Part 1 of Iceland

February 7, 2017 <-the day of my daddy’s birthday!!!

The saying goes that if you’re always looking back, you’ll never be able to move forward. At the beginning of my trek through Iceland, I thought this was true. I’d spent the whole bus ride to the trailhead contemplating my past, and how it would all shape my future, wondering how as this adventure became a memory of my past, it would effect me as well. How one chooses to measure the past however, is truly intriguing. The English language leads us to believe that much more is present than in reality, it’s a malleable language, allowing us the freedom to determine if we grew something or had grown it, or are growing it, or will grow it, or even will have grown it. Needless to say, other languages are even more extensive than this, but that’s to show that our societal perception of time, and how it should be handled, varies, but is shaped by our language.

Ultimately, the afternoon I arrived at the head of the trail, setup my tent, already exhausted merely from the ride there, took a nap and then set off to explore a bit of the trail. Within the first 5 minutes, I’d already turned around and began looking down and around to see exactly how steep what I’d just climbed up was. Completely taken aback, and with a mouth wide open, I considered how difficult it was walking up a basically 90 degree angle, without my backpack on!!! As I began walking on the phantasmagorical foot path, I was still panting. But yet the inner turmoil inside of me, did not translate over into what I was witnessing. Everything was peaceful and quiet, and I was by myself. No one surrounded me, and I felt that I could conquer the world on my own. With that being said however, I turned around every few minutes to see where’d I’d just come from, what feat I’d just conquered, to reaffirm my accomplishments and to encourage me to keep moving on. Eventually, I turned around, walked back, and went into the hot spring to relax. Not much was on my mind except how chilly it was going to be when I got out of the hotspring!! I then paid $5 for a 5 minute shower, and went back to my tent to eat some peanut butter on a tortilla, journalled, read, and hit the sac.

The following morning, I woke up, anxious to start on the trail. I didn’t want to wait until the warden came, so I informed a woman I’d met on the busride over (when our bus broke down, apparently for the first time in Icelandic history, and we waited for another bus to swing by in the highlands of Iceland LOLS). I set out as early as I could so that I’d get a good handle on the trail before everyone on the campsite woke up and started the hike. Due to my relatively short stature, I thought if I started early enough, I might made it to the next camping site without having too many people pass me along the way. Prior to leaving for Iceland, I’d decided I wanted to have some sort of audio in my ears as I hiked so as to avoid going stir crazy from the quietness. It just so happened that over the summer, my honors seminar professor had sent me a book on tape that had really moved her, and that she thought I might gain a lot from. The name of it escapes me at the moment, but it was a book about a Syrian refugee who’d come to the United States. Hiking with this in my ears, proved to be very motivating.

With all of that being said, I did run into a number of snagfus along my first day of this adventure. First, my Osprey Water Pack was not hooked in properly, so I quickly realized that I could not access the water I needed without taking my pack off and readjusting it. I then even more quickly realized that the second time you put your pack on in a day, it’s more difficult than the first time, even if nothing has changed. I then spent so much time drinking my water as I hiked, that I learned that if I thought the second time was hard, the third time was way worse. And all of that in just the first stretch!! About a quarter of the way in on my first day, I got to another relatively steep climb, but this time, a slightly muddy one with no real gripping. I pulled out the walking stick that my dad had highly encouraged me to bring, and realized that I couldn’t get it to lock into place. Having very limited mechanical experience, and no experience with the walking stick, I wasn’t quite sure what to do to ensure that if it wasn’t already broken, that I wasn’t the culprit for having broke it. After a little while of messing with it, I saw someone approaching, and I politely asked for his assistance. Sure enough, he took it apart and fixed it. I then made it mess up again so that I could try fixing it myself before he left, and it was good because he had to show me again. But after all of that was said and done, I began my trek as though I’d never left off, greatful to have had a few minutes of unapologetic rest.

I found that while walking in solitude, I didn’t have anyone to keep up with and keep me moving (but still, fellow trekkers would take photos of you if you asked nicely), but I also didn’t have anyone to tell me to slow down and take my inhaler. Being my competitive self, I felt I had something to prove, and so I tried to move along smoothly, while still trying to absorb the moments. It’s true however, that after every climb, up or down, I would turn around and look back. Eventually, I managed to get myself behind a group of French walkers on a tour and they randomly all stopped, and sat down to eat. Quite unsure of myself, and not wanting to look like a fool crossing the river that was right next to where they rested their laurels, I decided to take my break as well. I pulled out my tortillas and peanut butter and went to town. Once they’d risen and crossed, I saw how it was to be done, and continued on. By this point, I was quite aware of all the preparation I should have done prior to setting out on this endeavour, and I was just so looking forward to arriving on the campsite. In reflection, it seems like it went by a lot faster than it felt at the time, but by mid afternoon, I’d arrived at the bottom of another steep hill, with what seemed to be a solar panel at the top. My heart rose and I bolted up the hill to see the Icelandic flag, a small hut, and lots of circles of rocks around. As I made my way down, I wasn’t reflecting too much, just trying to choose the most strategic place for my tent, which I went ahead and set up before checking in with the warden.

When I finally did make my way into the hut to check in, I was starving and freezing. The warden told me for an additional $5, I could stay inside the hut until 16:00 and use their cooking equipment. Eagerly, I took that opportunity to warm up, and to meet some of my fellow adventurers. I sat down with a group of American girls in particularly high spirits. They were some of the few who were “hut hopping,” going from hut to hut without having to carry any tent or cooking equipment at all. As I sat at the table discussing the adventure with them, I discovered...To be continued….. (Photos to come!!)

