Well, the projects are moving forward. Ok, so some of them are moving quicker than others, but after my initial frustration at our progress due to disappearing people, poor time-keeping or having to consult unrelated elders who have nothing to do with anything caused me to revise down my targets, I am pleased to say that I may be able to raise them again.
I am detecting signs that my energy and determination may have infected a proportion of the school (especially the children) and unless I am mistaken, there is tangible sense of getting things done in the air; I am increasingly being approached by teachers and children alike with ideas for projects and things they would like to organise. It is really gratifying.
Alors, here is the bilan as we reach the end of term:
Sponsorship: When I arrived I was given a waiting list of 10 children to sponsor. Thanks to you (you know who you are) this has been done. In fact, we have moved onto the second list. Thank you thank you!
Rabbits: On Wednesday of this week, Benson and I completed the rabbit hutch. I know it took much longer than I expected, but it is also much more impressive than I expected, with its own compound and door and lock. We celebrated its completion with a cup of tea in the workshop and as we sat back and considered our achievement, I made Benson listen to some music. It was beautiful… we sipped our tea and listened to opera and during each piece I explained to Benson what was going on (there’s always a girl involved):
. The Pearl Fishers Duet: Nadir and Zurga recall how their friendship was once threatened when they both fell in love with an unknown priestess.
. Nessun Dorma: Calaf, the unknown prince, has fallen in love with the beautiful but cold Princess Turandot, and in spite of having answered correctly the 3 riddles required to marry her (he could have been beheaded had he failed), she still refuses to marry him. Calaf offers her another chance by challenging her to guess his name by dawn, if she does so, she can execute him; but if she does not, she must marry him. Calaf is certain of victory hence him singing All'alba vincerò! Vincerò! Vincerò! (I will win)
Oooh I digress! Anyway on Thursday of this week, I went with Mama Muriuki (one of the cooks from the school kitchen) to her home to buy 6 rabbits and together we brought them back and released them to their new home. One is pregnant so in the not too distant future there will be the patter of tiny paws.
To cut a long story short, it is complete.
Solar Power: I have received a competitive quote and now we are busy raising funds so we can try and get this done next term.
Workshop: With great help from our Swedish visitors, the workshop is fully operational. Benson has been able to complete several internal jobs for the school (desk, shelves, desks etc), and now we are starting to look for and take orders from the community and surrounding schools. Tomorrow we hope to close a deal with Kimabugi Hich School to make them 100 stools.
Vitamins for children: Again with assistance from the Swedish visitors, the children are now receiving vitamin tablets every Monday morning.
New School Website: Jo has done the design, Mike in the US has very kindly offered to host and build it for free, and together with the school we are working on the content.
Clubs: This term we started the school choir and this evening we had the first meeting of the new school music club (the request for which came from Purity & Moureen). After the meeting we had the end of term talent show…it was great. I even got to perform one of my own lamentable poems.
Bags 4 Life: Having found a load of cotton bags in the container we received, I took them together with the new school logo from Jo, down to the printers I found in Murang’a. Today I collected the first printed bag and it looks pretty good. Now we can go ahead and get them all done and see if we can’t sell a few!
Jane Wanjiku’s house: As soon as the masons have completed the new boys dorm, they will turn their attention to building Jane a much needed new home.
School Football Team Kit: Someone at my Mum's work donated us an entire football kit which arrived this past week. The children are elated. The school team can now play with a higher degree of dignity and pride.
“I Wish”: This week I asked all the children to complete the phrase “I wish”. I have collected almost all the responses and they are ace. I’ll post them all soon for you to have a look at. We will whether we can’t grant some next term.
All in all I am very happy. And next term will be even better.
Thanks to all those who have helped this term.
Love
Matt
Saturday, 27 March 2010
Wednesday, 24 March 2010
Nairobi
This past weekend we went to Nairobi. James had some fellowship meeting with former classmates, and I, well I needed a change of scenery. I am pushing two months now and was itching to see something other than Murang’a; not that Murang’a isn’t ACE!
I got the white knuckle ride I had so longed for the previous weekend on the way to Nairobi. For as little as 200KES (a bit less than £2), you can revisit every moment of your life in fast forward as you rocket towards Nairobi in an overheated metal box.
As we raced down the C71 with Boney M’s Greatest hits blasting, I could only surmise that someone had bet the driver he couldn’t get there in under 90 minutes. Sat up front, the slightly rotund lady next to me and I hung on to anything screwed or welded down as we hurtled round bends, raced through intersections and ignored pedestrian crossings. For a split second I swear I looked round to see the driver had transformed into Satan.
Our only respite was climbing hills, when weighed down by passengers we chugged up them reluctantly. Motorbikes, cars, lorries and the smell of the engine overtook us as we screamed up in second gear. But once over the crest of the hill, the driver stepped on the gas and accelerated to 100 mph in a matter of seconds. We flew down the other side passing everything that had passed us on the way up.
Thinking if I exchanged a few words and thus created a relationship with the driver he might value my life a little more, I asked him a question:
- What time do you think we will arrive in Nairobi?
He answered my question with a question of his own:
- How can we sing the lord’s song in a straaaaange land?
I should have prayed at last week’s weekend challenge I thought to myself
Approaching the outskirts of Nairobi, the pace slowed markedly as we were absorbed into the traffic that blights and blocks every artery of Nairobi. The pace may have slowed but the danger was far from over, for you see only the rules of the game had changed. Now, instead of just brut speed; simply bombing past your fellow road user, it was a case of outwitting, outslaloming & outchicaning them. We’d gone from Monza to Monaca, an altogether more challenging proposition.
Swapping Boney M for Asswad, we got in amongst it: down the wrong side of the road, the wrong way round roundabouts, off the road altogether, turning off at junctions only to pull on again at the last minute in front of the vehicle ahead of us … it was no holds barred.
But, in spite of seat of the pants nature of the journey, we arrived alive and well. Indeed the only incident we saw was on the way back; an upturned truck loaded (well, no-longer) with tomatoes.
Nairobi’s reputation precedes it. Known as Nairobbery, it is famed for its extremes: crime and poverty. I don’t doubt the existence of the first, but I only saw the latter. But that said, the city appeared vibrant and chock full of shops and all kinds of restaurants. I only wish I had more time to really get under the surface. Next time.
Walking from the mutatu stage, we left the grittier part of town renowned its illegal Somali and Sudanese immigrants, passed innumerable mobile phone and electronic shops in the direction of the plusher CBD and the Hilton hotel where we went our separate ways. James had arranged to meet and stay with his university class mates, and I was expected at the Bishop’s son’s family home.
It was quite dark and quite late when I arrived at Kirru’s place, and finding most of the family was attending the school play, I had a late supper with Flo (the house help) and hit the hay.
Saturday: Sight-seeing
Replenished after a good night sleep, a proper shower (yay!) and a breakfast of Weetabix (how long has it been!), toast and fruit, I was ready to get out and discover a bit Nairobi. But before I did, I watched the family’s Saturday morning routine. Kirru is married to Mercy and together they have 2 daughters (Njoki & Wanjiru) and 1 son (Mahia).
The first to leave was Kirru who was taking part in a training session all weekend. He shot out at 08h30. Then Mercy went to the gym before coming home and taking Wanjiru & Mahia to their piano lesson. In the meantime, Njoki welcomed her Biology tutor for her Saturday morning class (Njoki is preparing for her A-Levels in 2 months). It struck me as I sat in the eye of this domestic hurricane, that this family was no different than many families I had known when I was a child including my own; very active, lots of past-times, Dad shouting at the kids to get ready and hurry up, Mum playing the role of taxi driver. And the children, well they say ‘way’, ‘like’ and ‘whatever’ … the lingua franca of kids the world over. Already in Nairobi we were a world away from Murang’a; in fact this family’s life in Nairobi seemed closer to the lives I have experienced in the UK, France of the US, than life in Murang’a.
James arrived at about 11h00 and together we set off to explore Nairobi…or at least as much as we could in a day. Our first destination was the National Museum which apparently is one of the must sees. Situated a shortish but sweaty walk (past an overturned tea juggernaut) from the city centre, the National Museum houses an extensive if depressing collection of stuffed native animals and birds. And in the centre of it all there is the skeleton of an elephant called Ahmed who became something of cours celebre in the 1980s owing to his enormous tusks. As a prime target for poachers, the President of Kenya (knowing a vote winner when he saw one) granted Ahmed 2 round the clock body guards who followed him wherever he went. One morning they woke up to find him dead (no doubt knackered from trying to shake off those two blokes who kept following him) and his remains were repatriated to Nairobi as patrimony of the nation.
If like me, looking at stuffed animals is not your idea of fun, there is the exhibit on man’s evolution (all linked to the fossil remains found in an around Kenya - Lake Turkana primarily) and the exhibits on the Kenyan culture and wildlife in the Masai Mara which were top drawer.
Dosed up on culture for another 2 months, we made our way back into town for some retail therapy. I needed a phone as I can no longer legitimately continue to use my French one.
As we headed back into town we were relieved to see the tea from the overturned tea juggernaut was being transferred to another truck.
James led us through a labyrinth of back streets where every second shop was printers or plate makers. The streets got narrower and narrower until you could reach out and touch the walls on either side … and get your hands very dirty. James wanted to show me where he used to work when he was at University in Nairobi; I thought I could do the same in Birmingham until I remembered I hadn’t worked. We stopped off in the printers James used to work in to say hello to a group of 3 guys who were busy rattling off election posters for the student council. The place smelt overpoweringly of ink, which I thought to myself explained the glazed look on their faces.
Pleasantries over, we stopped off in a Safaricom agency just long enough for me to get my own phone, the first for 5 years (number +254 717 96 47 94) before going to celebrate its acquisition with some fries and ice-cream. We ate our food in front of the window of a TV showroom watching Aston Villa play Wolves…it was great.
As time was not on our side by now, we got a shift on to Parliament. I am ashamed to say I was more than a little disappointed. I don’t mean to cause any offence; it’s just that I was expecting an imposing Victorian colonial structure, a cross between Mansion House & the Old Bailey. What I beheld looked more like a converted fire station. We didn’t hang around.
That evening back at Kiiru’s place, Mercy was kind enough to run me to a supermarket when I admitted I was really missing cheese. The selection was not wide; it ran to cheddar. Playing safe, I opted for some cheddar and returned to the till via the biscuit aisle in hope more than anything else and was overjoyed to find Hob Nobs … even if there were £2 a packet! (Note to all, please include Hob Nobs in any future food parcels).
Sunday: Church & Slum
You must know by now that Sunday here invariably means church. I was invited to accompany my hosts and their family to Nairobi Chapel. Dispel any ideas of a small sandstone country church, the Nairobi Chapel is an enormous circus tent that from a distance (and close up) looks more like a big top. I reckon you could fit 8 tennis courts inside the main one alone … as there is a smaller separate one for the youth church; us youngsters don’t mix with crusty older flock, or so I thought.
Now I know you’ll back me up on this. It was only natural when I headed in the direction of the youth service. Imagine my horror therefore when I was called back for being “clearly over 18”. Balderdash, there’s nothing clear about it!
A little disgruntled, Mercy and I entered the main big top for what I’ll refer to as the “mature persons’ service”. The place was rammed. I’m shocking at maths, but looking around I quickly calculated well over 1000 people. We found ourselves a couple of green garden chairs and sat down in front of large stage upon which a band was tuning up. A few moments later the band were joined by 7 singers.
The ‘band’ struck up and we were off. It was more like a pop concert than a church service with only the lyrics betraying the true nature of why we were there. Following the lead singer’s example, most people had their hands in the air, others were turning round and others were shuffling from side to side…but all were singing along lustily; and if heaven forbid you didn’t know the words then you could refer to the giant screen overhead.
After four or five well received numbers, the band and six of the singers exited leaving the lead singer alone on the stage.
- Is he going to do a couple of solos? I asked Mercy
- No, that’s the junior priest, she replied.
And so he was. For 45 minutes he addressed the congregation and for 45 minutes he had the congregation in stitches, but always with a message. There was an interview section when he invited a couple on stage to recount their own story (they both used to be ravers, drink a lot and live in sin before finding Jesus and being reborn), and finally the local youth dance troop “Dice” (Dedicated In Christ Expression) came on a performed … they weren’t quite Diversity, but they were pretty good…I managed to catch them after the service to invite them to come and work with our dance club here at St. Anna and they agreed! The priest ended his sermon by asking if there were any first-timers at the Nairobi Chapel. My hand shot up and I received a bag of ground nuts and a warm round of applause.
It was all very different than the church going days of my youth…much less formal and stuffy. I’m not suggesting this kind of set-up would have them flocking back in droves in the UK, but it couldn’t hurt. Talking with Mercy as we filed out, she told me her children absolutely love it…I can almost see why.
As we drove back, Mercy asked me if I would like to see the Kibera slum. Of course I said, without knowing quite to what I was agreeing to. I was horrified and fascinated, shocked and awestruck, sickened and saddened all at the same time. It was Dickensian in its depravity.
