by foot

Today I had the privilege of visiting the homes and meeting the families of every member of Geneva's Wonderful Women Project. We trekked through the village from 8:30 this morning in the rain and slimy mud drifts until 4:30 this afternoon.

These are my favorite two images of the day: the husband of our oldest member, Mary Njoki {whose two grandchildren, Sheilah and Simon, live in Hutch's House}.



I am honored that these fourteen women consider me their friend, an equal. I will muster half of their strength...one day.

tnick

untitled

Dear blog friends and family,

O boy. I fully acknowledge that the blog is fizzling. While I should have spent the past two weeks completing a riveting travel writing series on my most recent adventures in Tsavo East, Arusha, Kilimanjaro, Nairobi and Nakuru, my heart has been poignantly in meditation about this country and the community which I have been serving for nearly 6 months as I approach my departure date.

It was a striking moment for me this evening at dinner. We were watching a program called “Hatua,” a talk show of sorts addressing current issues in Kenya. Tonight’s program was focused on the question, “What makes us Kenyan?” No answer. The host proposed a second question: “Why do Kenyans consistently use the term ‘my people’ and not refer to the whole of this country in that context? Why are nepotism and tribalism before patriotism and humanism?” No conclusive response, no surprise to me based on conversations I’ve muddled through perplexed with new friends here, exit Tiffany to join the bed bugs {literally, I’m pretty sure they’re back}.

Stick with me here…

I must give a shout out to Mr. Andrew Dodd for sending along a care package at the beginning of August containing a book that was personal to him and to which I initially had difficulty relating. And then tonight post-dinner I made it to Chapter Nine: Widening the Circles of Compassion. And then so much of my recent frustrations here in Nakuru made sense. My problems are not solved and I cannot say that I have opened my heart to my foes, but it makes sense now.

Would it not be such an incredibly better world if we all lived as if everyone is real, that we look upon no one as irrelevant? If everyone, including the postman, a distant relative, the spouse of a friend, a clerk at the grocery store or the many in conflict-ridden and devastatingly poor places on this globe, is a human with wants and fears?

Our human capacity to look away from the realness and the suffering of ‘others’ has horrendous consequences.

I cannot claim to be Kenyan by any means. I fully admit to not knowing enough about the history of this young country or of this entire continent for that matter. I question if I am qualified to make these remarks—I grew up in a largely free and prosperous country, with a considerably high level of comfort that many people here may never attain.

It just makes me ill and deeply saddened to witness so many showing so little compassion for their own.

I expect backlash will ensue.


Signing off for the night, travelogues in the works…

tnick

pole pole, mzungu

We did it. All 19,340 feet of it. Four days. Another 7 hours and 24 minutes. Below-zero temps. The midnight summit climb, i.e. total darkness. 9.5-hour, 2-day descent.










This is what the top of the world looks like at sunrise.

Pretty dang sweet.

Keep checking back-- more photos are on the way along with a bit of narrative of my two weeks away from the farm with Critter: safari in Tsavo East, THE climb, a delectable culinary experience at Carnivore Nairobi and Simba Saloon, Lanet and Nakuru town proper, and safari at Lake Nakuru.

These two weeks are going to be tough to beat...ever. :)

tnick

idp

I visited an IDP camp today- delivered six maize sacks of clothing left by our visitors. Here are some numbers for you: 1,200 families or 6,000 individuals living on 6 acres of land on 21X24-foot plots in shitty {excuse my French} tents left by the UN. They have received no food rations from the Kenyan government since February, though they did receive some unga last month unexpectedly. There are 240 children who attend an improvised school there: no building, no chalk, no crayons, no books.




It's been two years since the clashes, a tribal war likely perpetrated or fostered in part by Kenyan politicians.

These are the people for whom the world needs to be saved.

Food for thought...

tnick

kamau.

The cutest little kleptomaniac you've ever seen. And the joy of my Monday. Despite the difficulty in tracking down my cell phone and lens cap.

Have a wonderful week of summer.

tnick

road trip: kampala, uganda

Sorry mom {and Aunt Lynn...and GR}! You may want to skip this entry for the sake of your sanity!

My recent trip to Kampala was amazing {I need some new adjectives, suggestions?}. It was a much-needed and perfectly-timed holiday. I’ve been plowing through administrative work since the beginning of July, usually inputting data and hand cropping photos far beyond my 9:30 bedtime. A little over two weeks ago we discovered that of the 60+ pieces of luggage that went home with the Mt. Pisgah team before the 4th of July holiday, the one trunk lost by Delta was mine—packed with personal gifts, orders fulfilled by the women’s co-op, paperwork and flash drives. Delta has continued to snub our due-diligence and has been entirely reluctant to compensate us for those goods. Simultaneously my mother was notified by Wachovia that someone had been writing fraudulent checks to The Kenya Project account, cashing them in Orlando. We encountered a quality-control issue with the women’s leather goods, causing my mother to spring into action and set up a tanning shop in her living room. Needless to say, I was eager to flee to Kampala for a holiday.