For my dad: til hamingju með afmælið pabbi
I love you!!

-Siku njema,
Beca

America Part 2

Take a moment to travel through time with me. Let’s start where we last left off. It’s the beginning of the summer and I’ve just returned home from Kenya. I’ve spent a few days in New York with my friends and a week in Virginia with my grandparents. Now I’m walking into my house for the first time in months. It smells different than it once did, a bit less like dog and more like soap. It’s pleasant to my nose, but mind boggling to my brain. The lights seem to be brighter than they once were, but I know that they haven’t been changed. That is the inner workings of the footprint imprinted on my brain, the footprint of the stars shining and the light of the moon. The footprint of feeling what darkness feels like. A footprint that can only be formed by stepping into a world with less light pollution, and more appreciation of nature, a world like Kenya. Being able to exist without all of the artificial lighting all of the time has caused light itself to appear lighter to me. Besides these moderate sensory adaptations that my body is having to sync back up with, I feel relatively comfortable with being back home. Although I’d expected to feel heartbroken and sad that my time in Kenya had ended seemingly just as it had begun, I wasn’t. I knew that a piece of my heart was left behind in Kenya, just as it was in France from my time living there, but the feeling was no longer overwhelming to me.

A fellow counselor and one of my  
               many special campers!

I sleep very comfortably in my bed that night, not exhausted so much from the adventure that has just come to a close, but rather exhausted from thinking about what was to come next. This is another marking point in my life for when things began to slowly but surely, change. I immediately began throwing myself into the workforce. With an on-call job three mornings a week, an internship three evenings, and a 9-5 job on Sundays, I kept myself busy until summer camp started. Once my first full time job (summer camp) started, I kept working in each place except for the morning on call job. I honestly feel that summer camp was the culmination of all I’ve been working on so far with my life. It sounds crazy, even as I read it back to myself in my head. But all of the exploring and adventuring I do is primarily solitary. Even though in Kenya I was surrounded by 22 other students, I set off without knowing a single one of them. I also began the summer camp endeavor solo, but after the first few days, I realized exactly how much of a group effort that it was. I had to depend on others to do their job, and I myself had to be reliable to not only my fellow counselors, but the children as well. I’ve never been too inclined to interact with American children on such an intimate level, but I guess all of the solo preparation I’d done in my life really payed off. Some of the kids were genuine pains in the ass, but others were absolutely amazing human beings, so bright and intuitive. Besides all the obvious skill sets one expects to learn from counseling at summer camp, I also learned how to be a big sister to 2 campers, and a best friend to a few others. I learned what it was like to have people look up to you and think you’re cool. Most importantly, I realized that there is so much more exploration to be done than that of an intercultural exchange. You can learn something from anyone, no matter what the age difference is, or what you think you have in common. Being able to learn from others is about way more than opening your mind- you have to open your heart too. Summer camp allowed me to give my heart fully to the campers and to grasp a new understanding for what it means to explore the world.

I was very fortunate to receive the opportunity to immerse myself completely, not only into the lives of the many children I interacted with, but also in the town of Manchester. Having lived here for 17+ years of my 21 years of life, I surprisingly knew very little about it. The itch that I had to be on the move still kept me going. Luckily, I made friends with fellow counselors who were more than happy to show me around the town. I hiked a mountain that I never knew was here, learned about a local market, and tasted some new flavors in Manchester. In addition to this, my parents took me on numerous adventures both up mountains and around them, by foot and in the car throughout the entirety of Connecticut. I gained a new appreciation for Connecticut that I’d never previously had. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been consumed with wanting to explore the world that it seems I’d completely overlooked exploring my own back yard. For this reason, I am immensely grateful to have been home working this summer despite my original desire to try out a new job in a new location (river guide in Arizona anyone?)

Somewhere in the mix of all this, my grandmother passed away. Not really keen on grappling with the emotions that this brings up, I will transition into a discussion of how I ended up deciding to backpack through the southern part of Iceland. We no longer need to travel through time anymore, because this is very currently exactly what is about to happen. I am departing for a solo trek through the highlands of Iceland tomorrow!! So how did I get here? Well,  Iceland has been a place that I’ve been wanting to visit since I made friends with a fellow exchange student in France who was from Iceland. Last year, him and his friends traveled all around the world and I got to meet up with them all in New York for lunch one day. At that point, I became determined to go. So while in Virginia after my grandmother’s passing, I received a call from Emily asking if I thought we should go to Iceland. Of course I said yes and we both immediately bought our plane tickets. As we actually began talking about our hopes for the trip, it seemed that we didn’t have the same intentions at all, and so we decided to go our separate ways, both traveling solo. Although disappointed that I won’t be traveling with my friend, I am more than excited to be embarking on my first trekking experience where I will have nothing but my equipment and time to think about all of the fears about my future that originally plagued me at the beginning of the summer. Although slightly terrified, I know that this is exactly the kind of experience my grandma would have been on board with. Maybe very reluctantly for fear of my well being, but she would, without a doubt, be proud. I also don’t know how likely it would have been that I spontaneously decided to do this trip if not in the mental state that I was when the tickets were bought, so this is in large part, thanks to grandma. That was a long way for me to basically say that I am dedicating this adventure to my grandma! So up until now, I’ve been preparing, mentally and equipment wise, but not nearly as much physically as I should have been.