Approaching Kibera, you could be mistaken for thinking it is a large market but you quickly realise it is much more. As if someone has spread tin foil across the landscape, the metal rooves of Kibera stretch as far as the eye can see … and it is continually growing.
No sooner do you see Kibera then you smell it. The air was filled with a mix of vegetables and excrement. We passed through recurring waves of coriander and sewage.
Children scurried over piles of refuse for food and to salvage anything of any worth. As we drove along the main road that snakes through the slum, a young boy skipped across the road in front of the car holding a bottle top triumphantly aloft.
I was overcome with the desire stop and explore, but knowing there was fat chance of Mercy acceding to my request and slim chance of me coming out alive, I kept quiet. But I made a mental note to ask James if there is any way of organising an escorted visit at another time (watch this space but not a word to Omi).
As we left Kibera behind us, Mercy told me that Kibera falls in the Prime Minister’s constituency. Why on earth they elect him back into parliament to represent them is beyond me. In spite of the conditions, the residents continually reject the Government’s proposals to relocate them elsewhere. Better the devil you know I suppose?
And that was more or less it. After lunch I met James and we headed back to St. Anna. I slept all the way. The change of scenery was most welcome, but it is nice to be back with the children for their last full week (and exams) before the Easter break.
_ _ _
I reckoned you’d want to know more about Kibera, so what follows is a direct transcript from the Lonely Planet (reproduced without their permission…Ssshhh!):
KIBERA
Home to an estimated 1 million residents, the shanty town of Kibera is second in size only to Soweto in Johannesburg, South Africa. Kibera, which is derived from a Nubian word ‘kibra’, meaning forest, it is a sprawling urban jungle of shanty town housing. The neighbourhood was thrust into the Western imagination when it was featured prominently in the Fernando Meirelles film The Constant Gardener, which is based on the book of the same name by John le Carré. With the area heavily polluted by open sewers, and lacking even the most basic infrastructure, residents of Kibera suffer poor nutrition, violent crime and disease.
Although it’s virtually impossible to collect accurate statistics on shanty towns, which change their demographics almost daily, the rough estimates for Kibera are shocking enough. According to local aid workers, Kibera is home to one pit toilet for every 100 people, suffers from an HIV/AIDS infection rate of more than 20% (Matthew’s note: versus 6% in Kenya at large), and four out of five people living here are unemployed. These stark realities are compounded by the fact that the social services needed to address the situation are largely absent form governmental policies.
HISTORY
The British established Kibera in 1918 for Nubian soldiers as reward for service in WWI. However, following Kenyan independence in 1963, housing in Kibera was rendered illegal by the government on the basis of land tenure. But this new legislation inadvertently allowed the Nubians to rent out their property to a greater number of tenants than legally permitted and, for poorer tenants Kibera was perceived as affordable despite the legalities. Since the mid-1970s, though, control has been firmly in Kikuyu hands, who now comprise the bulk of the population.
ORIENTATION
Kibera is located southwest of the CBD. Although it is 2.5 sq km in area, it’s home to somewhere between a quarter and third of Nairobi’s population, and has a density of approximately 300,000 people per sq km.
I got the white knuckle ride I had so longed for the previous weekend on the way to Nairobi. For as little as 200KES (a bit less than £2), you can revisit every moment of your life in fast forward as you rocket towards Nairobi in an overheated metal box.
As we raced down the C71 with Boney M’s Greatest hits blasting, I could only surmise that someone had bet the driver he couldn’t get there in under 90 minutes. Sat up front, the slightly rotund lady next to me and I hung on to anything screwed or welded down as we hurtled round bends, raced through intersections and ignored pedestrian crossings. For a split second I swear I looked round to see the driver had transformed into Satan.
Our only respite was climbing hills, when weighed down by passengers we chugged up them reluctantly. Motorbikes, cars, lorries and the smell of the engine overtook us as we screamed up in second gear. But once over the crest of the hill, the driver stepped on the gas and accelerated to 100 mph in a matter of seconds. We flew down the other side passing everything that had passed us on the way up.
Thinking if I exchanged a few words and thus created a relationship with the driver he might value my life a little more, I asked him a question:
- What time do you think we will arrive in Nairobi?
He answered my question with a question of his own:
- How can we sing the lord’s song in a straaaaange land?
I should have prayed at last week’s weekend challenge I thought to myself
Approaching the outskirts of Nairobi, the pace slowed markedly as we were absorbed into the traffic that blights and blocks every artery of Nairobi. The pace may have slowed but the danger was far from over, for you see only the rules of the game had changed. Now, instead of just brut speed; simply bombing past your fellow road user, it was a case of outwitting, outslaloming & outchicaning them. We’d gone from Monza to Monaca, an altogether more challenging proposition.
Swapping Boney M for Asswad, we got in amongst it: down the wrong side of the road, the wrong way round roundabouts, off the road altogether, turning off at junctions only to pull on again at the last minute in front of the vehicle ahead of us … it was no holds barred.
But, in spite of seat of the pants nature of the journey, we arrived alive and well. Indeed the only incident we saw was on the way back; an upturned truck loaded (well, no-longer) with tomatoes.
Nairobi’s reputation precedes it. Known as Nairobbery, it is famed for its extremes: crime and poverty. I don’t doubt the existence of the first, but I only saw the latter. But that said, the city appeared vibrant and chock full of shops and all kinds of restaurants. I only wish I had more time to really get under the surface. Next time.
Walking from the mutatu stage, we left the grittier part of town renowned its illegal Somali and Sudanese immigrants, passed innumerable mobile phone and electronic shops in the direction of the plusher CBD and the Hilton hotel where we went our separate ways. James had arranged to meet and stay with his university class mates, and I was expected at the Bishop’s son’s family home.
It was quite dark and quite late when I arrived at Kirru’s place, and finding most of the family was attending the school play, I had a late supper with Flo (the house help) and hit the hay.
Saturday: Sight-seeing
Replenished after a good night sleep, a proper shower (yay!) and a breakfast of Weetabix (how long has it been!), toast and fruit, I was ready to get out and discover a bit Nairobi. But before I did, I watched the family’s Saturday morning routine. Kirru is married to Mercy and together they have 2 daughters (Njoki & Wanjiru) and 1 son (Mahia).
The first to leave was Kirru who was taking part in a training session all weekend. He shot out at 08h30. Then Mercy went to the gym before coming home and taking Wanjiru & Mahia to their piano lesson. In the meantime, Njoki welcomed her Biology tutor for her Saturday morning class (Njoki is preparing for her A-Levels in 2 months). It struck me as I sat in the eye of this domestic hurricane, that this family was no different than many families I had known when I was a child including my own; very active, lots of past-times, Dad shouting at the kids to get ready and hurry up, Mum playing the role of taxi driver. And the children, well they say ‘way’, ‘like’ and ‘whatever’ … the lingua franca of kids the world over. Already in Nairobi we were a world away from Murang’a; in fact this family’s life in Nairobi seemed closer to the lives I have experienced in the UK, France of the US, than life in Murang’a.
James arrived at about 11h00 and together we set off to explore Nairobi…or at least as much as we could in a day. Our first destination was the National Museum which apparently is one of the must sees. Situated a shortish but sweaty walk (past an overturned tea juggernaut) from the city centre, the National Museum houses an extensive if depressing collection of stuffed native animals and birds. And in the centre of it all there is the skeleton of an elephant called Ahmed who became something of cours celebre in the 1980s owing to his enormous tusks. As a prime target for poachers, the President of Kenya (knowing a vote winner when he saw one) granted Ahmed 2 round the clock body guards who followed him wherever he went. One morning they woke up to find him dead (no doubt knackered from trying to shake off those two blokes who kept following him) and his remains were repatriated to Nairobi as patrimony of the nation.
If like me, looking at stuffed animals is not your idea of fun, there is the exhibit on man’s evolution (all linked to the fossil remains found in an around Kenya - Lake Turkana primarily) and the exhibits on the Kenyan culture and wildlife in the Masai Mara which were top drawer.
Dosed up on culture for another 2 months, we made our way back into town for some retail therapy. I needed a phone as I can no longer legitimately continue to use my French one.
As we headed back into town we were relieved to see the tea from the overturned tea juggernaut was being transferred to another truck.
James led us through a labyrinth of back streets where every second shop was printers or plate makers. The streets got narrower and narrower until you could reach out and touch the walls on either side … and get your hands very dirty. James wanted to show me where he used to work when he was at University in Nairobi; I thought I could do the same in Birmingham until I remembered I hadn’t worked. We stopped off in the printers James used to work in to say hello to a group of 3 guys who were busy rattling off election posters for the student council. The place smelt overpoweringly of ink, which I thought to myself explained the glazed look on their faces.
Pleasantries over, we stopped off in a Safaricom agency just long enough for me to get my own phone, the first for 5 years (number +254 717 96 47 94) before going to celebrate its acquisition with some fries and ice-cream. We ate our food in front of the window of a TV showroom watching Aston Villa play Wolves…it was great.
As time was not on our side by now, we got a shift on to Parliament. I am ashamed to say I was more than a little disappointed. I don’t mean to cause any offence; it’s just that I was expecting an imposing Victorian colonial structure, a cross between Mansion House & the Old Bailey. What I beheld looked more like a converted fire station. We didn’t hang around.
That evening back at Kiiru’s place, Mercy was kind enough to run me to a supermarket when I admitted I was really missing cheese. The selection was not wide; it ran to cheddar. Playing safe, I opted for some cheddar and returned to the till via the biscuit aisle in hope more than anything else and was overjoyed to find Hob Nobs … even if there were £2 a packet! (Note to all, please include Hob Nobs in any future food parcels).
Sunday: Church & Slum
You must know by now that Sunday here invariably means church. I was invited to accompany my hosts and their family to Nairobi Chapel. Dispel any ideas of a small sandstone country church, the Nairobi Chapel is an enormous circus tent that from a distance (and close up) looks more like a big top. I reckon you could fit 8 tennis courts inside the main one alone … as there is a smaller separate one for the youth church; us youngsters don’t mix with crusty older flock, or so I thought.
Now I know you’ll back me up on this. It was only natural when I headed in the direction of the youth service. Imagine my horror therefore when I was called back for being “clearly over 18”. Balderdash, there’s nothing clear about it!
A little disgruntled, Mercy and I entered the main big top for what I’ll refer to as the “mature persons’ service”. The place was rammed. I’m shocking at maths, but looking around I quickly calculated well over 1000 people. We found ourselves a couple of green garden chairs and sat down in front of large stage upon which a band was tuning up. A few moments later the band were joined by 7 singers.
The ‘band’ struck up and we were off. It was more like a pop concert than a church service with only the lyrics betraying the true nature of why we were there. Following the lead singer’s example, most people had their hands in the air, others were turning round and others were shuffling from side to side…but all were singing along lustily; and if heaven forbid you didn’t know the words then you could refer to the giant screen overhead.
After four or five well received numbers, the band and six of the singers exited leaving the lead singer alone on the stage.
- Is he going to do a couple of solos? I asked Mercy
- No, that’s the junior priest, she replied.
And so he was. For 45 minutes he addressed the congregation and for 45 minutes he had the congregation in stitches, but always with a message. There was an interview section when he invited a couple on stage to recount their own story (they both used to be ravers, drink a lot and live in sin before finding Jesus and being reborn), and finally the local youth dance troop “Dice” (Dedicated In Christ Expression) came on a performed … they weren’t quite Diversity, but they were pretty good…I managed to catch them after the service to invite them to come and work with our dance club here at St. Anna and they agreed! The priest ended his sermon by asking if there were any first-timers at the Nairobi Chapel. My hand shot up and I received a bag of ground nuts and a warm round of applause.
It was all very different than the church going days of my youth…much less formal and stuffy. I’m not suggesting this kind of set-up would have them flocking back in droves in the UK, but it couldn’t hurt. Talking with Mercy as we filed out, she told me her children absolutely love it…I can almost see why.
As we drove back, Mercy asked me if I would like to see the Kibera slum. Of course I said, without knowing quite to what I was agreeing to. I was horrified and fascinated, shocked and awestruck, sickened and saddened all at the same time. It was Dickensian in its depravity.
Approaching Kibera, you could be mistaken for thinking it is a large market but you quickly realise it is much more. As if someone has spread tin foil across the landscape, the metal rooves of Kibera stretch as far as the eye can see … and it is continually growing.
No sooner do you see Kibera then you smell it. The air was filled with a mix of vegetables and excrement. We passed through recurring waves of coriander and sewage.
Children scurried over piles of refuse for food and to salvage anything of any worth. As we drove along the main road that snakes through the slum, a young boy skipped across the road in front of the car holding a bottle top triumphantly aloft.
I was overcome with the desire stop and explore, but knowing there was fat chance of Mercy acceding to my request and slim chance of me coming out alive, I kept quiet. But I made a mental note to ask James if there is any way of organising an escorted visit at another time (watch this space but not a word to Omi).
As we left Kibera behind us, Mercy told me that Kibera falls in the Prime Minister’s constituency. Why on earth they elect him back into parliament to represent them is beyond me. In spite of the conditions, the residents continually reject the Government’s proposals to relocate them elsewhere. Better the devil you know I suppose?