My arrival in Kampala, however, fit with the “stormy” theme of the week. Jamie and Sara asked if I could request that the driver drop me off at Lugogo Bypass {a shopping center unbeknownst to me} instead of the station to save a bit of time considering our late arrival—an hour at the border and an overturned petroleum truck slowed our progress, turning an 8-hour trip into longer than 10. “O-key,” he replied while taking instructions from a passenger as to where exactly Lugogo Bypass was. Did I mention that I am 90% sure I saw him snort something before we pulled out of Nakuru that morning? Sweet. Anyhow, 45 minutest later the conductor pulls over to the side of the rode in a valley between two shallow hills and drops me off. I am in the middle of nowhere…there are no lights…and my cell phone decided not to work with the Ugandan network. My immediate thought: “My mom would KILL me right now.” After trying frantically for 20 minutes to text Sara or Jamie, I braved walking to a parked car with a couple sitting inside and kindly asked to use their phone…or buy them airtime. And that’s how I met Moses. Thankfully, Moses was an employee of the Ministry of Justice. We walked to a nearby restaurant where he paid for my phone call {only because the smallest bill I had was 5,000 shillings and no one ever has change in Africa} and then walked me up the hill to the shopping center. I gave him the 5,000 shilling bill as a tip. No worries—that’s only about $2.50…and he probably deserved much more considering my prayer was answered that he wasn’t a drug addict or something worse along those lines.

I finally found Jamie {thank goodness!}. His first question: “Do you feel comfortable taking a boda?” I replied casually with the greatest confidence I could muster knowing that Susan had forbidden me to ride bodas in Nakuru, “Sure.” We hopped on the back of two motorcycles…and zoom! Mark that one off the list! Despite the fact that it’s surely not the safest thing to do without a helmet…especially in a Third World country with hilly terrain…with questionable medical facilities and unlicensed drivers…it was the best way to see the city. A little breeze in the face {the dust and bugs the exception} made it magical. It was my mode of transportation for the entire trip and I loved it.

That was just the beginning. My first evening in Kampala we dined at Pavement Tandoor, an incredible Indian restaurant in Kisimente, broadly looking out over what I affectionately call the Hollywood Hills. It is one of the many reasons Kampala is exceptionally beautiful: rolling hills covered in posh homes…occasionally butted up to metal or adobe huts. Over dinner Jamie and Sara shared the news that my blog may now be borderline famous after I typed the combination of magic words in the entry about their July visit to Nakuru, their work with the IJM in Uganda, and my interest in the IJM before I came to Africa. Apparently IJM has an incredibly efficient scanning mechanism that searches out any reference on the Internet to their organization…and blasts an e-mail to every member of IJM worldwide when they find something. Yep. That’s right folks. My blog entry went sailing across cyberspace to eight different countries to some of the finest civil servants and volunteers around. A bit embarrassing and terrifying? Yes, I think so. The news of my newfound fame {well, and my whirlwind day of drug-snorting bus drivers, getting lost in the dark without cell phone service, and riding a motorcycle much too quickly} was only topped by the fact that the security guard at Sara and Jamie’s complex carries a bow and arrow as his means of protecting the dwellers of the Bokoto Brown Flats. I am pretty sure that he’s not a world class archer either, but I would have loved to see his attempt to pick off a burglar from 50 yards. Amos is so much more hard core with his machete…woot woot!

Friday morning early I headed to Jinja near Lake Victoria to raft the Nile with Adrift…and it was surreal. I somehow was voted to the front of the raft after suiting up into an entirely unflattering getup. The front is designated for “strong rafters” and the experienced. Did I mention that I’ve never rafted before in my life? I was clueless. I didn’t even know that there was a rating scale for rapids and that Class 5 is the highest you can go commercially in a raft. Thankfully, Jamie and Sara assuaged my fears and assured me Thursday evening that I did not need to be experienced—Adrift is the most reputable company in Uganda and have been operating for some 25+ years. My guide for the day was hilarious and lovable. His name was Tutu, a native Ugandan. His pep talk before each major rapid came out like this: “Plan A is paddle hod, paddle hod! Plan B is to not fall out of the boat.” Thanks, Tutu—not exactly comforting. Nevertheless, my team successfully made it through four Class 5 rapids and 6 others {mostly 3s and 4s}. We only capsized twice—check out the first flip in the fantastic wipeout series below {that'll be me in the yellow helmet, front left of the boat}! The second capsizing was entirely unexpected and therefore terrifying. We were crossing a Class 3 rapid, we were entirely steady, and then there was a wall of water. I do not even remember flipping…just kicking trying to find the surface. I came up under the boat and a safety kayak eventually carried me back to the raft. We survived and I survived…though with a few cuts and sunburned knees…and, o yeah, that whole threat of finding parasite in six weeks! We covered 31 kilometers over about 6 hours and even had the chance to swim in the deeper parts of the river and through a Class 1 rapid. Adrift provided Nile beer, soda and bbq skewers at the end of the day—so stinkin’ good. I am also 99% sure that I met the evil twin of Jason Eshbaugh, my beloved Wake Forest basketball boss, that sunny day on the river. Isn’t everyone supposed to have one of those somewhere in the world?










The rest of the weekend lived up to the success and thrill of Friday. Saturday I visited a real bookstore and picked up The Road and The Time Traveler’s Wife to restock my dwindling supply. I splurged on a stunning handmade quilt crafted from hundreds of squares of traditional African fabrics. We met up with some of Jamie and Sara’s wonderful colleagues { hi Grace, Sujanya, Emiline and Peyton (!)…and sorry if I just butchered your names (?) } for dinner at a Mexican joint: marginally tasty but insanely spice enchiladas, real tortilla chips, a splendid frozen margarita {though nothing on La Parilla!}, and solid live entertainment by Latin jazz musician Maurice Kirya. I am bummed I can’t get his music anywhere…even of the illegally downloaded nature. Sunday morning we visited one of the most up-and-coming churches in Kampala—Watoto PCEA. I was astounded at the production, the lines forming outside simply to get a seat, and after further research, the organization’s work with IDPs and orphans in the northern part of the country. Church was less than a block from the craft markets…where I could have done significantly more damage that I did. I passed on renowned a Ugandan drum in favor of lots of paper bead jewelry. Later that evening we went to a birthday party for the daughter of the IJM field office director and a tour of their new home. The highlight of the night was when the 6-year-old girl was gifted two live chickens by a family friend. She proceeded to name the white chicken after my friend Sara and the black chicken after Sujanya, Sri Lankan though Australian. Needless to say, the director was laughing so hard and was equally embarrassed that his daughter was so racially sensitive. The pizza was pretty exciting too. ; )