My quarter dome, one person tent
            from REI!

I have very occasional walked around the block with my pack, as per my father’s persistence at the importance of doing so, as well as the purchased a lot of equipment. This meant hours of youtube reviews and trip after trip to the local REI and EMS to talk to the experts. I purchased most everything through these stores, but I won’t go into the details of that process just yet. For now, I’d just like to talk about how one can work 65+ hours a week for an entire summer and come out of it with a bill still due to the credit

card company. Now it seems absurd to think that I spent all of that money on equipment for backpacking, and it is! Considering my flight itself, including fees for baggage, cost roughly $600, where could all of the other money gone? I’m a relatively frugal spender, so not much of it went to unnecessary Gatorade or chocolate bars (although a little bit of it did). But one unexpected cost that came into play this summer, consisted of issues with my car. In case you’ve never thought about this, take a moment to consider how cars are for made to keep people stationary. It may sound a little absurd but I assure you that it’s true. Cars are for those who’ve settled or are settling into a life with a daily routine that doesn’t change much from week to week, month to month, or even year to year. Sure it can take you on the occasional adventure, but for most people that isn’t what the car is for. The illusion of having a car is that you can get up and go anywhere whenever you want (presuming that you have enough money to fill the gas tank), and although true to an extent, vastly misrepresented. The rest of the money I earned this summer went to fixing my car, the car I had to fix because I had to go to work, for which I had to go to work to pay for the car. It’s a vicious cycle.

Speaking of cycles, a brief moment to divulge into a comment on the moon. Just as the tides change with the cycles of the moon so do our bodies. My body, mind and energy have been re-adapting to American life since returning home, and preparing for new adventures. Now as I prepare for backpacking in Iceland, my summer feels like it flew by, and my time in Kenya feels like an eternity ago. I mentioned at the beginning of this post that on my first night in my bed I couldn’t sleep because I was unsettled about the thoughts of having to deal with my future. As the summer closes however, I’ve got ideas for what paths I’d like to take next and am ready for my final fall semester at Hofstra! For the time being, I promise to post lots of pictures on Instagram, so look out!! (Link is on the bottom of this page)

Have a great last few days of summer!!
-Beca

America Part 1

“Slow and mindful steps, slow and steady breaths,” is another mantra that Emily and I used throughout our trek through Canada in order to keep ourselves conscious of our movements, and it is another mantra that I have found extraordinarily important to keep in mind during all of my experiences throughout Kenya. In true circular fashion, I felt it would truly complete this series of blog posts if I conclude with another mantra from Canada since it is how this all began. Recall: “Are you in the moment?” The mantra that took my adventurous spirit from the state of dream-hood to reality, and that serves as a reminder meaning more than I ever thought words could mean, as well as a catalyst for my growth. Not only do these mantras help to keep me present and grounded, but they give me the serenity I need to prosper in any given situation. Each and every adventure that I go on is a way for me to challenge myself to further develop, and my time in Kenya thus far has provided me with that opportunity as well.

As the past few weeks have come to a close, plenty of goodbyes have had to happen, but luckily they’ve been followed by a few hellos! The hardest part for me about saying goodbye though is that I have to let go of things that I’ve become so attached to, however small. For instance, the way that the security guard at my home in Eldoret greeted me every morning with a huge smile on his face, sending me off with well wishes for my day, to the way that the chef at the compound jovially said “karibu” (you’re welcome) after being thanked each meal. Saying goodbye to those people, even those people that I’ve only exchanged a few words with, is so hard because of the impact that they’ve had on my life, and I can never thank them enough for all of the ways that they’ve changed me.

It’s such a double-edged sword however, because the best part of travel is the people that I meet, even though ultimately it leads to the inevitable goodbye. One of the many reasons why I love travel so much is for the opportunity to interact with people, have them share their culture with me, and genuinely have my eyes opened to perspectives I never would have thought of before. There are many people that I’ve met these past four months who I know I may never see again, and many others who I’m certain that I will. But either way, I want to thank everyone in Kenya for welcoming me into their hearts, and helping me to find a new place to call home. Everyone that I met wanted me to tell America that they said hello, so what better avenue than this blog! “Hello from Kenya!”  

So let’s start,with the end then. I left Kenya and landed for a layover in Amsterdam. The first place that I saw when walking off the plane was a Starbucks and I beelined for it, fiending for my iced chai latte. As I took my first sip, I realized that it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as I’d expected it to be, and the rest of it didn’t fulfill me the way I’d hoped it would either. As strange as this may seem, this was the first inkling I had that everything was different. I guess to understand why this was so significant to me, you would have to know that I spent literally every penny of my meal plan at Hofstra on iced chai lattes from Starbucks the previous semester. So the fact that I no longer enjoyed the flavor anymore, well you can imagine. As I said, I knew that everything was different.

