June 27th
After my junior year in college, I took a course called Black Women in US History. It was cross listed between women’s studies and ethnic studies, so I figured I would get my proverbial dollar’s worth, seeing as how this elective constituted about 25% of my elective credits at UW-Madison.
It was the first time in my life that I could really begin to realize the atrocities that african americans faced in the US. More importantly, it was the first time I began to realize the atrocities that women faced, and still do face every day. In short, it was a 3 credit summer course on how to learn to hate myself: the white male. To give credit to my instructor, I would loath myself intensely for hours at a time—much more so than usual. And although this was not her intention by any mean—far from it, of course—it just was something I could be very passionate and dramatic about; because I feel so very strongly about equality... in the biblical sense, and such. I jest, but I do feel strongly about equality, and that’s why I had to loath the idea of every white man from that point, onward.
This past weekend, Nicole and I went up-country a bit to camp near a lake and hike up and around an extinct volcano. The trip was amazing, of course: we heard hippos grunting in the night, listened to a 9-year-old boy sing us “Ridin’ Dirty’, and hiked around an extinct volcano (need I say more; pictures to come, I hope). Unfortunately, the entire weekend I was surround by white people, and I have to admit that I really didn’t like it. Here, I spent less than fifteen US dollars the entire weekend (which includes the cost for transportation, lodging and food) to take this little vacation, but I was absolutely put off by the notion that I was surrounded by white privilege. I mean, what else were these people doing there if they weren’t rich as can be? They were almost all white (50%-80% white, at least), and I basically have to assume that the white people have more money than the black people. Think: they’re coming from either America or Europe, and they had to travel to get to Africa, which costs at least $400 for some Europeans, and is ~$1800 for Americans right now.
So here, I’ve run away to Kenya, more-or-less run away from the West and my privilege and the wastefulness that I’m responsible for in the past, and I take one little weekend trip and I’m surrounded by my own privilege again. What a bummer, right?
No. Only a bummer if I approach it as such. I’ve given no mention to the fact that I probably would’ve gotten along very well with the white people from the campsite, seeing as how we all decided to take a trip to the same part of the globe. (Aside: I realize that not everyone there was there for the same reason as I; I’m not trying to be egotistical, just brutally honest.) What I learned this weekend is that it doesn’t matter who I’m surrounded by: it doesn’t change who I am or where I’ve been thus far; what matters is... well, I can’t tell you, because it’s the secret to life. You’re going to have to travel to an extinct volcano if you want to figure that one out.
ps Sorry for sneaking out of that one. I just didn’t want to say the same thing over and over. The secret of life: do what you want; but do it right. And don’t ask me what’s right, because I tried writing a post about problems, and it came out all messed up.
University of Washington Flow Cytometry Laboratory
I've been promising pictures, and this is the one I have with me at work right now. I promise I'll put up cool pictures... this century.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
The Problem with Health Care in Nairobi, Kenya, pt. 1
June 19th
I have not stepped inside of a hospital yet. I have not watched physicians practice, I have not spoken with patients or heard their stories, and I have not observed a health system at work. I have no idea what the problem with health care in Africa is.
But I have seen many other things that I would consider problems, though. For example, one of the ‘pedestrian walk’ signs in Nairobi’s city center is stuck on green. I was nearly run over yesterday because I had the gall to think that the sign was accurate and telling the truth. In other parts of town, police are needed throughout the entire day to direct traffic, because either the traffic lights aren’t working, or the intersection is jammed every day, and it is completely without any street lights or signage at all.
At the research facility where I work, it usually takes between 4 and 12 weeks to receive an internet account. That is a huge problem for a plugged-in, internet-needy American worker, and a problem that would never happen in America. A log-in name for a computer system?... as a freshman in the college of engineering, our first assignment was to setup an account at the computer lab; it took 5 minutes at UW-Madison.
The reason it takes so long to get an account here: because the IT director only signs the paperwork when he has a pile of 10 applications. I cannot begin to guess at the reasons for this, but it is a major problem, and resolving this problem could dramatically increase the productivity at the research facility. (The IT director is the former director of the Center for Traditional Medicine and Herbal Treatment Research at my facility, and I plan on being introduced to him before the end of my stay so I can talk with him about his old position. I will make sure to comment on what I find.)
Now, I want to discuss the general nature of problems, and I thought I would use these as examples. Using all the deep thinking I’m capable of (I’m really showing my cards here), I think that problems exist for two reasons:
1) They aren’t recognized as problems by a majority of people, and therefore cease to exist as problems. This is the case of the walk sign that was stuck on green. Pedestrians are expected to guard their lives with all their faculties, because cars absolutely have the right of way here, and therefore those on foot have no reason to pay attention to, worry about or heed any signs for pedestrians.
2) People recognize that a problem may exist, but have no incentive for making any effort towards resolving the problem. My advisor at the facility—a Infectious Disease fellow from the University of Washington—was removed from (kicked out of) the IT director’s office when he made an informal complaint to the director (i.e. he rose hell about the bush-league actions of the IT department). Obviously, the IT director must recognize that people are not happy with the way he runs things, and that there must be a problem with one of his processes. However, he clearly enjoys exercising some kind of power over the researchers at the facility, and has no real reason to change his practice.