Well, this is getting quite long, isn’t it? My work with the student records has continued all throughout this week and I expect to finish with our nearly 60 Class 8s on Monday. Tuesday we’re closing for the term. Later in the week the Geneva’s Wonderful Women will set up shop for a team of 50 from Salt Lake visiting United Methodist Secondary School across the road. Can you believe it’s almost August?!? In other words, I am 1.57 weeks away from heading to Tanzania for the climb of my lifetime. We’ll see if it can beat floating on my back down the Nile…

Love to you all.

tnick

i think i am in love

So, July is going to be very busy. I stared the audit of student records on Monday. Baby was class up first, followed by Middle, Top, One and Two...all by Friday. That's 183 children under the age of eight, photos and bios, in five days! However, I gave my heart away on day one to this little fella: Peter Karanja Gachanja. In fact, I might be in love with all six of his brothers too. Critter, watch out. ;)

{Alert: he is available for sponsorship!}




I will hope and do my darnedest to post again this week. Class Three and Four are up Monday and Tuesday, followed by a review day Wednesday. Thursday I am headed to Kampala for a little relaxation with Jamie and Sara...and possibly some Nile rafting!

Enjoy the weekend and the dimples on this little guy.

tnick

blame it on the fourth of july

I’ve been rocking the Beatles so hard lately—the Across the Universe deluxe soundtrack anyone? All My Loving. Happiness Is A Warm Gun. I Want To Hold Your Hand. Hey Jude. I miss my dad.

I’ve been inhaling roasted corn. Mama Robi has discovered it is the way to my heart. The children laugh hysterically when I walk around the school grounds with a 14-inch ear of corn to my lips. I miss my mom {the lover of salty things} and the 4th of July...

Last week I spent a few hours in the local mission clinic with a 4-year-old who had choked, seized, fallen and hit his head on the playground equipment. I thought I was going to lose a child that day. He was entirely unresponsive to our calls and delicate touches for over an hour. After coming back to life, he correctly identified all parties in the room, including me: “mzungu.” And then he chugged an orange Fanta in twenty seconds flat. I miss my nurse friends. Callie Grady Rich, where are you and your uncanny motherly instincts?!? I can scarcely bandage a stubbed toe properly…as the Pisgah team had the unfortunate pleasure of witnessing.

I am guilty of indulging in the Twilight series, though I suspect several months later than most of the rest of the world's 13-year-old girls. I read the first two books in less than 24 hours…and the 3rd and 4th evaded my suitcase in their current hardback state. O how I long for thee Edward Cullen and Jacob Black! The fact that rainy season has arrived here {conspicuously late} over the past few days only makes the story better—just imagine adding a little African thunderstorm as background noise. Why do these books make me miss a certain someone even more? Sigh…

And when did Goldfish become so dang good? I broke down and opened my stash. It must be my longing for cheese? I blame it on the 4th of July…

Happy 4th weekend to all of you! I’m thinking about you and home. : )

tnick

what. a. week.

Hello blog fans!

Wow. The Kenya Project made history over the past few weeks: we welcomed 31 youths and adults to the guest house from Mt. Pisgah and 4 friends from Uganda on June 18th. That is 37 people under our roof! Luckily, the master carpentry of Wambugu held strong through clutch time. His double/single bunk beds may be our best investment yet. Fighting through a few minor cases of altitude sickness and one night without electricity, we did it! I am exhausted, hence my two week blog hiatus.

It was a pleasure to have this team despite its size—such an incredibly passionate group of teens. It is encouraging to see the sincere interest they expressed in pursuing change here at Mountain Park and overall lessening the burdens of others, especially of the children. For those of you who have visited Mountain Park before, you will not recognize it when you come back! This team put in serious work. The dining hall has been repainted in its entirety. Cubbies and hanging rods were installed in the children’s home so that our orphans no longer have to tie grocery sacks to their end bunks holding their personal belongings and clothes. Our adult leaders assisted the construction crew in building the new addition to the guest house—extra shower stalls and toilets. Every afternoon Mountain Park students and other village children were loved and LOVED and loved by our youths on the playground. Kady even endured being covered from neck to toes in vomit after a bit too much swinging with a 4-year-old…and will soon be tiny Catherine Mugure Thuo’s new sponsor. Though I have never had the urge to attempt carrying a 20-liter drum of water on my forehead, I nearly lost two teens on the team’s first day in Nakuru as they ventured off down the road helping locals lug home their water supply. Bibian hosted the team at Hutch’s House where each of the 15 orphans were given a new basket of clothes before we learned the intimate and tragic details of their backgrounds…and I started crying {again} trying to share about making their beds in March. Over 400 families were distributed food sacks and all of our school children received a new toothbrush. We have enough supply and laundry donations to last us several months and to serve countless families and future teams. Congratulations and thank you to Mt. Pisgah for their profound contributions to our projects and this community…

Personally, one of my highlights of the week was meeting Jamie and Sara Staley…and their visiting friends Stacy and Howie. Oddly enough, my aunt had shared considerably about the Staleys’ work with the International Justice Mission before and after my arrival in Kenya: I’ve been receiving their e-mail updates since April and I read a powerful book entitled Just Courage by IJM founder Gary Haugen before my departure. For those of you who do not know, the IJM is an organization of lawyers and volunteers that live overseas all over the world to combat bonded labor, slavery, human trafficking, illegal land seizure, etc. through the courts while simultaneously providing human services for their clients. Leaving their careers in the States, Jamie and Sarah committed to a one-year, unpaid internship in Kampala where they work the front and back ends of land seizure cases. Jamie is the front man: due to his background in ministry, he is the first point of contact for possible clients. He has trained to host legal education clinics deep in the villages of Uganda and to interview possible clients to determine if they meet the criteria set forth by the IJM for intake. Sara is the pivotal back end of the process: due to her background in social work, she cultivates partnerships with other organization to provide aftercare services.