And that was more or less it. After lunch I met James and we headed back to St. Anna. I slept all the way. The change of scenery was most welcome, but it is nice to be back with the children for their last full week (and exams) before the Easter break.
_ _ _
I reckoned you’d want to know more about Kibera, so what follows is a direct transcript from the Lonely Planet (reproduced without their permission…Ssshhh!):
KIBERA
Home to an estimated 1 million residents, the shanty town of Kibera is second in size only to Soweto in Johannesburg, South Africa. Kibera, which is derived from a Nubian word ‘kibra’, meaning forest, it is a sprawling urban jungle of shanty town housing. The neighbourhood was thrust into the Western imagination when it was featured prominently in the Fernando Meirelles film The Constant Gardener, which is based on the book of the same name by John le Carré. With the area heavily polluted by open sewers, and lacking even the most basic infrastructure, residents of Kibera suffer poor nutrition, violent crime and disease.
Although it’s virtually impossible to collect accurate statistics on shanty towns, which change their demographics almost daily, the rough estimates for Kibera are shocking enough. According to local aid workers, Kibera is home to one pit toilet for every 100 people, suffers from an HIV/AIDS infection rate of more than 20% (Matthew’s note: versus 6% in Kenya at large), and four out of five people living here are unemployed. These stark realities are compounded by the fact that the social services needed to address the situation are largely absent form governmental policies.
HISTORY
The British established Kibera in 1918 for Nubian soldiers as reward for service in WWI. However, following Kenyan independence in 1963, housing in Kibera was rendered illegal by the government on the basis of land tenure. But this new legislation inadvertently allowed the Nubians to rent out their property to a greater number of tenants than legally permitted and, for poorer tenants Kibera was perceived as affordable despite the legalities. Since the mid-1970s, though, control has been firmly in Kikuyu hands, who now comprise the bulk of the population.
ORIENTATION
Kibera is located southwest of the CBD. Although it is 2.5 sq km in area, it’s home to somewhere between a quarter and third of Nairobi’s population, and has a density of approximately 300,000 people per sq km.
Tuesday, 23 March 2010
Our elephants are safe, for now
“Our elephants are safe, for now” is one of the top stories in today’s Daily Nation.
“Kenya and the African elephant yesterday won a major victory after the ongoing UN conservation meeting in Qatar shot down proposals from Tanzania and Zambia to allow partial trade in Ivory.
The first to be shot down was Tanzania’s proposal a few minutes after midday yesterday. “The Tanzanian proposal has been rejected, which is a very encouraging sign for our efforts in the last few months” and elated Mr. Julius Kipng’etich told the Nation. Tanzania was asking to sell almost 200,00 pounds (90,000 kilograms) of ivory that would have generated as much as £20 million. It noted that its elephant population has risen from about 55,000 in 1989 to almost 137,000, according to a 2007 study.
At the centre of the controversy has been a petition by Tanzania and Zambia to the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species (CITES) to “down-list” the status of elephants so that they can sell stock piled ivory on the open market.
What the new development means is that the status quo remains … the nine-year moratorium and nobody sells ivory.”
“Kenya and the African elephant yesterday won a major victory after the ongoing UN conservation meeting in Qatar shot down proposals from Tanzania and Zambia to allow partial trade in Ivory.
The first to be shot down was Tanzania’s proposal a few minutes after midday yesterday. “The Tanzanian proposal has been rejected, which is a very encouraging sign for our efforts in the last few months” and elated Mr. Julius Kipng’etich told the Nation. Tanzania was asking to sell almost 200,00 pounds (90,000 kilograms) of ivory that would have generated as much as £20 million. It noted that its elephant population has risen from about 55,000 in 1989 to almost 137,000, according to a 2007 study.
At the centre of the controversy has been a petition by Tanzania and Zambia to the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species (CITES) to “down-list” the status of elephants so that they can sell stock piled ivory on the open market.
What the new development means is that the status quo remains … the nine-year moratorium and nobody sells ivory.”
Chapati - 1st Amendment
Jemma astutely pointed out that I didn’t tell you what to do with the carrots in the Chapatti recipe. Unreserved apologies.
I have edited the Chapatti post to include the instructions.
I have edited the Chapatti post to include the instructions.
Saturday, 20 March 2010
Jiggers!
These past 2 days we have focused on completing the rabbit hutch. Having been told finally where to put it, with the assistance of 6 strapping stone masons, we moved it on Thursday and set it down in its final resting place. All being well it should be there for a long time to come.
With that remaining detail settled, on Friday we were able to get on with erecting the fence around hutch. This of course has the dual purpose of keeping the rabbits in, but also keeping the unwanted out; it also creates a nice grazing area of the rabbits towards to the back of the hutch.
Although I am writing this from Nairobi, the pen should have been finished today and I have just returned from buying 7 padlocks secure the hutch and the door to the pound.
The work on Friday was only interrupted by the small matter of Chico’s feet. Chico is the little girl who is on my profile picture on Facebook…her cuteness equalled only by her mischief.
On Friday she was in some discomfort however and would not stop rubbing, scratching and treading on her own right big toe; at one point she reverted to sucking and biting it.
Not being able to understand what Chico was telling me, I asked Benson to translate and learned that Chico had jiggers (I didn’t know what they were either). Benson explained that they are a flea like creature that jump on to your toes and bury their way into the skin and under your toe nails. Judging by Chico’s rubbing & scratching, they itch like billy-oh. The only thing to do is to remove them. And so for a good 30 minutes, Chico bravely let me dig into the skin around and under her big toe nail to remove the beasts.
I may have to review my policy of open toed sandal wearing.
With that remaining detail settled, on Friday we were able to get on with erecting the fence around hutch. This of course has the dual purpose of keeping the rabbits in, but also keeping the unwanted out; it also creates a nice grazing area of the rabbits towards to the back of the hutch.
Although I am writing this from Nairobi, the pen should have been finished today and I have just returned from buying 7 padlocks secure the hutch and the door to the pound.
The work on Friday was only interrupted by the small matter of Chico’s feet. Chico is the little girl who is on my profile picture on Facebook…her cuteness equalled only by her mischief.
On Friday she was in some discomfort however and would not stop rubbing, scratching and treading on her own right big toe; at one point she reverted to sucking and biting it.
Not being able to understand what Chico was telling me, I asked Benson to translate and learned that Chico had jiggers (I didn’t know what they were either). Benson explained that they are a flea like creature that jump on to your toes and bury their way into the skin and under your toe nails. Judging by Chico’s rubbing & scratching, they itch like billy-oh. The only thing to do is to remove them. And so for a good 30 minutes, Chico bravely let me dig into the skin around and under her big toe nail to remove the beasts.
I may have to review my policy of open toed sandal wearing.
Friday, 19 March 2010
Last Sunday - Weekend Challenge
Last Sunday, to have a change from the service at the school or the local church, we crossed the valley to Kiambugi High School. Over the weekend they were holding what they had called “The Weekend Challenge”. Thinking it sounded cool and more than likely involved climbing walls and one of the those army zip wires, I set the pace for most of the way there.
Keen to learn about the events and the rides - “will there be a helter skelter?”, “how much is it to hook a duck”, “is it impossible to throw the rings over the prizes like in England?” I pressed James to tell me more. As it turned out, my vision of some kind of white water assault course with raunchy playing card prizes was way off the mark. The weekend challenge was actually a weekend prayer marathon hosted by students from the East African School of Theology; the challenge being to pray more than you have ever prayed before.
We met the Theology students first before we made our way to the school assembly hall. As always, to warm the crowd up, the students sing. But in comparison to St. Anna where the songs are confined to more traditional songs, the students of Kiambugi are accorded greater freedom in-line with their age. Some sang, some danced, some rapped … and all of them really well; including James Macharia, the boy who if you recall we had gone to see and whose house had left me in tears.
Once the congregation was sufficiently uplifted it was time to bring them down again. And how better to do this than a sermon about everything you shouldn’t do. For 45 minutes the boys were told:
. Lying is bad
. Smoking is bad
. Sex is bad
For ¾ of an hour we ran through a catalogue of evils, all of them guaranteed to destroy your future if you do not put them to death. Like some arcade game we were instructed we must put them to death if we wish to move to the next level; to fulfil our destiny.
- “Pornographic websites are bad”, announced the preacher. “There is even one where you can play draughts, and if you win the lady in the corner of the screen undresses” (I stopped him after for the website … of course I didn’t)
But seriously, the sermon was undoubtedly powerful as was the speaker’s oratory, but I couldn’t help thinking to myself if this was really the best way to reach young men and women; through fear and threat. Looking around the hall during that time, some were listening, but most were gazing out of the windows and some were asleep.
Having never found preaching particularly effective, nor are you able to teach anyone anything they aren’t willing to learn, I decided then and there that when my turn came, as surely it would, I would go for the subtler approach. So having won the sympathy vote with few words of my lamentable Kikuyu, I was able to make the fable of the man and donkey last 15 minutes. And in all objectivity, I honestly believe it was better received.
This is not to take away anything from the Theology students. They were a really nice bunch of people and one of them, a Masai called Moses promised to try and help 2 weeks ‘embedded’ with the Masai. Don’t tell Omi (my Gran).
Seeing James Macharia got me thinking about his story. I never did relate it to you, so here it is now.
“My life history since my father died in 1999” by James Macharia Guthege
Dear Friends,
I feel very sorry and pity to give this life story of my family as tears and confusion fills me with alot of fear of how my family will be after I will get employed after my education.
I am the oldest in my family among the boys and have got a sister who is first born but married in early age. I have got 3 brothers and 2 sisters and have my mothers. Since long i.e. 1999 my father was killed because of our land a person wanted to take it by force, his brothers were all killed but on one was left of whom is not normal and lives in a mission centre called Gaburi Mission Centre in Murang’a District i.e. in Kenya. His sister and my grand mother got last up to today. I have never seen or heard about them. After my fathers burial of whom his name was Francis Mwagi Gathege and my mother Alice Njeri Gathege.
We were left helpless because my mom was not educated and was mamed when very young. Since I seemed to be the brightest, God sent me some two good Samaritans of whom were Mr and Mrs Mahiaini. They took and assisted my family members and helped them with food, clothers and shelter because we used to stay in a linking house (Matthew’s note: leaking) all of us and slept in one bed and our life was very hard. As time went by they provided and opened and centre i.e. ST. ANNA and we used to go there on Saturdays and could get food and we could be given a word of God and sometimes even clothes. They also opened a small school and were started learning there and other people could join us and share our problems with them. They have been doing a lot and they have been educating me through other good well wishers (Matthew’s note: sponsors) and also my brothers and sister but I now I am in a high school doing and trying my best.
So father Mr. and Mrs Mahiani built a two roomed house of my mother but I I am living in a leaking house with my brothers others sleeping on the floor and uses sacs and old clothes to cover themselves because we can not share the two room as my mother’s and sister’s bedroom while the other one is used as a tableroom of which we sit on jars and containers. My mother is just doing all she can to feed us all but cannot go further than that.
Since now I am about 20 yrs and can try my best to help my family God has given me a talent of singing and have composed about 20 of them (Matthew’s note: songs) but have no money to record them. I am requesting you as good well wishers and in the name of the father to help me with what God can give you to produce or record then with your assistance of money because I myself have decided not to keep quiet with my problems. I am a Christian and serves as a C.U. (Matthew’s note: Christian Union) choir lead in school P.O. Box 73 Murang’a, Kenya and I am a Youth member of A.C.K. St. Michaels church, Gathukeini in Murang’a, Kenya P.O. Box 183.
I have been living with a lot of problems, Confusion and hopless life but I do belief that God is going to do a new thing in my life.
Mat God bless you as I wait to hear form you
From James Macharia
Keen to learn about the events and the rides - “will there be a helter skelter?”, “how much is it to hook a duck”, “is it impossible to throw the rings over the prizes like in England?” I pressed James to tell me more. As it turned out, my vision of some kind of white water assault course with raunchy playing card prizes was way off the mark. The weekend challenge was actually a weekend prayer marathon hosted by students from the East African School of Theology; the challenge being to pray more than you have ever prayed before.
We met the Theology students first before we made our way to the school assembly hall. As always, to warm the crowd up, the students sing. But in comparison to St. Anna where the songs are confined to more traditional songs, the students of Kiambugi are accorded greater freedom in-line with their age. Some sang, some danced, some rapped … and all of them really well; including James Macharia, the boy who if you recall we had gone to see and whose house had left me in tears.
Once the congregation was sufficiently uplifted it was time to bring them down again. And how better to do this than a sermon about everything you shouldn’t do. For 45 minutes the boys were told:
. Lying is bad
. Smoking is bad
. Sex is bad
For ¾ of an hour we ran through a catalogue of evils, all of them guaranteed to destroy your future if you do not put them to death. Like some arcade game we were instructed we must put them to death if we wish to move to the next level; to fulfil our destiny.