I had a bit longer to ruminate on this during my flight into New York, although mostly in a fatigued and clouded state of mind, aka. a completely unproductive line of thought. This time when I got off the plane, I was concerned primarily with how I was going to receive all of the love I was bound to be bombarded with from my family at Hofstra. A couple of my “sisters” picked me up from the airport and we went out to IHOP to meet some of our “brothers”.  We took the same drive from the airport towards my school that I’d taken from my school to the airport prior to my departure for Kenya, but absolutely everything looked different. The very things that I passed and thought “jeez I’m going to miss that” were the very things that I now looked at and said “damn, I could definitely live without that.” And then being with everyone was far more natural than I expected even though I spent the majority of my time trying to stay awake (going on 30+ hours of no sleep). I spent our time at the restaurant taking note of the smallest things, like the condensation on my glass of water because of the ice, an unfamiliar feeling now that my fingers and tongue had been without for a bit of time. During the rest of the weekend, I stayed with my friends and attended graduation where the true fin to a chapter concluded. This inspired me to prepare more thoroughly for my future. I left graduation and went immediately to purchase GRE preparation books with the intent of attending graduate school. This however, is outside of the scope of this post!

Love you Grandma!!

So the following week, I spent quite a bit of time with my grandma and popa, two of my most avid readers! They serve as some of my biggest inspirations for continuing this blog, and for taking advantage of all the opportunities I have. I want to mention the perseverance that I’ve witnessed in them both, and the motivation that this gives me to keep pursuing all of my dreams. I love them so much and am so glad that I got to be welcomed home by them and my parents!

Although there are so many aspects of everything that I could discuss, that will have to come at a later date because at this time, everything is still very overwhelming and I’m trying to process it all! But as I begin to formulate more thoughts, I will be sure to document them here.

I’ve come a far way from what I once was but am not yet what I’m going to be, and I am so looking forward to continuing to develop throughout the rest of my formative years, and hopefully for the rest of my life! Nimeshukuru sana sana!! Thank you so much for following me along this journey, and here’s to many many more! (PS, please feel free to click on the link to Instagram below for a more up-to-date view of the adventures I’m on throughout this summer).

Siku njema!
Beca

Eldoret

Something that I’ve struggled with since being in Kenya is the blatant distinction between white and black. As has been apparent in many posts, I very much dislike having my attention drawn by someone shouting out “mzungu!” and when receiving no response, changing it to “white lady!” This past week however, I experienced many things which finally gave me an inkling of understanding about the distinction between socioeconomic class, which as an outsider, hadn’t seemed as obvious to me. After a comment made by my mom about how she expected things to be so much less expensive in Kenya, I realized how right she was. Most of the items that I’ve purchased have been from places like Nakumatt, which I previously referred to as the equivalent of Walmart. I’ve since learned however that socially, Nakumatt is perceived as many perceive Target in America, a classier, more expensive version of the same thing. Otherwhys, I buy things on the street where I’m perceived as deserving a higher price than my equal Kenyan counterpart because of my foreignness.

In reality though, things that an average Kenyan buys at an average price, are much more what my mother had expected. With some variation, a matatu (kenyan bus) is 30 ksh (30 cents), a bag of 4 fresh avocados is 80 ksh (80 cents), a coke in a glass bottle 35 ksh (35 cents), etc. -you get the picture, extraordinarily reasonable compared to American prices for comparable items.

I am not at all disputing the abject poverty that many Kenyans live in, nor am I disputing that those who are well off do not still struggle because of the economy. But what I’ve come to realize is that in America, most people make a relatively steady income, even those who don’t work, thanks to the infrastructures that we’ve set up. This thought process relates back to my experiences this past week in which I had the opportunity to shadow some street health care workers who are helping to facilitate the OSCAR research. OSCAR stands for Orphaned and Separated Children Assessment Related to their health and well-being.

Money is not something that most people like to talk about, but here I’m about to. Like most college educated students, my family and I are in a significant amount of debt because of it. Does this mean that I won’t buy a new pair of shoes or go out to dinner with the small amount of savings that I have? No. Should it? Maybe. But the point is that I’m riding on the last bit of that savings now to carry me through the rest of the semester. It took three years of working part time while in school to earn enough money to buy my plane ticket to Kenya. So when someone is following me along my entire walk home (especially prevalent during my OSCAR outreach) requesting that I fund their trip to America as if because I’m white, I inherently have that money, it gets very frustrating.

At the time, I was feeling as though I was being perceived by the community as this entitled girl who was too selfish to share the wealth instead of a hardworking girl who is just trying to learn what I can to be able to make a difference in the world someday. From my perspective, what distinguishes the west from developing countries is not so much having physical money, but rather having the opportunity to earn in. Although we struggle with unemployment in America as well, I feel that there are more opportunities to work than in Kenya. In my opinion therefore foreign aid to countries should not come in the sense of money, but rather in the sense of helping local people start their own companies, resulting in opportunities for others to become employees, etc. That is one thing that Kenya has going for them as one of the fastest growing economies-the entrepreneurship is through the roof. So many people start so many amazing businesses. Although it may be because they don’t have any other choice, many of these businesses are thriving. The variety of businesses range from selling clothes second hand on the street, to companies situated in buildings throughout the central business district of Nairobi, accessed through online marketing and spread by word of mouth.

What really motivated this post however, was when I was told that I could not walk home, and if I needed money for a taxi, well “it was only 3 dollars, so if I didn’t have it, anyone in the room could give it to me” (in a room full of very well off Americans). And I’ve realized that this is why the perception of us is as it is here in Kenya. 300 ksh is a lot to spend on a taxi for such a short distance, and money is far from expendable. For a Kenyan family, those 300 ksh could be the difference between someone being able to afford feeding their family for dinner for an entire week, or not. Yet to these Americans, it was only* three dollars. It put me in such a position where I felt embarrassed for feeling like that was a lot to go literally down the street, and I can only imagine how others feel when foreigners can appear so demeaning. It’s no wonder that people expect us to just give them money when this is the perception that many literally hand over to them. In terms of something larger than the topic of money (although that is certainly a large topic), it’s important to keep this in mind when interacting with any set of diverse peoples. Whether from the same culture or community, there is frequently a less visible difference in many other aspects of people's’ lives.