This is not strictly a pitch for the IJM {although I do invite you to visit the Staleys’ personal blog site to learn more about their specific experiences}. Early in the week Mark threw the responsibility of devotions to the couple. They had approximately 10 minutes to prepare to speak, but it was their on-the-spot discussion that profoundly impacted me this week. Overall, this leg of my journey has had its share of ups and downs. The realities of trying to operate a non-profit in a developing country have been hitting hard. In response to those frustrations, I have frequently doubted my presence and successes here…and have resorted to the entirely unproductive what if. I am a planner at heart as so many of the older gentleman on the Pisgah team deduced very quickly: What if I had started law school this fall? What will I do if I return to the States earlier than planned? Where do you draw a line in the sand? Aren’t the women and children with whom I work worth all of the administrative hassles? Jamie and Sara began to share stories of the women and orphans they had met while working to restore justice to vulnerable Ugandans…and it was not all happy. There are days when 9 of 10 prospective widows who are threatened by powerful family members cannot be helped. And then this came out…

We should go until we are called to stay, not stay until we are called to go.

Tah-dah! Man, that is such a powerful statement and such a statement of inner peace. I am keeping that in mind for now as I continue my work here in Kenya.

I must also give a shout out to Stacy and Howie—such a fabulous addition to our team! Howie and Stacy joined Sara and Jamie in Uganda primarily to shoot and to document the work of the IJM…and decided to tag along to visit us as well. Stacy is a nurse in Atlanta at Children’s and will hopefully be returning to Kenya in the fall with our med team. Howie is a photography nerd like me and we shared many deep conversations over crop censor lenses and Nikon speedlights. I am in debt to him for his pointers (which will hopefully be exhibited in new photos of the women’s goods soon) and for his work with the women themselves. We will soon be featuring each one of our ladies, one per week, on their blog site.

I will sign off here. This is getting a bit lengthy, but please stay tuned for a few more stories soon and another update on the successes of Geneva’s Wonderful Women. July will be a very busy month here. I am continuing to prep for my Kilimanjaro climb in early August {officially booked—no turning back now!} and am hoping to head for a brief vacation to Kampala mid month. The Kenya Project will be beginning its annual audit of student records next Monday too—new photos, bios, and letters are on the way!

Love to you from this {still} dusty place…

tnick

and the primates have it...

Hot off the press: new photos from my most recent safari at Lake Nakuru-- thanks Kara! While I raved and raved about close encounters with lions and rhinos, it turns out that my best shots from the two game drives were veritably the Vervet monkeys and yellow baboons. The spooning lions and picturesquely perched African Fish Eagle are not bad either...enjoy!

welcome to funnytown

Despite the fact that I have been decently sick since approximately last Thursday {i.e. is it possible for one human to create this much snot?}, it has been a dang funny week. When my eyeballs were not burning and when I was wasn’t releasing loud Hutchins croups that scared off the children…I was laughing.

For those who were lucky enough to meet “Thi-mon” {or Simon for those of you who do not speak 7-year-old-with-two-missing-front-teeth}, I had the pleasure of sitting down with him to briefly record his family history for the benefit of his new sponsors, Erin and Sean. After ten minutes of counting out brothers and sisters to get a consistent number of each, Simon informed us that his father’s name was Joroline. “Funny.” I thought. “That is not a Kikuyu name.” We called in his older brother for backup. His father’s name is actually Stanley. Joroline happens to be the brand name imprinted on his father’s bicycle.



Next in line was Ibrahim Kamau, one of my favorite little nursery students. We all think Kamau is special…in one way or another. My goal in his case was also to gather a brief family history for Sean and Erin’s benefit…and again we called in for backup. Kamau could just not wait. He attempted to run away at least five times…but without any remote purpose…lightly drifting out the door like he could not figure out for the life of him why he was standing in the room. I managed to catch his boredom in a snapshot: chin on the table, one arm up, and I got one smile only. Ta-dah!


Mr. Robi was kind enough to drive my ladies and me to town yesterday to pick up some much-needed supplies for our recent influx of special orders {thank you, America!} despite his slight annoyance that we hadn’t planned ahead for this earlier in the week. I was excited about this trip. A} I had planned not bother Mr. Robi and to brave the public transportation for the first time…with the protection of Dorcas and Ann, of course. That plan was quickly de-bowed by Reuben. B} I was going to personally meet the local tanner who has been working with us to complete our briefcase bags…and some secret new products {stay tuned here}! I expected to pull up to a modest shop: dusty, dimly sit, rudimentary but functional old machinery. Nope. Negative. We rolled up on Joseph sitting on the curb in the parking lot across from the post office. The man cuts and stitches the leather by hand folks. This is Africa. And then Mr. Robi dropkicked a tennis ball when we got home. And it was hilarious.

I’ve somehow managed to get another watch tan. This one is even more awesome than the last because I am marked with the lines of my $15 Wal-Mart sports watch: much bigger, much more conspicuous. I have hardly been outside for the past three days! How did this happen, for the love of man?!?