- “Pornographic websites are bad”, announced the preacher. “There is even one where you can play draughts, and if you win the lady in the corner of the screen undresses” (I stopped him after for the website … of course I didn’t)
But seriously, the sermon was undoubtedly powerful as was the speaker’s oratory, but I couldn’t help thinking to myself if this was really the best way to reach young men and women; through fear and threat. Looking around the hall during that time, some were listening, but most were gazing out of the windows and some were asleep.
Having never found preaching particularly effective, nor are you able to teach anyone anything they aren’t willing to learn, I decided then and there that when my turn came, as surely it would, I would go for the subtler approach. So having won the sympathy vote with few words of my lamentable Kikuyu, I was able to make the fable of the man and donkey last 15 minutes. And in all objectivity, I honestly believe it was better received.
This is not to take away anything from the Theology students. They were a really nice bunch of people and one of them, a Masai called Moses promised to try and help 2 weeks ‘embedded’ with the Masai. Don’t tell Omi (my Gran).
Seeing James Macharia got me thinking about his story. I never did relate it to you, so here it is now.
“My life history since my father died in 1999” by James Macharia Guthege
Dear Friends,
I feel very sorry and pity to give this life story of my family as tears and confusion fills me with alot of fear of how my family will be after I will get employed after my education.
I am the oldest in my family among the boys and have got a sister who is first born but married in early age. I have got 3 brothers and 2 sisters and have my mothers. Since long i.e. 1999 my father was killed because of our land a person wanted to take it by force, his brothers were all killed but on one was left of whom is not normal and lives in a mission centre called Gaburi Mission Centre in Murang’a District i.e. in Kenya. His sister and my grand mother got last up to today. I have never seen or heard about them. After my fathers burial of whom his name was Francis Mwagi Gathege and my mother Alice Njeri Gathege.
We were left helpless because my mom was not educated and was mamed when very young. Since I seemed to be the brightest, God sent me some two good Samaritans of whom were Mr and Mrs Mahiaini. They took and assisted my family members and helped them with food, clothers and shelter because we used to stay in a linking house (Matthew’s note: leaking) all of us and slept in one bed and our life was very hard. As time went by they provided and opened and centre i.e. ST. ANNA and we used to go there on Saturdays and could get food and we could be given a word of God and sometimes even clothes. They also opened a small school and were started learning there and other people could join us and share our problems with them. They have been doing a lot and they have been educating me through other good well wishers (Matthew’s note: sponsors) and also my brothers and sister but I now I am in a high school doing and trying my best.
So father Mr. and Mrs Mahiani built a two roomed house of my mother but I I am living in a leaking house with my brothers others sleeping on the floor and uses sacs and old clothes to cover themselves because we can not share the two room as my mother’s and sister’s bedroom while the other one is used as a tableroom of which we sit on jars and containers. My mother is just doing all she can to feed us all but cannot go further than that.
Since now I am about 20 yrs and can try my best to help my family God has given me a talent of singing and have composed about 20 of them (Matthew’s note: songs) but have no money to record them. I am requesting you as good well wishers and in the name of the father to help me with what God can give you to produce or record then with your assistance of money because I myself have decided not to keep quiet with my problems. I am a Christian and serves as a C.U. (Matthew’s note: Christian Union) choir lead in school P.O. Box 73 Murang’a, Kenya and I am a Youth member of A.C.K. St. Michaels church, Gathukeini in Murang’a, Kenya P.O. Box 183.
I have been living with a lot of problems, Confusion and hopless life but I do belief that God is going to do a new thing in my life.
Mat God bless you as I wait to hear form you
From James Macharia
Wednesday, 17 March 2010
Chapati
Eaten as often as possible here, chapatis have a big place in the food of Kenya. I looked up their provenance in Kenya and found this: “Chapatis were one of the first prepared foods to be "globalized" in relatively modern times. They spread into Africa and South-East Asia as Indians moved about within the British Empire, back in the days when one could. Today, in countries like Kenya, chapatis are considered "traditional" food, though they probably only really arrived there in the final years of the 19th century with Indians working on the Kenya-Uganda railway.
But enough of the history lesson…how do you make them? Having made them for years, James doesn’t habitually measure out the ingredients for chapatis, but recognising the evangelical nature of this exercise, he agreed to. So for one night only…
Ingredients (to make about 14 chapati)
3 cups/mugs (full) of wholemeal flour
2 eggs
2 carrots (very finely grated - these will add flavour and boost consistency & texture)
Pinch of salt
Pinch of sugar
Sieve the flour into a bowl, add a pinch of sugar and salt and mix in the 2 eggs with a wooden spoon. Sprinkle in the grated carrots and keep mixing until you have a smoothish dough.
Sprinkle a little flour on a work surface/board and knead the dough with your hands until very fine and it no-longer sticks to your hands. This is best done when frustrated.
Now Take a handful of dough at a time and roll it out (if you have a work surface large enough, you can roll out the entire dough). Roll to thickness of about 2 or 3mm and apply a little oil; this will help the chapati pastry obtain a kind of layering when cooked.
Pat each of the dough discs back into portions of about the size of a hockey puck (he says having never held a hockey puck). Then when ready you can roll out each again to a diameter of about 20cm and a thickness of ca. 2mm.
Place the uncooked chapatis one at a time in a frying pan with no oil and cook on either side until it becomes golden (just like a pancake). You can keep the ones you have already cooked on top of the one that is cooking to keep warm.
You may eat them immediately or warm them up in a pan again.
Serve with rice and some kind of stewy sauce affair, or of course with a curry or balti.
But enough of the history lesson…how do you make them? Having made them for years, James doesn’t habitually measure out the ingredients for chapatis, but recognising the evangelical nature of this exercise, he agreed to. So for one night only…
Ingredients (to make about 14 chapati)
3 cups/mugs (full) of wholemeal flour
2 eggs
2 carrots (very finely grated - these will add flavour and boost consistency & texture)
Pinch of salt
Pinch of sugar
Sieve the flour into a bowl, add a pinch of sugar and salt and mix in the 2 eggs with a wooden spoon. Sprinkle in the grated carrots and keep mixing until you have a smoothish dough.
Sprinkle a little flour on a work surface/board and knead the dough with your hands until very fine and it no-longer sticks to your hands. This is best done when frustrated.
Now Take a handful of dough at a time and roll it out (if you have a work surface large enough, you can roll out the entire dough). Roll to thickness of about 2 or 3mm and apply a little oil; this will help the chapati pastry obtain a kind of layering when cooked.
Pat each of the dough discs back into portions of about the size of a hockey puck (he says having never held a hockey puck). Then when ready you can roll out each again to a diameter of about 20cm and a thickness of ca. 2mm.
Place the uncooked chapatis one at a time in a frying pan with no oil and cook on either side until it becomes golden (just like a pancake). You can keep the ones you have already cooked on top of the one that is cooking to keep warm.
You may eat them immediately or warm them up in a pan again.
Serve with rice and some kind of stewy sauce affair, or of course with a curry or balti.
Sunday, 14 March 2010
Good News
The week has ended on a high note all round. First of all Benson & I finished the rabbit hutch yesterday and we are ready now to put it in its place … as soon as we are told where its place it. It sounds simple enough I’ll admit, but this is Kenya and nothing is simple. As with pretty much everything here, opinions differ on its final resting place and right now we have a shortlist of 3 candidates … it’s like choosing the venue for the Open. I hope we have a decision by Monday as I wish to buy the rabbits at the start of next week so the children can’t start looking after them … I don’t really fancy waiting another 2 weeks to get this thing finished.
By the close of play yesterday afternoon, I also felt that I had got myself a half-decent first version of the “Envisioned Future”; at least it is the first one that I have drafted that I didn’t immediately delete. As my personal business model has always been to surround myself with people smarter than I am, I’d like to run it by you now. By 2020, St. Anna will be:
“The leading primary institution in the Gaturi location; a centre of excellence where children and teachers alike can fulfil their academic, personal, physical, moral and spiritual development.
St. Anna will provide a stimulating learning environment with a technological orientation across the whole curriculum, which maximises individual potential and ensures students of all ability levels are well equipped to meet the challenges of education, work and life.
The centre will continue to faithfully work as a hub of support to the community offering a programme of learning activities, services and guidance.
Finally, St. Anna will be as self-sufficient & sustainable as possible in all its operations. We will have eliminated our dependence on fossil fuels and will systematically employ ecological design practice in all development to create working, interdependent systems that serve both humans and the environment.”
Honestly…what do you think? I am trying to make sure I have covered the students, the teachers, the community and the green factor. In addition to the vision, the strategic plan is moving forward.
This morning, I awoke to the news that the 40’ container that had been shipped from Canada over a year and a half ago had arrived during the night. To back up just a little for those who don’t know the whole story, 18 months ago some of the school’s friends & sponsors in Canada sent us a container full of things including a van, a car, bikes, computers and clothes. You may not be surprised to learn that container never made it here but was in fact retained in Nairobi container port due to ‘irregularities’ (concerns and eyebrows were raised over the potential tax amount we were required to pay in spite of the goods being charitable). So for the last 18 months the school, or more precisely Mr. Waigi the school administrator, has been going back and too to the depot to assure, negotiate, plead for its release. Each time, Mr. Waigi had “a document missing”, and by the time he had obtained the afore mentioned paper another was now “out of date…sorry”. And so on and so on … you get the picture.
Well in the past 2 weeks, after months of intransigence things began to move. First KEBs, the Kenyan Bureau of Standards, waived their charges linked to the vehicles (KES700k or approx £6k). Then on the 4th March the tax waiver for the charitable goods that had been lodged in 2008 was also granted (KES1m or approx £9k). All that remained was to settle the ‘rental fee’ for the 18 months the container had been in the care of the ICD in Embakasi (KES1,324m or £12k).
Then would you believe it last week we received news that we had been given an 80% discount on this, leaving us KES360k (a little over £3,2k) to find. So yesterday a message went out to all supporters and sponsors requesting whether they would consider supporting to this end. Our sponsors clearly move fast, as the container was delivered to the school at 04am this morning.
As it’s just too good to be true I have tried to persuade the school to enter every lottery and back every long shot and outsider in every race, game and fight over the weekend.
If you ask me, the nature of its release is as mysterious at is retention. We’re a mighty long way from the sea, but the whole ‘containergate’ affair has a whiff of fish about it. But who am I to question it? To everyone here the lord moves in mysterious ways his wonders to perform, and there was general rejoicing this morning as the container was unloaded from the truck. Although the rejoicing was tinged with a little sadness when it was realised that all computers and some of the bikes had disappeared at some point during the 18 month incarceration.
I left the children ooing and aahing at the remaining contents to go and get ready, as yesterday was Jane’s wedding; my first Kikuyu wedding. I was told to be ready for 11h00 as the service starts at 11h30, and so as instructed at 11h00 I strolled back up to the school to rendezvous with the other teachers only to find that virtually all of them were still inside the container.
So this being Africa we turned up an hour late. The church was packed to the black, white and yellow decorated rafters. Everyone was turned out in their best clothes; bright colours for the ladies (lots of pink), and shiny wide-awake suits for the men. I also counted 9 vicars at the front of the church (apparently you bring all the vicars who have served at your local church during your time).
As we were late we had already missed most of the religious bit; the exchanging of vows and all that. Indeed, just as Elizabeth (the school secretary) and I were making ourselves comfortable on our pew they were proclaimed man & wife. Fortunately the ceremony was far from over. On the contrary, that only brought the curtain down on the formal part, for now I learned the entertainment was to begin.
A splendid variety of speeches, songs and poems was expertly compeered by the same fellow who had led the pre-wedding. I didn’t understand much but I clapped when others clapped, I ooh’d when they ooh’d, whooped when they whooped, Amen’d when they Amen’d and waived my hands in the air when they waived their hands in the air.
I was particularly proud of the girls and boys of St. Anna who performed a poem about ‘living love’ (how the married couples relationship should be) together with choreographed movements and then followed up with a song. I was just turning to Elizabeth to tell her the same when with one hand she grabbed my right wrist and with the other hand she thrust a piece of paper in to my left hand and pulled me in the direction of the front of the church. It was there that the other (female) teachers from St. Anna were now gathered to sing a song in Kikuyu…the words being on the sheet I had been given. I had no idea of the tune or what I was singing, but I did my best not to let the side down and managed to articulate a word here and there whenever I found my place again (good job Matthew the mason was not there). I’ll try and find the song sheet again and write it up for you.
In need of refreshment I snook out at this point to grab a coke and some air, and popped in and out of the church for the remainder of the ceremony. The entertainment went on for at least another hour and a half!
At the end we all walked around the back of the church to the field for the reception. A very long queue was formed and food was served, and then the bride and groom arrived in the midst of a mass of dancing ladies. The procession circled the marquee twice before everyone sat down again, and we were treated to more speeches and present giving.
Anticipating the inevitable I accompanied the children back to school … well, someone had to :-)
By the close of play yesterday afternoon, I also felt that I had got myself a half-decent first version of the “Envisioned Future”; at least it is the first one that I have drafted that I didn’t immediately delete. As my personal business model has always been to surround myself with people smarter than I am, I’d like to run it by you now. By 2020, St. Anna will be:
“The leading primary institution in the Gaturi location; a centre of excellence where children and teachers alike can fulfil their academic, personal, physical, moral and spiritual development.