For these reasons, and for several others, one should never assume anything about another. The Americans that I associated with assumed that I would have enough money to be able to take a taxi, and Kenyans live in a constant state of assuming that I have extra money laying around to hand out. As my dad always says though, assuming only makes an ass out of you and of I, and I have to second that. Without assumptions about others, the world would be filled with less judgement and more communal understanding and societal progress.

With all of this being said however, I understand how sensitive of a subject money is and I hope that I have not approached it too obnoxiously. I am conscientious of the fact that everything I say comes with the privilege of being able to say so. By having enough money to travel, even for studies, I have more money than many Kenyans. Despite how positive my intentions in studying abroad may be, that doesn’t change the way that I appear. My perspective on this matter is obviously directly correlated to the fact that I am a white American, and regardless of how my opinion on the matter changes throughout my life, that will always be the fact. Although sometimes difficult to cope with, because I’ve always been one to find myself uncomfortable when sitting in a room full of white people, I know that in society, it doesn’t matter how I feel on the inside, rather how others from the outside perceive me. That however, is a commentary for another day. I think that for now, this is enough to soak in.

Siku njema!

Beca

AMPATH Internship

Taken from Joyfulheart.com

For the past week, I’ve been settling into my new home for the month. The place is called Eldoret, and the mission is to interact with as many people and public health concepts as is humanly possible within such a short amount of time. While here, I am participating in an internship with a consortium called AMPATH. To start, I’ll give you a brief overview of what my internship is concerning. AMPATH was originally an acronym for the Academic Model for Prevention and Treatment of HIV/AIDS. It has since developed however, to stand for the Academic Model for Providing Access to Healthcare. Despite what is commonly understood, AMPATH is not an NGO, but rather a consortium of North-American schools, Moi University Medical School, and Moi Teaching and Referral Hospital (which was only the 2nd public hospital in Kenya), and was founded during President Daniel arap Moi’s era in Eldoret, Kenya. AMPATH serves as the overarching connection between all of these places, but has no employees as it isn’t technically it’s own entity.

In my mission to interact with as many people as possible, I’ve already succeeded in meeting with American medical students, residents, Kenyan outreach coordinators, children, parents, and two amazing people who helped found AMPATH at the very beginning. During this first week, I’ve also had the opportunity to get acquainted with my surroundings, and figure out where I will best fit in for the next three weeks. One of the places that I’ve already visited and felt an instant connection to is called the Amani Shelter (Amani means hope). This place is run by two women and originated as a women’s shelter, but has since turned into a home for children without homes as well. I went with my supervisor and a friend of hers to see how the micro-business that she helped the shelter to start was coming along. Essentially, she donated >30 healthy chickens ready to begin laying to the shelter, as well as laying beds for the chickens, and the initial food for them. The goal is to create a sustainable source of income for the shelter by having the women sell the eggs laid by the chickens. With the money they earn, they can continue to provide for the chickens, and ultimately have leftovers to help with the rest of the cost of the shelter. They also hope to have a rooster soon so that they can begin breeding more chickens, allowing them to eat the ones that are currently providing the eggs, and allowing the cycle to continue and expand.

       From plastic bag,       to plastic yarn,         to plastic purse

Being the only SLU student in Eldoret, I didn’t have much to do over the weekend, so I reached out to the Amani shelter and asked if I could return to help out with anything that they needed, volunteering as I do frequently in the U.S. This visit was one of my most memorable moments in Kenya so far because it really helped something to click for me. One of the mothers told me that they are always so so happy to have visitors, and all of a sudden I had a new perspective. Throughout the whole semester I’ve felt as though people look at me, and because of the color of my skin, assume that I’m there to help in some way, when in reality I’m simply a student. In my hours at this shelter, I was introduced and seen as a visitor, as a friend. Sure in this instance, I had gone with the intent of helping which was much different then my motive for the rest of my activities this semester (to learn), but I was welcomed as one of the family they’ve formed there. With that being said, I was able to do something tangible. The women create bags, from grocery style bags, to beach bags, to pocketbooks. These bags are made 100% from plastic grocery bags, and are crocheted into these more sustainable bags, resulting in benefits for our environment as well as another source of income for the shelter. When I got back to my home, I took all the plastic bags I had and made the yarn from them as I’d been taught at the shelter to bring to them, so that was a great way to wrap up the weekend!