I finally kicked the dang goose. Enough said.

And sunsets here are still awesome.

lions, cubs, baboons...and that justice thing

The Mountain Park UMC Young Adult team left late Sunday evening. The dining hall has been brightened with a good sanding of the main walls and the painting of murals—every student at Mountain Park {and Wanjohi} imprinted a hand on the wall. A garden of carrots, kale, potatoes, cabbages and collards has been planted to supplement the large grocery list of the children’s home. Dance lessons. Classroom activities. Mob scene at the bubble station. What…a…week. I have been fortunate to assist three teams since my tenure began here in March. I had forgotten what it was like to be in a group of twenty people under the age of thirty, mostly of which was actually under the age of 25. No offense to either of the two age groups {the above and below 30 crews}, but young people are boisterous, drink a lot of water and soda, antagonize geese, and throw dirt clumps. And they have this knack of eliciting beautiful {be-au-ti-ful} emotions from children…

When it comes to safari, I started big. Go hard or go home, America! In late September 2008, I ventured into the Mara {the Kenyan half of the Serengeti} during the annual wildebeest migration. Some nature lovers will argue that the event is the eighth wonder of the world—that’s hundreds of thousands of wildebeests crossing the Mara river {think crocodiles, hippos and steep banks} plus a pride of lions including a full-grown male, several families of elephants including a newborn, and changing a tire in the middle of a herd of cape buffalo. You can read more about that safari and check out the photos here. However, I must say that our overnight in good ole’ Lake Nakuru, only ten or so kilometers from my front door, gave my three-day at the Mara a run for its money. Due to the expertise and uncanny animal instincts of Julius, we pulled within six feet of a white rhino—the second largest land mammal after the elephant. We saw baboons showing rare agility…during lovemaking. Our first sighting of day two as the sun rose was a pride of nine lions, all females and cubs, destroying a buffalo on a hillside. Yeah, they dragged a half ton animal with horns up a hill with jaws only! Nearly a dozen mangy hyenas waded in the shallow lake desperately searching for an ill or clumsy flamingo to wade their way. As we headed back to the lodge for a late buffet lunch, we crossed paths with a black rhino. Although much smaller than its white counterpart {only fourth on the list of largest land mammals}, it is much more impulsive with a dangerously sharper horn. After lunch, we exited the park on the route we traveled in the morning only to find that our pride of lions was still there, lounging under a tree in the shade and spooning in groups of two or three. We were within fifteen feet {holy cow!}…and then the stench of the buffalo became too much. Pretty incredible, huh?

That same evening after making a brief stop in town to purchase mzungu t-shirts for interested team members, Adam lead devotions. Man, it was exactly what I did not want to hear but needed to hear. As my cousin and guest house roommate Taylor knows, I had a rough first week back in the motherland: high stress, high frustration, having a host of people in my typically empty house, not to mention that whole leaving lots of wonderful people in the States for a planned six months. This equals tears. Adam started off his devotion with a verse—he has been reading the Minor Prophets recently. He reads from Micah 6:

8 He has shown you, O man, what is good;
And what does the Lord require of you
But to be good to others and to love justice...?

Whack! Wham! There is that whole justice and kindness thing again. Don’t you just love this?!? Justice is the conformity to truth, fact, or sound reason. To do just to is to treat adequately, fairly, or with full appreciation. Thank you, Adam—that is why I am here, that is why everyone I love encourages me despite my extended absence {and still loves me back}. It’s funny—once you get beyond the dirt, bouts of lost electricity, and the hormones of a large group of twenty-somethings, the want and need for justice remains. It’s funnier—all that truth and all that admiration and gratitude are emotions and ideas that pour from these children without effort or hesitation or distraction. I’ll get there.

Anyhow, it is a busy week! Gideon and Jerioth return to the States tomorrow. I am behind with the paperwork for the new term and Mt. Pisgah rolls in thirty strong in about week and a half. I am hiring an electrician. Plus, I am knee-deep in planning the trip of my lifetime for August: a little Amboseli, a little Kilimanjaro, a little relaxation among the big game. How do you squeeze this entire country into two weeks?!?

I look forward to sharing more of the Mt. Pisgah details soon...because this post is now too long! Of course, check out the most recent updates with the GWW here. We're doing big things.


I hope everyone is surviving the heat of Atlanta summers. I can almost feel the humidity from here. ; )

Love to you,

tnick

and...we're back.

Dear Friends,

After one month of love, a family wedding, too many meetings, margaritas, Washington, cheese, a Braves game, old {wonderful} friends and a birthday {I’m getting far too old}, I arrived back “home” here in Nakuru on Friday, May 22. The whirlwind rarely diminishes in my life… : )

This trip is different for me in many ways:

1. I am not going to be here for eight weeks. Try twenty-four weeks. Do the math. That is close to six months folks!

2. I am here with family: two cousins and a cousin-in-law {does that exist?}. It is so cool to be here with Taylor. Her passion for Africa was the spark that ignited the heart of Lynn…who was the key influence for bringing my mom aboard…who was the reason for engaging my organizational skills {though now I bet she wishes otherwise, I’m sure!}. Bam, here I am! Matt, another cousin who happens to be Taylor’s oldest brother, is the favorite of the children. I’m convinced it is his monkey impression. His wife and fabulous new addition to the Hutchins clan, Jennifer, is directing our mural project. Goodbye {dirty} white walls, hello color and the simplicity of handprints…

3. I have many goals. Administratively we progressed dramatically during my first eight weeks, but we have a distance yet to go in the streamlining of student and financial records. I still need to learn Swahili. How embarrassed am I that team member Chad is busting out the language in full sentences after three days…and I can meekly throw out one-liners?!? I will be meeting with Lamech Mbise at the local Junior Achievement office within the next week to learn more about the business education programs they offer with our older students and Wonderful Women in mind. We are still diligently seeking and researching local markets for the GWW. And, I will make it to the top of Mt. Kenya and Kilimanjaro before the end of summer. I’m booked to climb…so this should be interesting. Stay tuned for how you can support The Kenya Project through my climbs by pledging a gift per meter! This will be so much cooler than your average jump-a-thon or walk-a-thon {no offense to the elementary school kids out there}: exotic locations, extremely thin air, large game, and sherpas!

