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

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

Hadza in Tanzania

           Imagine a world in which there is no property and obligatory sharing is a thing. Where hoarding isn't an issue because you take only what you need when you need it, and there is an unlimited amount of resources because you aren't killing the environment with unsustainable living habits. Imagine being at peace because you live 100% in the present moment, not stressing about even the next minute to come. This is the way the Hadzabe of Tanzania live.

Climbing a Bau Bau Tree

           Many may have heard references to "backwards bush people" in their lives, but I will attest that the hunter-gatherer lifestyle that these people chose to live by is far from backwards. In fact, I would argue that they've got it all right. They are the only society to have never experienced a famine! Tell me they aren't doing life the way life is meant to be done!
           Having finished Ishmael by Daniel Quinn while on my excursion into the bush, my perspective on "developed" societies has altered drastically. According to Quinn, Mother Culture tells us that in order to live a good life, we have to be in control of our surroundings at all times. This is to say that rather than going out and finding what there is to eat in nature, one plants their own food. And with development, one opens up a grocery store with foods brought in from all over the place. That way, when you want an orange, even if there are none on your farm, there are some in the store. You have access to whatever you want, whenever you want so long as you have the means to purchase it. Not only does this put into our heads that we are superior to all other life forms because we have the power, it also creates class distinctions between those who can have what they want when they want, and those who cannot. Money becomes the priority in this lifestyle because Mother Culture tells us that's what we need to survive. Ishmael makes a statement against this consumer culture in which we are so willing to kill the earth that we claim to love so much because of this human desire to "develop." Physically being with the Hadzabe and experiencing a semblance of what it feels like to live the hunter-gatherer lifestyle was eye-opening to the legitimacy of Daniel Quinn's book (which by the way, I highly recommend reading).

One morning in particular, we had the opportunity to split into small groups and go out with the men on hunting missions. Walking through the expansiveness of the savanna was overwhelming to say the least. The natural landmarks of trees and bushes were used to navigate our way through all the brush. The men carried bows and arrows that we'd helped them to make the previous day (by carving a tree branch, and chewing on giraffe tendon to use as glue for the feathers). Upon spotting something in the distance that none of us students saw, the man would take off his shoes and run off as we crouched down as quietly as we could. Obviously, we hindered his hunting experience greatly by being slightly clumsy, loud, and very visible, but the man whom my group walked with was able to hit a guinea fowl and capture all of her baby chicks (we couldn't find the guinea fowl or arrow used to hit her). Although unsettling to me to eat the babies, c'est leur vie, so sure enough, they were roasted up and eaten like chicken nuggets.

TORN UP LEGS post-bush hunting experience

          In Tanzania, it is law to attend school through primary years. Several Hadza people continue to attend school even after they've completed the compulsory years. A conversation that we had with the community however, demonstrated that regardless of whether or not someone attended school for 16+ years, they always returned to the bush because their quality of life there was so great. To me, this legitimizes how they live so much more. It is not because of a lack of education or knowledge that there is another way, it is completely willingly that the Hadza chose to hunt and gather as their livelihood. Although I'm not going to drop out of school and join the Hadzabe in the Yaeda Valley anytime soon, I highly respect their lives and believe that there are a few lessons that can be taken from them.

-Take only what you need, in the moment that you need it.
-Respect everyone as equals, understanding that everyone contributes something.
-Appreciate your culture, the values that you've learned, use them to be happy.
-Stay stress free!
-Remember that the benefits of "development" are subjective.
-Living a good life is not synonymous with having the ability to get whatever you want whenever you want it.

           There are so many other aspects of this experience that I could discuss, but I will conclude with only one more point. As I am a linguistics major, it would be unnatural for me to not at least mention the fact that the language of the Hadza peoples is linguistically different from any other, indicating their seclusion and lack of influence from other societies. In addition to hominid bones being found in their valley, this further leads to the potentiality of them being the origin of all mankind as we know it today. I feel honored to have been walking on the land that was very possibly the originating area of our ancestry.
           I highly encourage you to do a little google search of the Hadza hunter-gatherers in Tanzania as what I've written here is only a cursory glance at this fascinating group of people. There are so many other aspects I could have touched upon such as their sense of independence at such a young age, or the way that women have all the same rights as men. I wish I could go on but I will leave it at this for now!
         

For those who are interested on a more personal note, my 21st birthday (February 13th) was an ultimate success and one that I will never forget. How many people get to say that they brought in their 21st year being sung to by an indigenous East African community and new friends, complete with Mt. Kilimanjaro lager and cakes with
arrows as representatives of the big 2 1? I was absolutely taken aback by the enormity of the moment, and even now cannot do justice to the experience. Everything about everything was amazing!




Siku Njema,
Beca

(P.S. This experience was made possible by DOROBO Safaris which although a for-profit organization, works very hard to establish a positive relationship with the Hadza, and help them to secure their land from being encroached upon by other communities. In conversation, the Hadza said that they were very happy to have us there because they were able to learn a lot from us and were so happy to teach us about their culture (DOROBO is worth googling as well to see the impacts they've had on the society)).