In addition to that experience, at the Moi Teaching and Referral hospital itself, I’ve had many opportunities to entertain/teach some children which are either patients, siblings of patients, or children who’ve been abandoned at the hospital. It never ceases to amaze me the mannerisms of Kenyan children, which I’ve had the opportunity to witness in various settings, but more concentratedly, here. Even in the instances where there is nothing to play with/do, the children do not cry out for attention. It isn’t even necessarily that they find ways to entertain themselves, but rather just find themselves doing nothing, and being okay with that. They are extraordinarily peaceful and respectful. Of course a small part of me would like to believe that this is simply a genetic trait of Kenyans, or perhaps the climate is just conducive to this sort of behavior. But I know it has more to do with the way they’re raised and the fact that they really have no choice, which is truly a double-edged sword. Historically, the reason for having children in many Kenyan communities has been practical - to have more people to help provide for/protect the family. There is therefore, no need or time to coddle the children. The Maasai boys for example, begin herding cows by themselves as early as 6 years old!! In America, at 6 years old, children are still crying when they have to let go of their mom’s hand for school. The independence and resilience of these children inspires me beyond belief. While the fact that they are able to hold themselves in such a mature manner is something to aspire for, the circumstances leading to this result have to be considered as well. As I’ve already mentioned, some of the children that I’m interacting with have been abandoned at the hospital, others have fallen into boiling oil, burning almost their entire bodies, spending sometimes years in the hospital waiting to heal. If their independence comes from factors like these, is it really worth the cost? But then again, do all of these factors play a role in why Kenya is among the fastest growing economies in sub-saharan Africa (according to the world bank)? Because the upbringing of Kenya’s children lends to perseverance, and ultimately great success? There is no easy answer, all I know for sure is that what I gain from this experience will be far beyond the scope of what I came to AMPATH to learn.

Although from this internship, it’s certain that I will gain a better understanding of the way global and public health functions, I believe that even more importantly, I will glean something so vitally important to human nature. When you have to be brave and strong - you are. When you have to be independent - you are. When you have to be idle for hours on end - you do so without complaining. These children are the epitome of these traits, and I’m so grateful to have the opportunity to spend time with them, and to learn about their dreams and goals, and know that even though all of the odds are against them, if anyone can make it happen, it is these children. My only hope is that I will be able to inspire those that I’m working with, even an inkling of the amount that they are inspiring me.

More to come on the outreach programs that I will have an opportunity to participate in the next week!
-Beca

Amboseli National Park

A short picture story, inspired by my life

by Rebecca Webber

Once upon a time, not too long, there was a mom elephant and a baby elephant named Dreana, and Ereccab, respectfully. They resided in Amboseli National Park in Kenya. Moma Dreana had been known throughout the community to constantly keep the baby at her heels, and most of the time Ereccab was happy to do so because her mom had never led her astray before. Today however, she felt like something would be different, and when they set out that morning, she did so with a pep in her step for excitement of what was to come.

As they crossed the strange road where a bunch of alien like creatures stood out of a giant contraption with huge eyes focused on them, Ereccab thought to herself, 'I want to go on an adventure today.' 

So after crossing the road, she caught up to her mom and asked, "Can I please find the watering hole on my own today?" to which her mom responded "Are you sure honey? We always go together." But the baby elephant felt like she was ready, and so she insisted. This was going to be her opportunity to accomplish things all by herself.

Reluctantly, moma Dreana left her little baby girl behind with hopes that she would find her way safely. Of course she'd taught her daughter about the predatory lions and hyenas, and could only hope that Ereccab had been listening to all of those lessons and wouldn't be too naive to appreciate certain safety precautions. Ereccab wasn't nervous at all though. She'd been preparing her whole life for this adventure. She ran off immediately and found herself among a group of animals who didn't look anything like her!

After a bit of thought, she recognized them as being zebras. Ereccab had never seen so many on her own since she'd always been trailing so closely behind her mother. She wondered what other kinds of things she'd missed from her lack of independence, but was glad that she'd finally gotten out from between her mother's legs. Enthusiastically, she greeted the zebras with the same greeting she'd always greeted her family, but it seemed to frighten her new friends!

The zebras began turning to run in the other direction. Ereccab wondered to herself if she had done something wrong. She'd never really interacted with other animals before, so perhaps, she thought, her greeting meant something different in their culture. Rather than running back to her mom and the familiar however, she decided to observe the next animals she came across, figure out how they interacted, and then try to implement that instead of her own family's greeting.

Before she knew it, Ereccab came across an antelope. She watched and watched but was unable to determine the antelope's cultural norms because he wouldn't stop looking at her!! It appeared that neither was going to be able to ascertain anything from the other because the antelope was too hesitant of the new visitor, and Ereccab was trying so hard to blend in when it was clearly not possible, no matter how hard she tried.

Finally, the antelope greeted Ereccab, and the elephant excitedly responded in kind. The antelope offered to show her the way that they found the watering hole. Since the elephant was in unfamiliar territory now, she decided that her best option was to embrace the opportunity to learn a new way to do something, recognizing that her mom and familiy's way was not forcibly the best or even only way to accomplish arriving at the watering hole. She hopped into line with the antelopes, trusting that they would lead her to the right place.

Before she knew it, they had led her directly to her family! Moma Dreana got up so fast from laying in the water, and ran over to greet her daughter. She was beyond proud of the fact that she'd made it, and was so grateful that she was safe. The baby elephant on the other hand, was so grateful for the adventure she'd had, and the new friends that she made. She knew she would have never had the opportunity to meet them, or see the shortcut to get to the watering hole if she hadn't branched out to interact with others, and hadn't trusted that they wouldn't let her down.

-The End-

     Ultimately, branching out and interacting with people from other cultures, being non judgmental and fully open to their way of living, is the only way to fully experience time abroad. Regardless of what you set out to do when you go, be it as a student, a tourist, or finding a new home, the only way to get the most from your time, is to engage yourself with the community and the culture.