In other news, I finally launched the Geneva’s Wonderful Women Project blog site {as in launched it while sitting at Hartsfield waiting to board my flight…before high-speed Internet became nothing more than a dream…way to procrastinate!}. Please check out the ladies’ story and handmades here: http://nomoredigging.blogspot.com. One beautiful thing about the Third World is that your effort and money makes such an incredible impact: $50 and a sewing lesson here soars far beyond what $5,000 will accomplish in the States. Your purchase will further empower these women; their crafts, ingenuity and solidarity creates immense pride and joy in their lives. With the assistance of friends in the States, I will continue to post photos of the newest products. The GWW line has expanded…and you do not want to miss out on the new line of leather-bound handbags inspired by one of Mama Robi’s own. They…are…hot.

I will be back again soon—no more month-long breaks from the blog. We are looking forward to an overnight safari at Lake Nakuru this weekend with the marvelous Julius…and then it is only two weeks before my last summer team rolls through!

Much love from here to you,

tnick

hello dolly

I am {finally} home after 2.5 days of traveling. I spent an awesome evening in Amsterdam with my brilliant cousin Andrew sipping margaritas and eating authentic Mexican food...and then my plane was decommissioned after it was discovered that the pressurization system was not working. Four hours later and after four more trips through security, I left the Netherlands behind!

On a happier note, I have {finally} posted my favorite photographs of the past two months. For some reason, they are not posting to the top-- scroll down a bit. Aren't these beautiful people? This is my life. I love it and I love them.

It's good to be home. God bless America, real Diet Coke, Cheerios, and high-speed Internet. More very cool things to come soon...

tnick

honey, I'm {almost} home

I leave for home in five days: holy cow.

I fully intend to create an entry describing our April team’s phenomenal work, current Kenyan events, and my 2.5 days in Mombasa. However, I am still finding it difficult to relive the loss of Baby Nikon. We’ll hope for an improved outlook and attitude after I meet with my booking agent today. I am expecting a refund!

As my departure date has crept closer this week, I have subconsciously and intimately recorded and replayed the details of this place and my life here. It’s just a few mental notes of the little {important} things. Here are 15 lessons that without fail bring a smile to my face, often progressing to releases of laughter…which then leads to more people staring. : )

Greens are only good when you mix them with something else.

Tiffany is not a good name for this town unless you want to be called Ms. Stephen by everyone…even by Mr. Robi. I like the way he says it though {Stiff-fun}…so endearing it is almost like your dad calling you “pumpkin.”

It is impossible to maintain clean feet, even when you are wearing socks.

It is incredibly humbling to hand wash your own socks and undergarments. Let’s just say nothing comes out looking like it has been through the gentle cycle…and nothing comes out feeling Downy soft.

Africa is the solution for nail biters. I have quite a set of hands these days. Otherwise, you never know what dirt is under there while you are munching.

Large flying and humming beetles make a big splat.

You can cook potatoes in 1,624 ways.

You can feed a Diet Coke addition anywhere…even in the middle of nowhere in Kenya.

I am an expert in peanut butter varieties. I can probably give you a salt-peanut-sugar ratio for at least five brands.

Dolly Parton is making a comeback here…somehow.

Kikuyu women make me look like a wimp. You try to carry 20 liters of water, an industrial size sack of maize, or several kilos of coal on your head…and walk a few kilometers…and talk on a cell phone! Game on!

I still wonder how an outhouse actually works. Is there toilet paper hanging in there somewhere? Leaves? Wet wipes? It’s just puzzling.

I am a mzungu {random white person} and proud of it. I even have a t-shirt that says so. However, I do tell everyone in the market I am Kenyan. It’s the one Swahili phrase I know by heart. It makes shopping and bargaining a bit easier.

Beer is 120 shillings. That is $1.54. No worries—I have not partaken in drinking festivities here, but the price is impressive. It’s a bargain compared to my $9 per bottle beverage of choice at home.

I cannot get a tan, except for on my feet. I’m hoping crisscrossing Chaco sandal tans are the new look for spring?

See you all very soon. I am in debt to you for your support and encouragement during my first eight weeks…

tnick

photographs of the {almost} two months...

insert {this is africa} explanation here.

I send many warm, belated Easter greetings to those of you at home. Yes, I have been very quiet lately—I am behind in all facets of my computer life! Last week was packed with Hope Camp action and Gideon’s visit, followed by my exit for a holiday in Mombasa. Unfortunately, that vacation was cut several days short as Susan and I were robbed of belongings and cash from our locked room as we ate downstairs in the hotel restaurant {recommended by Lonely Planet by the way}. The manager proceeded to explain that he “did not believe there was a thief.” He even searched our refrigerator, because that is the first place I would hide my own camera in the event I was filing a false report with the worthless Kenyan tourist police {yes, tourist police}. Spending the afternoon in the Mombasa central police station being insulted by unintelligent men was not exactly how Susan and I had hoped to pass our vacation on the Indian Ocean or my last week in Kenya before I return briefly to the States. Sadly, there are no surviving photos of me riding Jack the camel…and I have painfully lost an appendage {my smaller Nikon}. This is Africa…

On a positive note, there is no place in the world as stunning as the Kenyan countryside from noon to dusk to midnight: monstrous baobab trees growing only below 2,000 feet on the coastal plain, spectacular lightning shows, the green oasis of Voi, the barely visible north slope of Kilimanjaro hiding in the clouds, hundreds zebra and impala crowding the highway in the dead of night, and Julius’s compassion and commentary.