St. Anna will provide a stimulating learning environment with a technological orientation across the whole curriculum, which maximises individual potential and ensures students of all ability levels are well equipped to meet the challenges of education, work and life.
The centre will continue to faithfully work as a hub of support to the community offering a programme of learning activities, services and guidance.
Finally, St. Anna will be as self-sufficient & sustainable as possible in all its operations. We will have eliminated our dependence on fossil fuels and will systematically employ ecological design practice in all development to create working, interdependent systems that serve both humans and the environment.”
Honestly…what do you think? I am trying to make sure I have covered the students, the teachers, the community and the green factor. In addition to the vision, the strategic plan is moving forward.
This morning, I awoke to the news that the 40’ container that had been shipped from Canada over a year and a half ago had arrived during the night. To back up just a little for those who don’t know the whole story, 18 months ago some of the school’s friends & sponsors in Canada sent us a container full of things including a van, a car, bikes, computers and clothes. You may not be surprised to learn that container never made it here but was in fact retained in Nairobi container port due to ‘irregularities’ (concerns and eyebrows were raised over the potential tax amount we were required to pay in spite of the goods being charitable). So for the last 18 months the school, or more precisely Mr. Waigi the school administrator, has been going back and too to the depot to assure, negotiate, plead for its release. Each time, Mr. Waigi had “a document missing”, and by the time he had obtained the afore mentioned paper another was now “out of date…sorry”. And so on and so on … you get the picture.
Well in the past 2 weeks, after months of intransigence things began to move. First KEBs, the Kenyan Bureau of Standards, waived their charges linked to the vehicles (KES700k or approx £6k). Then on the 4th March the tax waiver for the charitable goods that had been lodged in 2008 was also granted (KES1m or approx £9k). All that remained was to settle the ‘rental fee’ for the 18 months the container had been in the care of the ICD in Embakasi (KES1,324m or £12k).
Then would you believe it last week we received news that we had been given an 80% discount on this, leaving us KES360k (a little over £3,2k) to find. So yesterday a message went out to all supporters and sponsors requesting whether they would consider supporting to this end. Our sponsors clearly move fast, as the container was delivered to the school at 04am this morning.
As it’s just too good to be true I have tried to persuade the school to enter every lottery and back every long shot and outsider in every race, game and fight over the weekend.
If you ask me, the nature of its release is as mysterious at is retention. We’re a mighty long way from the sea, but the whole ‘containergate’ affair has a whiff of fish about it. But who am I to question it? To everyone here the lord moves in mysterious ways his wonders to perform, and there was general rejoicing this morning as the container was unloaded from the truck. Although the rejoicing was tinged with a little sadness when it was realised that all computers and some of the bikes had disappeared at some point during the 18 month incarceration.
I left the children ooing and aahing at the remaining contents to go and get ready, as yesterday was Jane’s wedding; my first Kikuyu wedding. I was told to be ready for 11h00 as the service starts at 11h30, and so as instructed at 11h00 I strolled back up to the school to rendezvous with the other teachers only to find that virtually all of them were still inside the container.
So this being Africa we turned up an hour late. The church was packed to the black, white and yellow decorated rafters. Everyone was turned out in their best clothes; bright colours for the ladies (lots of pink), and shiny wide-awake suits for the men. I also counted 9 vicars at the front of the church (apparently you bring all the vicars who have served at your local church during your time).
As we were late we had already missed most of the religious bit; the exchanging of vows and all that. Indeed, just as Elizabeth (the school secretary) and I were making ourselves comfortable on our pew they were proclaimed man & wife. Fortunately the ceremony was far from over. On the contrary, that only brought the curtain down on the formal part, for now I learned the entertainment was to begin.
A splendid variety of speeches, songs and poems was expertly compeered by the same fellow who had led the pre-wedding. I didn’t understand much but I clapped when others clapped, I ooh’d when they ooh’d, whooped when they whooped, Amen’d when they Amen’d and waived my hands in the air when they waived their hands in the air.
I was particularly proud of the girls and boys of St. Anna who performed a poem about ‘living love’ (how the married couples relationship should be) together with choreographed movements and then followed up with a song. I was just turning to Elizabeth to tell her the same when with one hand she grabbed my right wrist and with the other hand she thrust a piece of paper in to my left hand and pulled me in the direction of the front of the church. It was there that the other (female) teachers from St. Anna were now gathered to sing a song in Kikuyu…the words being on the sheet I had been given. I had no idea of the tune or what I was singing, but I did my best not to let the side down and managed to articulate a word here and there whenever I found my place again (good job Matthew the mason was not there). I’ll try and find the song sheet again and write it up for you.
In need of refreshment I snook out at this point to grab a coke and some air, and popped in and out of the church for the remainder of the ceremony. The entertainment went on for at least another hour and a half!
At the end we all walked around the back of the church to the field for the reception. A very long queue was formed and food was served, and then the bride and groom arrived in the midst of a mass of dancing ladies. The procession circled the marquee twice before everyone sat down again, and we were treated to more speeches and present giving.
Anticipating the inevitable I accompanied the children back to school … well, someone had to :-)
Friday, 12 March 2010
General Observations
On the weather:
Although I have only been here for 6 weeks, I can feel the seasons beginning to change. It has become noticeably cooler in the mornings, so much so that I have actually started to sleep under the covers and for the first time last Monday I put a sweater on to go to school assembly. Checking my lonely planet Kenya it says we are moving from the hot dry season (Jan-Mar) to the season of long rainfalls (Mar – beginning of June). Now when I say it’s chilly in the morning, it is still 10-15°c but compared with the mid 20s of Feb you really notice the difference
On mangos:
Sad news…the mango season is slowly drawing to a close. There are fewer and fewer to be seen on the trees, being brought to school and generally given out as greetings.
Every cloud though… the avocado season begins when the mango season ends. You couldn’t have scripted it better.
On the internet:
Getting on the internet is a challenge so normally I prepare mails and blogs in advance and log on on, paste/post, and log off again. In and out like a swat team except I don’t make those ridiculous “hut hut” noises. Surely the baddies hear them coming when they do that?
On hair & skin:
My skin : The children are fascinated by my whiteness (I am very white) but are all equally convinced that in 6 months I will look like them :-)
My hair: This is of particularly interest…on your head, arms, legs, my beard or Doru as it is called here…they love to touch it. The colour my hair also has a peculiar effect on most people I meet. I am invariably met with the question “what have I done to it?”
On the journey to and from school:
We have a school van than picks up and drops off the children who live furthest away. The van is designed to carry 14…I counted 34 on the way home this evening.
On taking a shower:
A shower is conducted as follows:
Step 1: You fill a bucket (topped up with a little from the kettle if you are not feeling brave enough),
Step 2: Slosh half the bucket over yourself
Step 3: Wash,
Step 4: Rinse yourself of with the other half
I have made a video for the benefit of mankind and future generations, but first need to figure out how to blur out my bits (for the benefit of mankind and future generations).
On timekeeping:
Simply put, there is no time-keeping; be it be meetings, deadlines or whatever.
For a football match announced to begin at 3h00 … don’t bother turning up until 4h30 at the earliest. For a rabbit hutch to be built in 4 days … count 8.
On Stephen Mwangi:
One of our orphan by name Stephen Mwangi Std 6 was admitted at Kenyatta National Hospital. Stephen is sponsored in Sweden by Göte Henriksson. His problem started with eyes problem whereby he couldn’t see the work written on the blackboard. He was later taken to the Hospital (District) he was given some medicine and he came back to school. He had been attending the clinic throughout.
After the school opened again in Jan, he came back to school with no improvement. His guardian decided to take him to Kenyatta National Hospital as he was swollen all over his body. He was later diagonised as suffering from Kidney failure.
On dogs:
Packs of wild dogs are known to roam and are best avoided. The day is no problem but beware ar night. Normally at around 23h00 they start to howl in chorus.
There are 2 ‘school’ dogs. One is called Bingo, and the second not knowing her name we have christened Bessy. Since we have been giving them bones and tit-bits, they now sit outside our door in evening.
On aid to Africa:
Since the 1940s, approximately US$1 trillion of aid has been transferred from rich countries to Africa. This is nearly US$1,000 for every man, woman and child on the planet today.
On being a role model:
Setting a good example for children takes all the fun out of middle age.
Although I have only been here for 6 weeks, I can feel the seasons beginning to change. It has become noticeably cooler in the mornings, so much so that I have actually started to sleep under the covers and for the first time last Monday I put a sweater on to go to school assembly. Checking my lonely planet Kenya it says we are moving from the hot dry season (Jan-Mar) to the season of long rainfalls (Mar – beginning of June). Now when I say it’s chilly in the morning, it is still 10-15°c but compared with the mid 20s of Feb you really notice the difference
On mangos:
Sad news…the mango season is slowly drawing to a close. There are fewer and fewer to be seen on the trees, being brought to school and generally given out as greetings.
Every cloud though… the avocado season begins when the mango season ends. You couldn’t have scripted it better.
On the internet:
Getting on the internet is a challenge so normally I prepare mails and blogs in advance and log on on, paste/post, and log off again. In and out like a swat team except I don’t make those ridiculous “hut hut” noises. Surely the baddies hear them coming when they do that?
On hair & skin:
My skin : The children are fascinated by my whiteness (I am very white) but are all equally convinced that in 6 months I will look like them :-)
My hair: This is of particularly interest…on your head, arms, legs, my beard or Doru as it is called here…they love to touch it. The colour my hair also has a peculiar effect on most people I meet. I am invariably met with the question “what have I done to it?”
On the journey to and from school:
We have a school van than picks up and drops off the children who live furthest away. The van is designed to carry 14…I counted 34 on the way home this evening.
On taking a shower:
A shower is conducted as follows:
Step 1: You fill a bucket (topped up with a little from the kettle if you are not feeling brave enough),
Step 2: Slosh half the bucket over yourself
Step 3: Wash,
Step 4: Rinse yourself of with the other half
I have made a video for the benefit of mankind and future generations, but first need to figure out how to blur out my bits (for the benefit of mankind and future generations).
On timekeeping:
Simply put, there is no time-keeping; be it be meetings, deadlines or whatever.
For a football match announced to begin at 3h00 … don’t bother turning up until 4h30 at the earliest. For a rabbit hutch to be built in 4 days … count 8.
On Stephen Mwangi:
One of our orphan by name Stephen Mwangi Std 6 was admitted at Kenyatta National Hospital. Stephen is sponsored in Sweden by Göte Henriksson. His problem started with eyes problem whereby he couldn’t see the work written on the blackboard. He was later taken to the Hospital (District) he was given some medicine and he came back to school. He had been attending the clinic throughout.
After the school opened again in Jan, he came back to school with no improvement. His guardian decided to take him to Kenyatta National Hospital as he was swollen all over his body. He was later diagonised as suffering from Kidney failure.
On dogs:
Packs of wild dogs are known to roam and are best avoided. The day is no problem but beware ar night. Normally at around 23h00 they start to howl in chorus.
There are 2 ‘school’ dogs. One is called Bingo, and the second not knowing her name we have christened Bessy. Since we have been giving them bones and tit-bits, they now sit outside our door in evening.
On aid to Africa:
Since the 1940s, approximately US$1 trillion of aid has been transferred from rich countries to Africa. This is nearly US$1,000 for every man, woman and child on the planet today.
On being a role model:
Setting a good example for children takes all the fun out of middle age.
Tuesday, 9 March 2010
Bricks, Cakes & MPs
Give you one guess where I am writing this? Got it in one…dans le noir. Reflecting upon the almost clockwork frequency of electricity outages in our manor, I can only conclude that it is actually part of some orchestrated power rationing. It’s just too regular.
So to set the scene: Stage left; James is chopping beef, lamp on head, Stage right; Matthew sits writing blog, lamp on head. Centre stage; two cups of tea and a plate of assorted biscuits indiscernible in the dark.
- Well this is a fine how-dee-doo, isn’t James? I can’t make out my ginger nuts from my bourbon creams!
You know, there are restaurants in Paris and I dare say London and elsewhere where this kind of setting is their very selling point; and furthermore to which punters flock in droves to pay for the privilege of sitting in the dark and eating. Sitting here now at home in the dark fumbling with my ginger nuts it strikes me as the very pinnacle of absurdity.
And so another weekend draws to an end. And as sure as Monday follows Sunday, Monday will follow Sunday. How were your respective weekends? As weekends in my life go, it was quite extraordinary…as weekends in Kenya go, it was routine.
Before I begin I want to pause for a second to dwell on this. I’ll try and explain. The thought has struck me often these past weeks that things in Kenya just seem to happen. I mean, if we’re honest with each other (and I’d like to think we are) we’d probably admit that the events that I have shared with you over these past 5+ weeks are very different than those we encounter where we live. Like Mr. Bump in the Mr. Men stories, for something to happen, you just walk around. Maybe it is just that life takes place on a different plain here; or owing to the circumstances of existence, it is much more fragile; or maybe it is just contextual – everything is actually normal and it is only me that is surprised as I am so out of water? Whatever it is, things just seem to happen. And Saturday was no exception.