DOROBO Vehicle

Road Infrastructure

Life is all about the roads we decide to take. Are they gravely and bumpy or smooth sailing? When we come to forks, which direction do we chose to go in? How does whatever path we chose affect the rest of our lives? Some might say that the metaphor of life being a journey in which we all must travel is cliche, but it's referred to as such for valid reasons! I will take this opportunity to tell you about the array of roads I ventured on this week.
Being the first week of classes, I spent a lot of time getting to know my surroundings. For starters, driving into the Central Business District (CBD) of Nairobi to the United Kenyan Club (UKC), which is where I attend classes Monday-Thursday, takes about 30 minutes. The ride is relatively smooth and before long, I'm in my History of Modern Kenya and Gender Studies classes. For lunch one day, my friends and I set out to find Java (an American style cuisine). Although there are a few street lights throughout the CBD, they might as well not exist. For about 3 red light cycles, I watched the cars zoom right through them without a care in the world for the pedestrians waiting to cross. I couldn't help comparing it in my mind to New York City where the pedestrians truly own the road. That is not the case here at all. There was nothing we could do except wait for literally all of the cars to pass through all of our turns to walk until there were no cars left. Mind you there were at least 20 people waiting to cross, but no one took the initiative to forge a path for the legitimate fear of being run over. To make the situation even better, there are police waiting anxiously to capture people jay-walking. I say capture because best-case scenario, you bribe the police officer to let you go, worst-you sit in jail for a day waiting for trial, and then ultimately get fined 500 Ksh (Kenyan shillings) ($5.00).
After classes are finished for the day, we head back to our compound, which is in the outskirts of Nairobi in a neighborhood called Karen. This trip takes about an hour and a half due to the extensive amount of traffic leaving the city at 4:30 pm. Crazily enough, it would take twice as long without Njou (our driver) who asserts himself into the flow of cars quite seamlessly. To say that driving in Kenya is aggressive would be an understatement. There are few stop signs (and when there are, they're ignored), many roundabouts, and most places do not have lines on the roads. Now this could be an example of underdevelopment, but I don't see it that way. Personally, I think it's amazing that people are able to travel on the roads and maintain some semblance of structure without heavily enforced traffic laws. Besides the ban on jay-walking of course.
This week, after finishing my classes one day, I took a trip into town with my friend Sarah to go to Naukumat, the local equivalent to Walmart. The store carries everything from washing machines and refrigerators to nail polish and Lays potato chips. Unlike at Walmart however, the security guards at this store actually waved a wand over me and checked inside my bag, prior to letting me enter, as all the security guards in front of large stores and banks do in Nairobi. The walk into town took about 45 minutes, and it was all downhill.  Literally. The trip back up however, called for a taxi as I had purchased too many things to try carrying back up. (Aka, nail polish and chips).
This weekend, Saint Lawrence University (SLU) offered an optional trip to Mount Longonot, which obviously everybody was eager to partake in! This drive there was about 3 hours long, and provided for ample time to catch up on all the latest American Hits (Thanks Spotify)! I also learned that sometimes when there's an accident in front of you stopping traffic, the appropriate response is to drive off of the road to get around it. A two lane highway very quickly became a four lane highway when on either side people drove down a hill onto the grass below. Another interesting component of highways is that there are random speed-bumps that are important to look out for.
Now this wouldn't be a complete blog post without an account of a crazy hike I partook in. After having just made it to the top of the 9,108 ft volcano, my friend Monica and I began our descent back down. It was very steep and very dusty, and a man kept stumbling into me. I went to the side so that he could pass, thinking he was simply rude and in a hurry to get down, or perhaps he was drunk (as many people had been drinking on the top of the rim), but his friends grabbed onto him, telling him he wasn't steady enough to descend and he needed to sit down. Monica and I went down as fast as we could, hoping to avoid having him behind as again. As we were running down a less steep portion, a man carrying a stretcher passed us hastily, making the noise of an ambulance. We spoke about how highly impractical it was to carry that stretcher up because the hike took over 3 hours and it would be nearly impossible to carry someone down on a stretcher with as steep as the mountain is.
As I write this post however, it seems unimaginable to not acknowledge that as we were arriving at the bottom of the mountain, a man from Nairobi was passing away at the top due to complications with his breathing, which I came to know as I was writing this post. The following news article provides a more in-depth account of the issues that occurred in terms of the Kenya Wildlife Service Rangers' response
http://www.the-star.co.ke/news/2016/02/07/nairobi-businessman-dies-during-mt-longonot-hike_c1290570 I thought that it was important to include this because it touches upon the lack of a helicopter response, and further in the comments section, people's opinions on the matter. Most notably: "if it had been a white man, a helicopter would have been found."
Although I originally began this post with the intent of portraying Kenyan road infrastructure in a life lesson kind of way, deeper meaning has been found with the loss of a life because of the lack of infrastructure within the wildlife service. I cannot be certain that the man stumbling into me was the same man who lost his life yesterday, but I can be certain that prior to making assumptions, it's vitally important to be present in the moment and make informed decisions. If I hadn't been clouded by being annoyed, and if Monica and I had stopped to see that everything was okay, who knows that help couldn't have been sent sooner because who knows how long his friends waited to ask for it. At the time, I didn't think anything of it, and even now I'm not certain what I would have done if confronted with the situation again, but I know that life is all about the roads we decide to take, and I will try to be more cognizant of the one's I'm choosing.

Beca