“That man deserves a toot.”

I really do love this place. It feels so much like home now and I am going to miss it for a month.

Love to you with a promise of updates and details about happier things very soon,

tnick

insight of the day

I think it is beautiful when you discover profound ideas and thoughts in the most unexpected places. I find great joy in that. My sighting of the day: “Development has no end” scribbled in the dust on the back window of a matatu {a public transport van crammed with up to fourteen people in ninety-degree heat—please Google for fine photographic examples} on my way into town.

it's shamba time!

Every time I say or hear that the word shamba the music to the electric slide begins to play in my head. Doesn’t it just sound like a wicked line dance?

Anyhow, it is officially shamba time here in Nakuru. The rains have arrived, albeit half a month late, and it is in the first five days of heavy rain that the community diligently labors to seed the fields. Get that corn in the ground, I say! I am stoked at the possibility of eating ears roasted in their husks soon—the crispy kernels are far superior to popcorn. Wednesday we held the meeting and award ceremony for first term’s closing day, notably also the first day after a true rain. It was not as well-attended as we had hoped. Reuben and the headmaster concluded that it was due to the necessary planting activities; I concluded that no one in their right mind wanted to listen to Reuben and the headmaster combine for over two hours of lecture in a building that is not well-ventilated. It was painful, folks. It probably did not help either that it was entirely in Swahili. : ) Regardless, it was thrilling to see our brightest students recognized, particularly the tiny ones who looked more bewildered than happy—most three-year-olds care very little about their class rank and total marks out of 500. I am even more thrilled, however, to share that our orphans were among many of the award recipients: Reinhardt and Brian ranked #1 and #3 in Class 2, Lillian ranked #3 in Class 5, and Sheila ranked #2 in Class 7. I felt like a proud mama…

Returning again to the theme of shamba, the heavy afternoon downpours have put a serious kink in my running routine. I am deeply searching for the motivation to wake with the sun to jog. It has become very difficult to do so, as after a month I finally am sleeping well {i.e. I have learned to ignore the crickets, geese, dogs and roosters—the beautifully loud cacophony of farm noises that waft to my location atop the hill from within the five kilometer radius}. Furthermore, I am convinced that there must be a native proverb to describe more eloquently my belief that the rain is doing something to me. I have unlearned so many habits and lost substantial, poignant pieces of common sense within the past week. One: it is dangerous to try to pull a broken adapter out of the socket when there is still a current flowing. Trust me. I got the shock and scare of my life. Luckily, when I tried to pry it loose earlier with a kitchen knife, the current was off. Yeah, I know, they teach you not to stick a fork in the outlet in pre-school. Two: it is also dangerous to attempt to attempt to change the water temperature while in the shower. That involves touching live, ungrounded wires while wet. Three: it is a gamble to go for a jog during a break in the showers. Mud is slick. It ruins sneakers and socks. And you are never really sure once you finish if it is mud or something less kosher that it is caked to your soles and smeared on your ankles…

That is a lovely olfactory thought to end with, right?

Our second team is landing right about now and will head to meet me in the morning. My jar of Jif is in transit! Stay tuned for an exciting week {thanks to Hope Camp} and the beginning of my adventures in Mombasa…

Love to you,

tnick

P.S. I am determined to find Internet with sufficient speed to post a photo in this town—fingers crossed that I will be sharing something beyond my written musings next week!

o yeah? well i know the family that controls the water...

My weekend visiting with the staff of BlueSky Adventures and their wide friend circle of ex-pats and the children of diplomats in Nairobi sums up as follows: “Yeah, my dad works for Jeffrey Sachs. I love Jeffro! He wrote me two recommendations for college today actually...”

Jeffrey freakin’ Sachs?!? No way…

a kenyan kitchen experiment: chapatti

I am in serious debt to Mary, my “age mate” and the Robi family’s house girl. She prepares every meal, launders my clothes and sheets on the weekends, and most importantly ensures that there is cold Coke Light in the refrigerator most days. : ) I thank her profusely...because I am pathetically and painfully dependent in this country. Beyond domesticity, she is a trained tailor whose skills are essential to our sewing group, the school cooking staff {whose pleated garments she sews), and our children {half or more of whom wear the uniforms she has created}.

She is amazing.

My menu consisted almost entirely of Cheerios and skim milk in the States and if I was entertaining it was almost always a meeting out to dinner. With hope that I may bring an ounce of Mary’s talent and the food culture home with me, I joined her in the kitchen on Thursday, March 26 to make chapatti, a traditional Kenyan base dish borrowed from India…most commonly known as homemade flour tortillas…with a little oil.

Ingredients & Necessities:

water

flour

baking powder

sugar

oil

rolling pin

large mixing bowl

Instructions:

1. Heat water until light boil. Add additional water to the pot until water has returned to a warm temperature.

2. Measure and pour 1 ½ to 2 cups of water into large bowl.

3. Add approximately 5 tsp. sugar and mix until well-dissolved.

4. Add approximately ½ tsp. baking powder. Mix in sugar water.

5. Add 4 large cups of all-purpose four.

6. Mix and knead dough. Sprinkle with additional flour if necessary to prevent sticking.

7. Clean a large, flat surface and roll out dough to a ¼ inch thickness.

8. Pour 1 ½ tbs. of oil over dough and spread with the back of a spoon.

9. Roll dough into a hot dog with the oiled surface inside the fold.

10. Cut roll of dough into 1 ½ to 2 inch slices, tucking the loose end of the spiral into the center. Recipe should yield approximately 15 dough balls.