After a very leisurely morning, I eventually made it out of the apt just after 10h00 to join the carpenter. Saturday was the day for making doors for the rabbit hutch and Benson and I had agreed to meet at 10h30 to strategise over a brew. All bid decisions take place over a brew. Our discussion went something like this:
- Wimwega Benson!
- Nikwega mono Matthew!
- So today we are making doors, right?
- Yes, with wood.
- Great!
Satisfied we were on the same page, we got on with cutting the wood to make doors. I stayed with Benson until I was completely sure that he could cope without me, and just after 11h00 I made my way over to the boys dorm construction site to meet Matthew the mason.
If you have been following closely you will recall that last time Matthew and I got together, we had paid a visit to Jane to decide what should be done about her house (we had agreed to rebuild). So on Saturday we were off to meet a man about some bricks.
Our first stop was Matthew’s home to say hello to his wife and children and have a cuppa. As we sipped our tea Matthew explained that owing to the poor infrastructure and consequent difficulty moving things around here, brick factories have a tendency to be located where the raw material is. This, Matthew continued, was going to make our journey a little more complicated than normal. He was spot on.
From the school we took a mutatu for about a mile to the next stop in the direction of Murang’a Town where we alighted. There we interrupted the driver of a waiting motorbike from his slumbers and engaged him to take us the 3 miles or so into the hills to the brick factory. All 3 of us clambered aboard and not unlike the police motorcycle display team, we set off. We rolled down the hills with the engine off, then at the bottom he’d fire it up, kick it into gear and Matthew and I would try not to fall off. Every now and then we were too much for the bike; on a particularly steep hill one of us would have to get off…it must be all the mangos.
I knew we were getting close as the universal green became increasingly perforated by miniature red quarries. The brick “factories” we visited were no more than cottage industries; small open cast mines run by local families who have cleft away the side of the hill upon which they live to excavate the earth beneath their feet.
We descended into the first quarry; a series of interconnected pits and trenches dug into the hill with a piles of various sized bricks stacked every 10 metres or so. All this surrounding a small cluster of tin roofed buildings that served as the nerve centre of the facility, the highest of all being the furnace and chimney. Matthew looked at the bricks then picked a couple up. Weighing them in his hands he made some derisory noises. Clearly not happy with the size or quality of the bricks (not shiny enough), we continued to the neighbouring quarry. Although a much smaller operation, the bricks were according to Matthew of superior quality; we of course did not tell them this.
And so the discussion moved to price. Keen to play our cards close to our chest, Matthew and I retreated out of earshot to the lip of the quarry. Now Matthew still is still under the impression I speak fluent Kikuyu so most of what he proceeded to tell me I did not get; fearing the complete break down of our working relationship if I explain the truth, I am now guilty of maintaining the pretence. Sometimes it is just too late to say! I decided the best thing to do was keep quiet and leave Matthew to do the talking. And I think that is exactly what Matthew was asking of me. This not only got us a large bricks for the price of the small should we decide to go ahead (8KES / brick) but further reinforced the illusion of my Kikuyu proficiency.
Visibly satisfied with the way things had gone, Matthew hailed a passing mutatu and we made our way back to the main road, where we transferred to another one and continued with our journey. After another 10 minutes it was all change again, this time from four wheels back to two.
It is about now that the day takes a slightly surreal turn. At this time I still am under the impression we are visiting brick factories and had just assumed we are on our away to another…get a few quotes, compare suppliers that kind of thing. Little did I know that our brick mission is over and now we are on our way to the grand opening of a local bakery/cake factory…Matthew’s sister’s bakery/cake factory to be precise. It was only when I was presented with a heart shaped Madeira cake by Matthew’s sister and the words ‘welcome to my bakery’ that the penny dropped. Thinking back now the balloons did look a bit incongruous for a brick factory.
Special occasions call for speeches and as this was no exception. So again I spoke some words of thanks and bestowed by best wishes on the operation. I don’t know if it will it be successful, cakes seem to be a expensive luxury in Kenya. But I hope so (it is all I can do here to resist inserting any cake/confectionary related jokes).
As I chit-chatted with Matthew’s sister (not in Kikuyu I hasten to add) she insisted that I cross the road to the local school to greet to the school governors who were currently meeting. Seeing that Matthew was happily munching his way through his second or third cake, it didn’t seem that this would compromise our agenda in any way, so I agreed. The whole cake party moved towards the door (eavesdroppers the lot of em).
Together we crossed the road and entered the grounds of Thuita Primary & Secondary School. Following the direction of the noise we approached the school hall / church. Having been spotted (or forewarned?) the school secretary came rushing out to welcome us. He took me by the hand and ushered me into the hall to make. Expecting a group of maybe a dozen or so governors, I was a little taken a back to see 50+ parents, teachers, governors and members of the clergy turn to examine me. Spotting a seat at the back, I tried made a dash for it, but the secretary had other ideas. The murmur of mũthũngũ (white man) echoed around the room as the secretary led me down the aisle to the front of the room and then onto the small dais where the executive committee of the school were sat. The remainder of cake party had to be content with the back of the room.
The secretary explained that they were currently half way through the agenda and that at the next change of subject would I be so kind introduce myself and tell everyone why I am here and what I am doing (I was hoping he could tell me).
Sneaking a glance at my neighbour’s agenda, I learned that I was attending the Thuita Education Consultative Forum. Most of the proceedings were in Kikuyu but enough English was spoken for me to understand that the meeting was all about the way forward for the school. The recent exams had returned an average grade of ‘D’ at the school which had caused general consternation and much soul searching. Visitor after visitor stood up to voice their opinion on the root cause of the recent poor performance whilst Matthew’s sister distributed cakes to the congregation.
I had sat through an hour of impassioned speeches; most of them more emotional than rational, when a few of the executive members stepped out of the side door, only to come in again at the back in procession led by a new arrival. Not knowing anything about anything, I assumed it was the local vicar. I nodded deferently and the proceedings resumed.
Finally a man in spats got up and talked at length about attitude. He had conducted a SWOT analysis which had only seemed to identify weaknesses. I wrote them down:
. Teachers de-motivated
. Parents’ attitude to education is wanting
. Parents do not attend meetings
. Incompetent committee & board members
You could have heard a pin drop. My notes at this point simply read “will the last one to leave Thuita please turn out the light”.
Seeing as time was getting on and Matthew was making ‘we need to go’ gestures at me from the back of the room, I suggested to the secretary that now be a good time to speak as I would need to leave shortly. The secretary introduced me and I rose to say a few words. As soon as I had recounted what I am doing in Murang’a and where, the questions started. My planned short intro quickly became a full on presentation. I explained that at St. Anna we are in essence going through a similar reflection as Thuita i.e. what is our way forward, what is our road map? For about 30 minutes I detailed our approach, stemming from our core purpose and values to our vision and our strategic intent for each of the pillars of the school – short-term, mid-term and long term. I had a pang of guilt as I talked of some of our impending projects … why St. Anna and not them?
I have been invited back to work with them to help them formalise their own strategy.
As we made our way home, Matthew couldn’t hide his amusement. He laughed for about 10 minutes before he explained to me that the gentleman who had arrived was the local MP.
So to set the scene: Stage left; James is chopping beef, lamp on head, Stage right; Matthew sits writing blog, lamp on head. Centre stage; two cups of tea and a plate of assorted biscuits indiscernible in the dark.
- Well this is a fine how-dee-doo, isn’t James? I can’t make out my ginger nuts from my bourbon creams!
You know, there are restaurants in Paris and I dare say London and elsewhere where this kind of setting is their very selling point; and furthermore to which punters flock in droves to pay for the privilege of sitting in the dark and eating. Sitting here now at home in the dark fumbling with my ginger nuts it strikes me as the very pinnacle of absurdity.
And so another weekend draws to an end. And as sure as Monday follows Sunday, Monday will follow Sunday. How were your respective weekends? As weekends in my life go, it was quite extraordinary…as weekends in Kenya go, it was routine.
Before I begin I want to pause for a second to dwell on this. I’ll try and explain. The thought has struck me often these past weeks that things in Kenya just seem to happen. I mean, if we’re honest with each other (and I’d like to think we are) we’d probably admit that the events that I have shared with you over these past 5+ weeks are very different than those we encounter where we live. Like Mr. Bump in the Mr. Men stories, for something to happen, you just walk around. Maybe it is just that life takes place on a different plain here; or owing to the circumstances of existence, it is much more fragile; or maybe it is just contextual – everything is actually normal and it is only me that is surprised as I am so out of water? Whatever it is, things just seem to happen. And Saturday was no exception.
After a very leisurely morning, I eventually made it out of the apt just after 10h00 to join the carpenter. Saturday was the day for making doors for the rabbit hutch and Benson and I had agreed to meet at 10h30 to strategise over a brew. All bid decisions take place over a brew. Our discussion went something like this:
- Wimwega Benson!
- Nikwega mono Matthew!
- So today we are making doors, right?
- Yes, with wood.
- Great!
Satisfied we were on the same page, we got on with cutting the wood to make doors. I stayed with Benson until I was completely sure that he could cope without me, and just after 11h00 I made my way over to the boys dorm construction site to meet Matthew the mason.
If you have been following closely you will recall that last time Matthew and I got together, we had paid a visit to Jane to decide what should be done about her house (we had agreed to rebuild). So on Saturday we were off to meet a man about some bricks.
Our first stop was Matthew’s home to say hello to his wife and children and have a cuppa. As we sipped our tea Matthew explained that owing to the poor infrastructure and consequent difficulty moving things around here, brick factories have a tendency to be located where the raw material is. This, Matthew continued, was going to make our journey a little more complicated than normal. He was spot on.
From the school we took a mutatu for about a mile to the next stop in the direction of Murang’a Town where we alighted. There we interrupted the driver of a waiting motorbike from his slumbers and engaged him to take us the 3 miles or so into the hills to the brick factory. All 3 of us clambered aboard and not unlike the police motorcycle display team, we set off. We rolled down the hills with the engine off, then at the bottom he’d fire it up, kick it into gear and Matthew and I would try not to fall off. Every now and then we were too much for the bike; on a particularly steep hill one of us would have to get off…it must be all the mangos.
I knew we were getting close as the universal green became increasingly perforated by miniature red quarries. The brick “factories” we visited were no more than cottage industries; small open cast mines run by local families who have cleft away the side of the hill upon which they live to excavate the earth beneath their feet.
We descended into the first quarry; a series of interconnected pits and trenches dug into the hill with a piles of various sized bricks stacked every 10 metres or so. All this surrounding a small cluster of tin roofed buildings that served as the nerve centre of the facility, the highest of all being the furnace and chimney. Matthew looked at the bricks then picked a couple up. Weighing them in his hands he made some derisory noises. Clearly not happy with the size or quality of the bricks (not shiny enough), we continued to the neighbouring quarry. Although a much smaller operation, the bricks were according to Matthew of superior quality; we of course did not tell them this.
And so the discussion moved to price. Keen to play our cards close to our chest, Matthew and I retreated out of earshot to the lip of the quarry. Now Matthew still is still under the impression I speak fluent Kikuyu so most of what he proceeded to tell me I did not get; fearing the complete break down of our working relationship if I explain the truth, I am now guilty of maintaining the pretence. Sometimes it is just too late to say! I decided the best thing to do was keep quiet and leave Matthew to do the talking. And I think that is exactly what Matthew was asking of me. This not only got us a large bricks for the price of the small should we decide to go ahead (8KES / brick) but further reinforced the illusion of my Kikuyu proficiency.
Visibly satisfied with the way things had gone, Matthew hailed a passing mutatu and we made our way back to the main road, where we transferred to another one and continued with our journey. After another 10 minutes it was all change again, this time from four wheels back to two.
It is about now that the day takes a slightly surreal turn. At this time I still am under the impression we are visiting brick factories and had just assumed we are on our away to another…get a few quotes, compare suppliers that kind of thing. Little did I know that our brick mission is over and now we are on our way to the grand opening of a local bakery/cake factory…Matthew’s sister’s bakery/cake factory to be precise. It was only when I was presented with a heart shaped Madeira cake by Matthew’s sister and the words ‘welcome to my bakery’ that the penny dropped. Thinking back now the balloons did look a bit incongruous for a brick factory.
Special occasions call for speeches and as this was no exception. So again I spoke some words of thanks and bestowed by best wishes on the operation. I don’t know if it will it be successful, cakes seem to be a expensive luxury in Kenya. But I hope so (it is all I can do here to resist inserting any cake/confectionary related jokes).
As I chit-chatted with Matthew’s sister (not in Kikuyu I hasten to add) she insisted that I cross the road to the local school to greet to the school governors who were currently meeting. Seeing that Matthew was happily munching his way through his second or third cake, it didn’t seem that this would compromise our agenda in any way, so I agreed. The whole cake party moved towards the door (eavesdroppers the lot of em).