    During the past two weeks, I had the opportunity to interview community members of both Kisumu and Amboseli, and in Amboseli, I also had the opportunity to spend a night in a manyatta with a Maasai family. These were some of the most valuable experiences that I've had yet for a numerous amount of reasons, most notably the perspective that I was able to view from other students, many of whom opted not to experience the homestay for reasons varying from stomach virus to fear of getting lice. I was very sad for those who didn't get to experience it, and wish that it had of been required so that they could dismantle all of the stereotypes from a first-hand account. Regardless, I'll tell you about my experience.

    The family that I stayed with consisted of one husband, two wives, and maybe about 20 children. They were all very welcoming, and kind people, very happy to share their home. Many of my fellow students took issue with the fact that Maasai families are polygamous. However, it's so important to take into consideration why that is the case! People in polygamous relationships are not necessarily getting married for 'love' but rather for very practical purposes. They need more hands to care for all of the animals, and to

 

protect the family. Wealth is measured in the number of cows and wives one has, and it isn't fair to force our concept of wealth onto them, or to dis-value the way that others chose to express it. My family had many cows and goats. Since it's always been a dream of mine to hold a goat, and because with the Maasai anything is possible, that dream came true. I also had the opportunity to fetch water, firewood, sleep on a cowskin, and touch the tip of a spear that had killed two lions. These are just a few of the amazing experiences that I was able to have by being open to experiencing another culture, and I am so grateful to have been able to.

    Prior to spending the night in a Maasai family's home however, we as a class, attended a cultural manyatta. These are tourist attractions that 'demonstrate the life of traditional Maasai.' However, what they don't mention in their presentation of the home, is that there are very few Maasai that still live this way, and possibly even only those living in the cultural manyattas. Because of the stereotype of Africa, and all of the people in it, the Maasai have taken the role of perpetuating this image, in order to create a livelihood, but potentially at the detriment to all of Kenya, more broadly East Africa, and even more broadly, Africa as a continent. Too frequently, I hear someone refer to Africans as a whole, as those 'backwards bush people,' and the connotations of this are extraordinarily negative. First of all, there is nothing backwards about those who do live in the bushes (see previous post on the Hadza of Tanzania for my perspective on that), but the diversity of Africa is not at all reflected in this statement either. The perpetuation of this image however, is definitely achieved through the cultural manyattas. It is very discombobulating though, because in no way are they representative of Africa as a whole, or even of the modern day Maasai. Many people come to see exactly what is depicted in the cultural manyattas however, and is an issue entirely in it's own. What's even worse is the fact that the only reason the Maasai are having to find a source of income is because of the encroachment on their land, and the overall push for 'development.' In addition to the problems that this poses, for the economic sustainability and culture of the Maasai, it poses many issues for the entire continent's ability to be seen in a more accurate light. It is a continent full of very diverse countries, within which there are very diverse cultures, and the usage of the Maasai image to those who are not familiar with this concept poses great difficulty for all communities. 

    I propose that everyone be open to all other cultures, and try to understand them before passing any sorts of judgement. In addition, one cannot believe a single representation of a culture because as mentioned in my short story, people are often trying to adapt to each other, especially when interacting with foreigners, and this can lead to a misrepresentation of cultures as well. There should be some sort of exchange among tourists and toured, one which doesn't involve simply staring at other people as though they were animals in a zoo (as I believe is done in a cultural manyatta).

    Anyways, I've only just briefly touched upon the subject, there is much more to be said about the tourist industry in East Africa, as well as the concept of development. In a more positive light however, there is also much to be said about the different cultures and the beauty of the country! Take for instance, these beautiful landscapes: 

Siku njema!!

-Beca

Urban Homestay

          5 years ago I was studying abroad in France, keeping a blog much similarly to this one. While there, my grandfather (Grandaddy, Evangelist, Franklin Payne Smith Senior) gave me some solid advice in the form of a comment on one of my posts. He told me, in short, to "feel it all." From the great times with friends, to the less than great times. To feel every moment of it all means to be alive. He made an analogy about Michaelangelo's paintings. What was the brush thinking as Michaelangelo was painting, or the paint as it was being smeared on a canvas? By simply existing, and having an array of experiences, we become one with our environments, becoming as paint does, an entire picture. I'm sure that if the paint of Michaelangelo's paintings could think, they would be in awe at the beauty that they become by being a part of the bigger picture. My grandfather also said "copy as much as you can to your body's, mind's, and soul's hard drive so that the experiences will be a part of you forever." And it is in large part for this reason that I am keeping these reflections. To ingrain these experiences and to feel them completely. (*Although this is being posted after the fact because of a lack of internet access on my part-It's true, not everyone, no matter what socio-economic status or availability, places value on wifi!!)
          3 weeks ago, I had no idea what the life of a Nairobian was like. But after having spent the time with my host family, I not only gained much experience, but I left an impression with so many people, I became a part of their paintings. No matter what interaction we have with someone, we impact them in one form or another, and I am grateful to have had an impact on my family and for them to have one from me as well.

          My first impression arriving at the home of my family was "Wow, there's a lot of security here." In addition to the guarded gate to enter into the neighborhood, there is another gate with a guard at every individual house within the neighborhood. Surrounding the houses are brick walls, frequently with barbed wire on top, but in my case, shards and shards of glass. The door to the entrance remains locked, even when people are home, and there is another locked gate in front of the staircase leading to everyone's rooms that is locked up at night. This wasn't unique to my family though! All 22 of us had very similar security arrangements, and I find it fascinating that there is so much security despite the lack of obvious threat. The immediate concern is being robbed, and so these precautions are taken. I also think that families, if they have the means to afford hiring someone to watch the gate do so in order to give them a place to stay, and money to afford necessities that they may otherwise not have access to. I'm not saying it's completely altruistic though, as I will describe next.