11. Heat a flat, cast iron skilled.

12. Sprinkle flat surface with flour. Flatten dough balls with a rolling pin to 1/8 inch thickness or less. Dough should yield a tortilla 7 to 8 inches in diameter.

13. Throw tortilla on skillet and allow to heat for approximately 45 seconds or until a light browning appears. Flip.

14. Add approximately 1 tbs. of oil to the tortilla and spread with the back of the spoon. Allow to cook for approximately 25 seconds of until a light browning occurs.

15. Continue to flip and add additional oil until desired browning is achieved.

Enjoy!

tnick

i marvel...

at the woman who cleans the school two times daily with a bucket of water and an old sweatshirt, bent ninety degrees or greater at the waist cleaning the layers of dust and dirt from the concrete floors…without a mop, broom or custodial bucket to wring the rag clean for her…who has the courage to throw her empty bucket at the mafia of geese obstructing her path to the water pump.

at the hundreds of kilometers I can see from my room on the hill overlooking the Rift Valley…and realizing that I will likely never see those abstract and tiny places at any closer distance.

at the amount of dirt and dust caked on my legs up to my knees and under my toenails at the end of the day…but thankful that it is dirt of the earth and not the dirt of people.

at how unglamorous I have become, but yet how I am growing to love my look wearing nothing more than sunscreen, mascara, and chapstick.

at how I have not checked my bank account status in nearly a month, but I feel wealthy and at peace with the 30,000 shillings {or $380} and debit card in my pocket in a country with few functioning ATM machines.

Signing off for the weekend, on the road to Nairobi…

tnick

a weekend in the life of susan robi {and me}

I mentioned in a previous post that too much free time is generally a bad thing here. Granted, my little library has been given its due attention and I am loving Spanish and Latin American authors right now {shout out to Roberto Bolaño and Márquez!}. Anyhow, as the hours creep by on Fridays, I start to literally feel an uncomfortable bodily anxiety: “O no! O no! O no! There is no way I can last to December; therefore there is also no way I can last until Sunday.” Really, that’s just silly logic. Thankfully, with a help of a hint delicately dropped by Wanjohi {Steve, or beer in Swahili} as our new fuel-efficient stoves were finally fired up on Friday afternoon, Susan invited me to spend the weekend with her in town proper.

Prior to the first stop, during our journey: I decided on a new adventure, much to my mother’s fear and Susan’s insistence that I am crazy. I desperately want to ride a boda boda, a bicycle taxi {literally, me sitting on a cushion on the back of a single-person bicycle}. Granted, they do not look remotely safe and the drivers have the tendency to ignore cars, but I think a short trip down a less-traveled road with Gideon following by car, video camera recording would be awesome. First stop: Mary’s cyber cafe, my new second home here. Nothing beats slow Internet and an ice-cold bottle of Krest Bitter Lemon served up by little Andrew on a Friday! Mary later carried me to the Merica Hotel to meet Susan, who had snuck away to “pick up something across town” (i.e. clean up her apartment). After lunching at Midlands Hotel the previous weekend, the havens of luxury in Nakuru are puzzling, juxtaposed with such harsh environments and realities. Inside: you might as well be in Hawaii—a light breeze, open verandas, mood lighting, tantalizing fresh fruit, and a well-dressed crowd. A few sodas and chicken skewers later, Susan and I called it a night in favor of television…which I have not done in a long time. On our docket: Hell’s Kitchen and Kelly Rippa’s shame, Hope & Faith.

Saturday was a whirlwind, and Sunday was not. Susan and I headed to lunch at an Ethiopian restaurant where I ate a curried chicken…with my hands…because that is how you do it…on top of a fermented crepe made out of rice? Round two was at Gilani’s supermarket/restaurant where the item of choice was chocolate ice cream that placated this insane heat, momentarily. Joined by Angela and Ben, we meandered to the Graceland Hotel in the upper class area of town. I downed a few {more} sodas and some peanuts while intensely people-watching and discussing the merits of Biggie versus 2 Pac with Ben. Our final hop was to Taidy’s where we were hoping to catch one of the big match-ups of the EPL after hearing that Man U was again beaten earlier in the day...but to no avail. Susan and I settled for a seat on the veranda away from the televisions and pool tables for rotisserie chicken rivaling Boston Market and bhajias {potatoes roasted in Indian spices}. Sunday we were lazy: church service in the morning, television all afternoon long.

Yeah, so in review, this sounds like I do little more than eat all the time. : )

I had a warm feeling returning to school on Monday morning, uniquely refreshed after seeing people and places beyond my security block of the school compound. I smiled as I helped Zachariah carry a few {thankfully empty} water jugs up the hill at the end of his day, my usual bathroom break. Random, awe-inspiring fact: women and small children carry 20-liter drums of water {that’s ten 2-liter Sprite bottles, guys} strapped across their foreheads and balanced on their backs. That’s just nuts. Anyhow, another smile appeared as Boniface hiked arm to shoulder with a new friend and fellow orphan, John, and he even returned a smile with a wave. My little guy has come so far! And then I realized there was a spider hanging out on the toilet paper roll…after I had sat down…and was doing my thing.

That’s my life.

How was your first weekend of spring?

Love to you,

tnick