Together we crossed the road and entered the grounds of Thuita Primary & Secondary School. Following the direction of the noise we approached the school hall / church. Having been spotted (or forewarned?) the school secretary came rushing out to welcome us. He took me by the hand and ushered me into the hall to make. Expecting a group of maybe a dozen or so governors, I was a little taken a back to see 50+ parents, teachers, governors and members of the clergy turn to examine me. Spotting a seat at the back, I tried made a dash for it, but the secretary had other ideas. The murmur of mũthũngũ (white man) echoed around the room as the secretary led me down the aisle to the front of the room and then onto the small dais where the executive committee of the school were sat. The remainder of cake party had to be content with the back of the room.
The secretary explained that they were currently half way through the agenda and that at the next change of subject would I be so kind introduce myself and tell everyone why I am here and what I am doing (I was hoping he could tell me).
Sneaking a glance at my neighbour’s agenda, I learned that I was attending the Thuita Education Consultative Forum. Most of the proceedings were in Kikuyu but enough English was spoken for me to understand that the meeting was all about the way forward for the school. The recent exams had returned an average grade of ‘D’ at the school which had caused general consternation and much soul searching. Visitor after visitor stood up to voice their opinion on the root cause of the recent poor performance whilst Matthew’s sister distributed cakes to the congregation.
I had sat through an hour of impassioned speeches; most of them more emotional than rational, when a few of the executive members stepped out of the side door, only to come in again at the back in procession led by a new arrival. Not knowing anything about anything, I assumed it was the local vicar. I nodded deferently and the proceedings resumed.
Finally a man in spats got up and talked at length about attitude. He had conducted a SWOT analysis which had only seemed to identify weaknesses. I wrote them down:
. Teachers de-motivated
. Parents’ attitude to education is wanting
. Parents do not attend meetings
. Incompetent committee & board members
You could have heard a pin drop. My notes at this point simply read “will the last one to leave Thuita please turn out the light”.
Seeing as time was getting on and Matthew was making ‘we need to go’ gestures at me from the back of the room, I suggested to the secretary that now be a good time to speak as I would need to leave shortly. The secretary introduced me and I rose to say a few words. As soon as I had recounted what I am doing in Murang’a and where, the questions started. My planned short intro quickly became a full on presentation. I explained that at St. Anna we are in essence going through a similar reflection as Thuita i.e. what is our way forward, what is our road map? For about 30 minutes I detailed our approach, stemming from our core purpose and values to our vision and our strategic intent for each of the pillars of the school – short-term, mid-term and long term. I had a pang of guilt as I talked of some of our impending projects … why St. Anna and not them?
I have been invited back to work with them to help them formalise their own strategy.
As we made our way home, Matthew couldn’t hide his amusement. He laughed for about 10 minutes before he explained to me that the gentleman who had arrived was the local MP.
Saturday, 6 March 2010
All Creatures Great and Small
Once again I am sat in the dark as I write this…my miner’s lamp on my head illuminating the pages (I’m not really down a mine Ali :-). I wanted to swiftly follow the last post so rather than down tools and carry on tomorrow, I’ll push on.
At the end of the last episode, we left our heroes in Murang’a Town shopping for the raw materials for a rabbit hutch. On the list we had:
. Timber 8 pieces: Eucalyptus (for some reason I thought that only grew in Oz…something to do with Koalas no doubt) & Silk Oak – both just the ticket for outside I am informed
. Chicken Wire: 1 roll x 80ft
. Nails: 4kg
. Polythene: 5m
. Pad-bolts (padlocks to you and me): 6
. Hinges: 6 pairs 2 ½˝
. Iron sheet: 3m (we have this already)
. Plus a 20 amp fuse
- So where do we get all this from? I inquired of Benson,
- Follow me, he replied.
So I did. But I almost abandoned him on the threshold of the dubiously named “Kansas Joy Services”… you must admit the correlation between the name of the store and the 20 amp fuse we were looking for there is not obvious?! Anyway, they didn’t have any so we continued our trolley dash to “Kiwa’s Auto Hardware”… altogether a more reputably named store.
Kiwa’s Auto Hardware is a family run operation situated right next to the central bus stop. Mr. Kiwa himself was a very nice man whose expert assistance was only outdone by his ability to separate me from 1510KES in what seemed like a matter of seconds (nails, pad-bolts, hinges and polythene sheet). Mr Kiwa waived the 10KES, so pushing our luck, we asked him to watch out stuff while we went for timber; he graciously accepted. We continued on our rounds.
Now imagine my disappointment therefore when we approached the wonderfully named “Good Times Furniture” only to duck into Hega’s Timbers Merchants next door (I vow to return for lots of good times with furniture). Hega’s was exactly what they claimed to be and nothing more - a room full of timber and a till. It’s quite reassuring when you consider the stores that we are used to nowadays where supermarkets are banks, insurers, clothes stores, electrical retailers. I dare say if you suggested to Mr. Hega that he introduce a line of own brand ready-to-wear to compliment his 2x4, he’d escort you to the door personally. We purchased the necessary timber without being asked if we’d like to join his loyalty programme, and left it with him for delivery the next morning.
The only thing left by now on the list was chicken wire. Look no further than Umoja Sons Ltd, dealers in all types of hardware and building materials (and purveyors of fine chicken wire). A roll of 80ft cost us £25.
And with that the shopping was done.
All the materials were delivered on Tuesday morning, and everyday since has been taken up with constructing the most amazing rabbit hutch Murang’a has ever seen. As generally I am klutz with all things manual, I also am taking great satisfaction in helping Benson build it. My pride increases with every additional inch it reaches to the sky. I almost have a legacy.
This must be how Brunel felt.
The only other incident of note this week which I must tell you of occurred yesterday evening (Thursday). Every evening I walk to a neighbour’s house to pick up milk and at the end of the month we pay. Well, yesterday I arrived a little early and the lady of the house was just getting home so she instructed me to return in 30 minutes as she had to milk the cow first.
- Do you mind if I stay and watch? I asked
- No, you can milk if you like.
Never one to knock an opportunity to get close to cows, I accepted right willingly.
When the cow had been properly secured (neck and front legs to the front of the stall, the back leg next to where you are sitting to the back of the stall), I was given my first lesson in milking a cow. If you wish to get an idea of the technique, you can simulate it at home (steady now this is a family blog). Take your tube of toothpaste and turn it so the opening is downward (if you have the pump style one … why?). Secure the top somehow, or ask someone to hold it. Now with the thumb and index or middle finger, proceed to extract the toothpaste by sliding you fingers downwards down the tube. It is certainly a little harder than a cow’s udder, but you should get the idea. That’s it.
Now believe it or not, in spite of the cow’s best attempts to kick me, I got it first time. The only thing I need to improve on is my speed. And so, covered in mud and cow pat, I made my way home happily with the milk that I had extracted from the cow myself. How’s that for fulfilment?
I am going back tomorrow to try again, and this time with my camera.
At the end of the last episode, we left our heroes in Murang’a Town shopping for the raw materials for a rabbit hutch. On the list we had:
. Timber 8 pieces: Eucalyptus (for some reason I thought that only grew in Oz…something to do with Koalas no doubt) & Silk Oak – both just the ticket for outside I am informed
. Chicken Wire: 1 roll x 80ft
. Nails: 4kg
. Polythene: 5m
. Pad-bolts (padlocks to you and me): 6
. Hinges: 6 pairs 2 ½˝
. Iron sheet: 3m (we have this already)
. Plus a 20 amp fuse
- So where do we get all this from? I inquired of Benson,
- Follow me, he replied.
So I did. But I almost abandoned him on the threshold of the dubiously named “Kansas Joy Services”… you must admit the correlation between the name of the store and the 20 amp fuse we were looking for there is not obvious?! Anyway, they didn’t have any so we continued our trolley dash to “Kiwa’s Auto Hardware”… altogether a more reputably named store.
Kiwa’s Auto Hardware is a family run operation situated right next to the central bus stop. Mr. Kiwa himself was a very nice man whose expert assistance was only outdone by his ability to separate me from 1510KES in what seemed like a matter of seconds (nails, pad-bolts, hinges and polythene sheet). Mr Kiwa waived the 10KES, so pushing our luck, we asked him to watch out stuff while we went for timber; he graciously accepted. We continued on our rounds.
Now imagine my disappointment therefore when we approached the wonderfully named “Good Times Furniture” only to duck into Hega’s Timbers Merchants next door (I vow to return for lots of good times with furniture). Hega’s was exactly what they claimed to be and nothing more - a room full of timber and a till. It’s quite reassuring when you consider the stores that we are used to nowadays where supermarkets are banks, insurers, clothes stores, electrical retailers. I dare say if you suggested to Mr. Hega that he introduce a line of own brand ready-to-wear to compliment his 2x4, he’d escort you to the door personally. We purchased the necessary timber without being asked if we’d like to join his loyalty programme, and left it with him for delivery the next morning.
The only thing left by now on the list was chicken wire. Look no further than Umoja Sons Ltd, dealers in all types of hardware and building materials (and purveyors of fine chicken wire). A roll of 80ft cost us £25.
And with that the shopping was done.
All the materials were delivered on Tuesday morning, and everyday since has been taken up with constructing the most amazing rabbit hutch Murang’a has ever seen. As generally I am klutz with all things manual, I also am taking great satisfaction in helping Benson build it. My pride increases with every additional inch it reaches to the sky. I almost have a legacy.
This must be how Brunel felt.
The only other incident of note this week which I must tell you of occurred yesterday evening (Thursday). Every evening I walk to a neighbour’s house to pick up milk and at the end of the month we pay. Well, yesterday I arrived a little early and the lady of the house was just getting home so she instructed me to return in 30 minutes as she had to milk the cow first.
- Do you mind if I stay and watch? I asked
- No, you can milk if you like.
Never one to knock an opportunity to get close to cows, I accepted right willingly.
When the cow had been properly secured (neck and front legs to the front of the stall, the back leg next to where you are sitting to the back of the stall), I was given my first lesson in milking a cow. If you wish to get an idea of the technique, you can simulate it at home (steady now this is a family blog). Take your tube of toothpaste and turn it so the opening is downward (if you have the pump style one … why?). Secure the top somehow, or ask someone to hold it. Now with the thumb and index or middle finger, proceed to extract the toothpaste by sliding you fingers downwards down the tube. It is certainly a little harder than a cow’s udder, but you should get the idea. That’s it.
Now believe it or not, in spite of the cow’s best attempts to kick me, I got it first time. The only thing I need to improve on is my speed. And so, covered in mud and cow pat, I made my way home happily with the milk that I had extracted from the cow myself. How’s that for fulfilment?
I am going back tomorrow to try again, and this time with my camera.
Wednesday, 3 March 2010
A Social Whirl ;-)
I thought it about time I brought you up-to-date with recent events here in the bustling metropolis that is Murang’a.
As you can imagine things are all go. On Saturday night, dressed in our best clothes we headed down town for the opening of a new contemporary art gallery and then on to the Opera, before dining at the new French brassiere that opened last week in the theatre district.
After dinner, having stopped to pick up a couple of ladies, we continued the evening of wine women and song at the Hotsy Totsy club where Birmingham Bertie and his 15 Baltimore Buddies are currently in residence. The last thing I remember was James drinking pink Champagne out of a ladies shoe. It’s quite the social whirl!
When Petula Clark penned “Down Town” back in the 60s, it was with undoubtedly with Murang’a in mind. There must be a plaque somewhere…
Murang’a!... where all the lights are bright,
Murang’a!... you’re gonna be alright,
Murang’a!... everything’s waiting for you!”
Ahem. Moving swiftly on let me run you through the last few days.
Sunday:
Following Saturday’s festival of the chapatti came Sunday, and as the school & the children are very religious, that means church. Well, actually it means the school hall with a sheet draped over a table; but it serves us as well as St. Peter’s or St. Paul’s.
The service starts at 09h00 and even if you are not religious or practicing, you are expected to go out of respect for the school and the children. It’s well worth it too to see the children singing and dancing. Normally by the time you arrive at 09h00 they are already in full song, and this Sunday was no exception, although this Sunday they seemed particularly exuberant … no doubt owing the fact that their exams had finished on Friday. Their contagious energy even got me tapping my foot.
Each class is requested to come to the front one or more times to perform a song or recite a poem. Then as a class or as an individual the floor is opened to whoever has a message to give or a testament. At some point during proceedings you can bet your bottom dollar that as a visitor, you will be called upon to sing/juggle/plate spin/balloon model/sword swallow. A month into my sojourn, I am by now completely tooled up with stories, poems and songs for every occasion: I am available for weddings, funerals, christenings, bahmitzvas. James had actually notified me prior to the service that I should say something about unity. And so when my name was called, I gave them Aesop’s bundle of sticks. They were hanging on every word! :-)
Once everyone has said their bit, the real business of the morning begins … the sermon. The subject of the day was your spirit, and moreover the question: “are you someone of a different spirit?”
The sermon was based on the story of Moses leading the Israelites to the Promised Land (Canaan). This I learned is to be found in the book of “Numbers” (chapter 13 & 14) and which as I also learned is one of the least read books of the Bible; not surprising really when you consider the name. I’m sure if they had called it “Football” or “Shopping” it would come out top every time.
