transactional Sex" is the consequence of the lack of any other way of supporting livelihoods and should instead be considered "sex for survival". Does it mean that it should be justified?

Last night, I had a conversation with a friend of mine about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. The history and the causation responsible for loss of lives and destruction of homes is deeply complex, rooted in politics, religion, and resources. If we hear the views of each side, it seems justifiable. But who is accountable? Who should be stopping it?

Be it war or prostitution, begging or robbery, we can give the view points from different sides and the motives behind such acts seems justifiable but it is undebatable that these are disintegrating the society. Looking for those accountable and responsible, could very well be a task of finding people to shoulder the blame, but forgiving is not the solution either. So how do we find meaningful solutions to these problems, if there is any at all?

Thich Naht Hanh (a Buddhist monk) said: if you see a lion eating a rat in the valley, and you are on top of a hill with a bush of strawberries, smile and savor the strawberries, instead of frowning upon the lion. The exact wording might be wrong but the concept is, there is no use troubling over problems we cannot solve. If we adopt this concept to societal problems, it call for an attitude of indifference and inaction. Would the world be more peaceful then? Or will the problems continue accumulating into a mountain that would cast a dark shadow over humanity?

Photography

Photography has its controversies.

The process of taking a picture restricts the photographer to the narrow, constructed frame of the lens, taking away the reality of the moment. And yet, it could preserve this moment for an infinite period of time.

In the media, it is an unbiased form of reporting information to the masses. And yet, it has also been accused of sterotyping groups of people. What is the first thing that comes to mind, when you see a picture of skin to bone children with swollen bellies?

Africa?

Surely, I have been affected by these stereotypes, and had preconceived notions of what African countries are like, and this was, undebatably affected by photos I have seen.

Photography that could be a truthful representation could be misleading and controversial.

In the last few months, I have had a chance to practice this and I wonder about the role I am playing in this controversies. And I have also witnessed some contradictions.

Here is an example- Walking around with a camera invites different reactions from the locals, depending on where I am. Sometimes, it makes me the star of the moment, when people (children especially) want me to take their photos. On other occasions, I had to ask if I could take a picture and the responses vary. Some would say a blunt no. Some would smile in response. Some say no, but really meant yes.

And sometimes, I would be asked for money. These are the people who feel that they have been exploited by photography and tourists who feed on the visual representation of their lives, that are often representations of poverty. To these people of urban slums, photography has negative connotation, related to exploitation of poverty by the rich, insensitive tourists or foreigners.

Not always though.

An organization called The Mwelu Foundation has used photography as a stepping stone to instill life skills and leadership in children of the Mathare Slum. I had the privilege of visiting one of their meetings one Saturday and it is startling how motivated these children are.

Every Saturday, they would meet in a humble but welcoming apartment to learn about photo taking and editing skills. But before each meeting, all of them (about 20 odd children) would cram into a small room to discuss topics pertaining to life. The topic of that afternoon was success. The discussion was facilitated by an 18 year old, but facilitation was barely necessary. The kids were mature and confident to talk about the success, what it means, how to achieve it and so on. It was actually harder stopping the discussion than starting one.

It was my first time there but I could sense that their spirit of community was strong, and that they enjoy these meetings. To these kids in the slums, photography was something they look forward to.



Here are some photos I have taken to appease children who are eager to be photographed:



Children in Shirazi (small village in the south coast) gather to play their afternoon away. They would play soccer, catching or pretend to be swimming in the sea of dust and sand.


This is another side of the life of children who grow up in an environment unlike Shirazi.
These pictures are taken at a private nursery in Mombasa called Teddy Steps, when they were having a swimming competition.

SIghts from Uganda and Rawanda Trip

For the last 8 days, we had an educational tour to Uganda and Rwanda.

1 Van, 8 Students, a teacher and countless number of towns passed. We spent at least 60+ hours in the car last week. I would be putting up more thoughts and commentaries about the trip, but this week, we are struggling to finish a final term paper and prepare for our research, so the posts might take sometime, but here are some pictures.


When we reached the border of Kenya and Uganda, after an 8 hour drive from Nairobi, we loaded up the small van. It started raining soon after. The border busy, messy and crowded.



Congolese Mountains from a distance.


Settlements on the bank of Lake Edward, Uganda


Mist blanketing the Ugandan vallies.


Banana plantations by the mountainside, in Rwanda.


Ugandan countryside



Roadside Fruitstalls


Sunset from the window of the van.

Sunset

A small village in Uganda

Encounters with Animals in Uganda