A genius concept - having a sink in the dining room

          I would classify the family that I stayed with as upper middle-class, with similarities to my family at home. One thing however, stuck out as a major difference. It is not uncommon for families to have house help. This bounces off what I was saying earlier however, about giving people who otherwise may be struggling, to have room and board. I find that in America you have to be very well-off to afford help in the house, or to constitute having a security guard in front of your house. However, here in Kenya, my parents didn't get home until 8-9 pm every evening. In America, my mom stayed home to raise me and do homely things. At first, I thought that the dichotomy between rich and poor must be so vast that this middle class is comparable to our upper class. However, upon further reflection, I became cognizant of the fact that in America, if families are able to lose an entire income for a parent to stay at home everyday, they are just as well off, if not more so, than in Kenya whereas the cost of hiring help is probably significantly less expensive than the family losing an entire source of income. Although the house help is in most cases given room and board, depending on their role in the family, they do not make a substantial amount of money. Many come from informal settlements, and the room and board, and support from the families they work for is usually more than enough to sustain their lives, but probably not to pursue more education/sustain their own family.
          One such informal settlement is called Kibera. It is often referred to as the largest slum in East Africa, but there is a lot of ambiguity as to how many people truly live there. In fact, the reported numbers by many NGOs are seemingly 4x as much as research shows there to actually be. As a class (of St. Lawrence University students), we had the opportunity to visit one of two NGOs: Carolina for Kibera, or the Red Rose School. I visited Carolina for Kibera which had both a health clinic, and a girls outreach group within Kibera. I was also afforded the chance to enter into a home of a resident in Kibera. Despite the inaccuracies of the number of inhabitants in Kibera, the living situation is still very cramped and very unsanitary. I would argue however that the perpetuation of the idea that Kibera is the largest slum in East Africa makes it seem impossible to improve, and is in fact detrimental to their improvement. I therefore propose abolishing this stigmatization and for NGOs to continue focusing their attention on getting to know the needs of the residents, as well as the government acknowledging their existence. For instance, if the government held the landlords responsible for having basic necessities for their tenants, such as toilet facilities, many of the issues, I believe, would remedy themselves. Anyways, that's just my opinion.

          Just on the other side of the city however, there is a huge outdoor mitumba (thrift), called Toy Market. I had the opportunity to visit it with my host-cousin after a free yoga class provided every weekend by The Africa Yoga Project. This came at the perfect timing because very shortly after arriving in Kenya, I realized that there was only one comfort from home that I absolutely needed, and this was further reiterated during my homestay. I was greatly missing wrapping my toes up in my nice wool socks while I studied, and then still being able to go walk outside.  This, my friends, is possible only with my adidas, which I left at home. However, while out shopping I found the perfect pair, almost brand new, for $10.00. Although I without a doubt could have gotten them for significantly cheaper, my bargaining skills at that point were not up to par, and I so desperately wanted them. Here in Kenya, you can bargain just about anything from your taxi fare to the bracelet in the market that you really want. The only place that I've identified which cannot be bargained at are restaurants and Nakumat. The prices are frequently jacked up even higher because we're white, but I always resort to telling them "Mimi ni mwanafunzi!! Si na pesa. Tafhidali." or "I'm a student, I have no money, please." This is only after they've said they're lowest, final price, and what I've offered is literally the only money in my wallet. Then the bargaining turns into my begging. Regardless, it's super fun and I've gotten many amazing summer clothes, shoes, and dresses mitumba shopping! Including, most importantly, my adidas.
          Some other fun things that happened during my homestay, are as follows. I went with my host sister to a place called the Karen Hub (which had just opened) for three different occasions. The first was for an open-mic night, the second for pizza at Dominoes, and the third for a screening of a film for the International Woman's Day. The short film depicted a story of a woman who accidentally gave her daughter the wrong medicine because she was illiterate (as she'd been raped, become pregnant, and had to leave school at a very young age), and it ended up killing her daughter. As a now adult woman, she went back to school. The purpose of the film was to speak on the importance of educating females, among other things. The mall itself is absolutely beautiful and the owner, of European descent, came to the open-mic night to convey the significance of the arts and how happy he was to have so many people interested in them.  Another weekend, with my host-sister, I had the opportunity to participate in the First Lady's Half Marathon through the town of Nairobi. It was held by the first lady to raise money for initiatives to reduce maternal and child mortality. At the end of the televised marathon, as people ran through the finish line, they were given medals and certificates for completing! It was awesome! By the time I got around to seeking a medal, there were none left though, no big deal! It was still awesome.
          Overall, the three weeks were exceptional and flew by! I had so many experiences that I will never forget, met so many amazing people, and learned so much about the many dichotomies of life in Nairobi. It was definitely a feel-everything kind of experience, and I'm so grateful to have been able to live the way Nairobians live every day for these three weeks, ultimately becoming a part of the greater picture. I hope that everyone takes my Grandfather's advice to feel it all!

I've been thinking about my Grandaddy a lot lately, and so this is in very loving memory of him.

Grandaddy and myself being goofy

Siku Njema!
-Beca