Anyway the story goes something like this: As Moses and the Israelites are approaching the Promised Land (Canaan), the Lord tells Moses to send out men to spy out the lie of the land. So Moses picks 12 (including Joshua son of Nun & Caleb son of Jephun’neh) and instructs them to go up into the hill country for 40 days and see what the land is, and whether the people who dwell in it are strong or weak, whether their cities are camps or strongholds. Good old fashioned spying…none of the James Bond rubbish.
After 40 days they all return with reports and a penchant for vodka martinis. 10 tell of a land flowing with milk and honey yet the people who dwell in the land are of great statute and the cities fortified. Their report concludes by suggesting that they would have been better to die in Egypt than in this wilderness, and should therefore go back. Caleb and Joshua report the same facts but if God is on their side, they cannot lose.
Hearing the subversion of the 10, God flies off the handle (as was his habit in the Old Testament) and decrees that none of the 10 or any of their kin aged 20 years and over shall ever “see the land which I swore to give to their fathers; and none of those who despised me shall see it. But my servant Caleb and Joshua because they have a different spirit and have followed me fully, I will bring into the land into which they went, and their descendants shall possess it”. The others and their families are all destined to perish in the wilderness.
James then asked the question of the children:
- are you someone with a different spirit, or are you just any old Wanjiku, Wanjiru or Wairimu? (Translation: Tom, Dick or Harry...I loved that bit).
He continued:
- Matthew is a person of a different spirit, isn’t it?! He left his work and home to come here and help us.
I must admit I am a having trouble assuming the position of role model.
Over lunch James informed me that at 16h00 there was to be a football match: Muranga vs. Muringa (the difference being a vowel and about 10 minutes).
- Great, said I, nothing I like more on a Sunday afternoon than watching a game of football.
- No no no, chuckled James, you are playing!
Unable to fabricate a prior engagement, at 15h30 I slipped on my skin tight 1980s world cup shorts and a generous layer of factor 30, and by means of a warm up walked marginally quicker than normal down to the field.
Shattering once and for all the myth that only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun, we kicked off. Ok, I know 16h00 is not 12h00, but trust me; 16h00 is Kenya is hot for all concerned. We played for 80 minutes during which time yours truly ploughed the left channel with more bravado than bravura. But I am proud to say we won 2-0, however the opposition did seem more intent on kicking “Mûthûngû” (the white guy) then putting the ball past our keeper! Maybe I am picked merely as ruse to distract the opposition?
Late on Sunday as I nursed my bruises, we watched Slumdog Millionaire. It was a choice between that and Harvey Milk, which really isn’t any choice at all seeing as they have VERY strong views on homosexuality.
As I am now out of films this is my APB for back up!
. Monday
This past Monday we had a long standing arrangement to go and see the home of another local resident which we were told is in need of repair. That was an understatement.
James Macharia used to be a student here at St. Anna but he has now moved on to Kiambugi high school across the valley. He lives a short but punishing walk from school with is mother, 3 Brothers and Sister.
Once again, just when you thought it cannot get any worse, it gets worse. James’s Mother lives with her Daughter and the 2 youngest Brothers in a bare two room brick house. James’s place however is abject. It is SO bad that I had to step outside to gather myself. No-one should have to live like that. The goats he has for neighbours live in the same conditions, and it is not suitable for them.
James quite simply lives in a tin room of not much more than 2m², full of holes, dirt and cobwebs; you’d be forgiven for thinking it’s the cobwebs holding the place together now. When it rains, the whole room is soaked. James then astounded me further by revealing he shares the shack, the bed and sodden mattress with is Brother Wilson.
We did not speak a word on the way back to the school. It goes without saying that we are going to see what we can do for him.
At least Monday ended on a more positive note. Benson & I made the journey to Murang’a at the end of the day to buy everything on our shopping list to build a rabbit hutch.
2 B Contd…
As you can imagine things are all go. On Saturday night, dressed in our best clothes we headed down town for the opening of a new contemporary art gallery and then on to the Opera, before dining at the new French brassiere that opened last week in the theatre district.
After dinner, having stopped to pick up a couple of ladies, we continued the evening of wine women and song at the Hotsy Totsy club where Birmingham Bertie and his 15 Baltimore Buddies are currently in residence. The last thing I remember was James drinking pink Champagne out of a ladies shoe. It’s quite the social whirl!
When Petula Clark penned “Down Town” back in the 60s, it was with undoubtedly with Murang’a in mind. There must be a plaque somewhere…
Murang’a!... where all the lights are bright,
Murang’a!... you’re gonna be alright,
Murang’a!... everything’s waiting for you!”
Ahem. Moving swiftly on let me run you through the last few days.
Sunday:
Following Saturday’s festival of the chapatti came Sunday, and as the school & the children are very religious, that means church. Well, actually it means the school hall with a sheet draped over a table; but it serves us as well as St. Peter’s or St. Paul’s.
The service starts at 09h00 and even if you are not religious or practicing, you are expected to go out of respect for the school and the children. It’s well worth it too to see the children singing and dancing. Normally by the time you arrive at 09h00 they are already in full song, and this Sunday was no exception, although this Sunday they seemed particularly exuberant … no doubt owing the fact that their exams had finished on Friday. Their contagious energy even got me tapping my foot.
Each class is requested to come to the front one or more times to perform a song or recite a poem. Then as a class or as an individual the floor is opened to whoever has a message to give or a testament. At some point during proceedings you can bet your bottom dollar that as a visitor, you will be called upon to sing/juggle/plate spin/balloon model/sword swallow. A month into my sojourn, I am by now completely tooled up with stories, poems and songs for every occasion: I am available for weddings, funerals, christenings, bahmitzvas. James had actually notified me prior to the service that I should say something about unity. And so when my name was called, I gave them Aesop’s bundle of sticks. They were hanging on every word! :-)
Once everyone has said their bit, the real business of the morning begins … the sermon. The subject of the day was your spirit, and moreover the question: “are you someone of a different spirit?”
The sermon was based on the story of Moses leading the Israelites to the Promised Land (Canaan). This I learned is to be found in the book of “Numbers” (chapter 13 & 14) and which as I also learned is one of the least read books of the Bible; not surprising really when you consider the name. I’m sure if they had called it “Football” or “Shopping” it would come out top every time.
Anyway the story goes something like this: As Moses and the Israelites are approaching the Promised Land (Canaan), the Lord tells Moses to send out men to spy out the lie of the land. So Moses picks 12 (including Joshua son of Nun & Caleb son of Jephun’neh) and instructs them to go up into the hill country for 40 days and see what the land is, and whether the people who dwell in it are strong or weak, whether their cities are camps or strongholds. Good old fashioned spying…none of the James Bond rubbish.
After 40 days they all return with reports and a penchant for vodka martinis. 10 tell of a land flowing with milk and honey yet the people who dwell in the land are of great statute and the cities fortified. Their report concludes by suggesting that they would have been better to die in Egypt than in this wilderness, and should therefore go back. Caleb and Joshua report the same facts but if God is on their side, they cannot lose.
Hearing the subversion of the 10, God flies off the handle (as was his habit in the Old Testament) and decrees that none of the 10 or any of their kin aged 20 years and over shall ever “see the land which I swore to give to their fathers; and none of those who despised me shall see it. But my servant Caleb and Joshua because they have a different spirit and have followed me fully, I will bring into the land into which they went, and their descendants shall possess it”. The others and their families are all destined to perish in the wilderness.
James then asked the question of the children:
- are you someone with a different spirit, or are you just any old Wanjiku, Wanjiru or Wairimu? (Translation: Tom, Dick or Harry...I loved that bit).
He continued:
- Matthew is a person of a different spirit, isn’t it?! He left his work and home to come here and help us.
I must admit I am a having trouble assuming the position of role model.
Over lunch James informed me that at 16h00 there was to be a football match: Muranga vs. Muringa (the difference being a vowel and about 10 minutes).
- Great, said I, nothing I like more on a Sunday afternoon than watching a game of football.
- No no no, chuckled James, you are playing!
Unable to fabricate a prior engagement, at 15h30 I slipped on my skin tight 1980s world cup shorts and a generous layer of factor 30, and by means of a warm up walked marginally quicker than normal down to the field.
Shattering once and for all the myth that only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun, we kicked off. Ok, I know 16h00 is not 12h00, but trust me; 16h00 is Kenya is hot for all concerned. We played for 80 minutes during which time yours truly ploughed the left channel with more bravado than bravura. But I am proud to say we won 2-0, however the opposition did seem more intent on kicking “Mûthûngû” (the white guy) then putting the ball past our keeper! Maybe I am picked merely as ruse to distract the opposition?
Late on Sunday as I nursed my bruises, we watched Slumdog Millionaire. It was a choice between that and Harvey Milk, which really isn’t any choice at all seeing as they have VERY strong views on homosexuality.
As I am now out of films this is my APB for back up!
. Monday
This past Monday we had a long standing arrangement to go and see the home of another local resident which we were told is in need of repair. That was an understatement.
James Macharia used to be a student here at St. Anna but he has now moved on to Kiambugi high school across the valley. He lives a short but punishing walk from school with is mother, 3 Brothers and Sister.
Once again, just when you thought it cannot get any worse, it gets worse. James’s Mother lives with her Daughter and the 2 youngest Brothers in a bare two room brick house. James’s place however is abject. It is SO bad that I had to step outside to gather myself. No-one should have to live like that. The goats he has for neighbours live in the same conditions, and it is not suitable for them.
James quite simply lives in a tin room of not much more than 2m², full of holes, dirt and cobwebs; you’d be forgiven for thinking it’s the cobwebs holding the place together now. When it rains, the whole room is soaked. James then astounded me further by revealing he shares the shack, the bed and sodden mattress with is Brother Wilson.
We did not speak a word on the way back to the school. It goes without saying that we are going to see what we can do for him.
At least Monday ended on a more positive note. Benson & I made the journey to Murang’a at the end of the day to buy everything on our shopping list to build a rabbit hutch.
2 B Contd…
Tuesday, 2 March 2010
“How I spent my December Holiday” by Erastus Njiiri
In advance of my next post which I am diligently working upon, here is a story/account written by Erastus, one of the boys in class 5 - ages 9-10 (he is also my Kiswahili teacher). This is what he wrote for his English Composition exam last week.
“How I spent my December Holiday” by Erastus Njiiri
I spent my december holiday very well because I went to visit my brother and my cousin. My mother had promised that if I became number one (in class) I would go at Nairobi the capital city of Kenya.
When we did the exam I became number one I was happy as a king. The teacher gave me a report and I hurried.
Before I went home we went to the assembly. We arranged neat lines and the Headteacher came. He asked “good afternoon school” we answered “good afternoon sir”. He replied, I am happy for you have finished your exam. Because of that we will close our school tomorrow. All the pupils clapped cheerfully. “So today we will go home earlier so that you come very neat”. We lined up one by one and went home I was as fast as a deer. When my mother saw the report she was very happy and she told me on Tuesday we will go where she promised I was waiting patiently.
When the day reached we woke up very early in the morning. We took a bath and a breakfast. We went to the bus stop. Then a very big bus came. We got in the bus.
When we were travelling, I saw building, vehicles and many crowds of people.
When we reached, I was shocked to see my brother as fat as a pig.
I started boasting “what did you eat I asked” I asked. I will tell you when we reach home. I didn’t know Kiswahili I was always keeping quiet. Some people there they were shocked “where did he come” they were all boasting. That was my first day to go to Nairobi.
But when I learnt Kiswahili I was not fearing them. I knew their names and they knew my name. We played happily with them and we loved each other.
_ _ _
He got 33/40 which is very good.
“How I spent my December Holiday” by Erastus Njiiri
I spent my december holiday very well because I went to visit my brother and my cousin. My mother had promised that if I became number one (in class) I would go at Nairobi the capital city of Kenya.
When we did the exam I became number one I was happy as a king. The teacher gave me a report and I hurried.
Before I went home we went to the assembly. We arranged neat lines and the Headteacher came. He asked “good afternoon school” we answered “good afternoon sir”. He replied, I am happy for you have finished your exam. Because of that we will close our school tomorrow. All the pupils clapped cheerfully. “So today we will go home earlier so that you come very neat”. We lined up one by one and went home I was as fast as a deer. When my mother saw the report she was very happy and she told me on Tuesday we will go where she promised I was waiting patiently.
When the day reached we woke up very early in the morning. We took a bath and a breakfast. We went to the bus stop. Then a very big bus came. We got in the bus.
When we were travelling, I saw building, vehicles and many crowds of people.
When we reached, I was shocked to see my brother as fat as a pig.
I started boasting “what did you eat I asked” I asked. I will tell you when we reach home. I didn’t know Kiswahili I was always keeping quiet. Some people there they were shocked “where did he come” they were all boasting. That was my first day to go to Nairobi.
But when I learnt Kiswahili I was not fearing them. I knew their names and they knew my name. We played happily with them and we loved each other.
_ _ _
He got 33/40 which is very good.
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