There may be other confounding issues that aren’t considered in these two scenarios; for example, the IT director may have other reasons for delaying the approval of accounts, such as limited memory allotted for personal space on the accounts (that’s the only shitty reason I can think of right now). But setting those aside—which is, of course, a very important ‘but’—I think the only reason that these problems can persist is a lack of motivation mediated by a lack of incentive.
Shit. I realize where this is going. I’ve read too many WHO reports, seen too many articles on system engineering, and I’ve just broke into the systems vernacular with ‘motivation’ and ‘incentive’. So please, let me proceed informally.
People do good work because they’re either rewarded for it, or because they’re motivated internally for some reason. Here in Africa, people don’t have a whole lot of stuff. (And as the saying goes, if you have nothing, you have nothing to lose. No real point to that, just a good saying.) Furthermore, people aren’t paid very much money here, and are expected to live on very little (especially when compared to their counterparts in the States). So I can understand how people can become obsessed with how little their lives produce, reward-wise, and therefore see no reason to do good work.
I think the people that have the internal motivation have the gift of idealism. Does that not simply and beautifully explain the visions and dreams of a person who hopes to achieve a personal goal? But I want to know, who gets this gift? Has there ever been a poll on idealism? What are the demographics? What’s the distribution like across the map? I think it’s safe to say that more youth in America are idealistic than youth in Africa. It’s an opportunity thing, where the young stay young longer in America (extended adolescence nationwide), while children in Uganda are being abducted and recruited for armies (similar to the US, only 5-6 incredibly important adolescent years earlier). Being an idealist allows a person to work for very little reward, because they have the ability to dream of something greater than the real, terrible and gross world that we actually live in (oooh, I wonder what the demographics on cynicism are).
In conclusion, it’s the same shit in a different place. I think I see problems that need fixing. The only question, is whether or not they are actually problems. And if they are, what needs to be done to solve the problems. Something to meditate on for a few decades.
I have not stepped inside of a hospital yet. I have not watched physicians practice, I have not spoken with patients or heard their stories, and I have not observed a health system at work. I have no idea what the problem with health care in Africa is.
But I have seen many other things that I would consider problems, though. For example, one of the ‘pedestrian walk’ signs in Nairobi’s city center is stuck on green. I was nearly run over yesterday because I had the gall to think that the sign was accurate and telling the truth. In other parts of town, police are needed throughout the entire day to direct traffic, because either the traffic lights aren’t working, or the intersection is jammed every day, and it is completely without any street lights or signage at all.
At the research facility where I work, it usually takes between 4 and 12 weeks to receive an internet account. That is a huge problem for a plugged-in, internet-needy American worker, and a problem that would never happen in America. A log-in name for a computer system?... as a freshman in the college of engineering, our first assignment was to setup an account at the computer lab; it took 5 minutes at UW-Madison.
The reason it takes so long to get an account here: because the IT director only signs the paperwork when he has a pile of 10 applications. I cannot begin to guess at the reasons for this, but it is a major problem, and resolving this problem could dramatically increase the productivity at the research facility. (The IT director is the former director of the Center for Traditional Medicine and Herbal Treatment Research at my facility, and I plan on being introduced to him before the end of my stay so I can talk with him about his old position. I will make sure to comment on what I find.)
Now, I want to discuss the general nature of problems, and I thought I would use these as examples. Using all the deep thinking I’m capable of (I’m really showing my cards here), I think that problems exist for two reasons:
1) They aren’t recognized as problems by a majority of people, and therefore cease to exist as problems. This is the case of the walk sign that was stuck on green. Pedestrians are expected to guard their lives with all their faculties, because cars absolutely have the right of way here, and therefore those on foot have no reason to pay attention to, worry about or heed any signs for pedestrians.
2) People recognize that a problem may exist, but have no incentive for making any effort towards resolving the problem. My advisor at the facility—a Infectious Disease fellow from the University of Washington—was removed from (kicked out of) the IT director’s office when he made an informal complaint to the director (i.e. he rose hell about the bush-league actions of the IT department). Obviously, the IT director must recognize that people are not happy with the way he runs things, and that there must be a problem with one of his processes. However, he clearly enjoys exercising some kind of power over the researchers at the facility, and has no real reason to change his practice.
There may be other confounding issues that aren’t considered in these two scenarios; for example, the IT director may have other reasons for delaying the approval of accounts, such as limited memory allotted for personal space on the accounts (that’s the only shitty reason I can think of right now). But setting those aside—which is, of course, a very important ‘but’—I think the only reason that these problems can persist is a lack of motivation mediated by a lack of incentive.
Shit. I realize where this is going. I’ve read too many WHO reports, seen too many articles on system engineering, and I’ve just broke into the systems vernacular with ‘motivation’ and ‘incentive’. So please, let me proceed informally.
People do good work because they’re either rewarded for it, or because they’re motivated internally for some reason. Here in Africa, people don’t have a whole lot of stuff. (And as the saying goes, if you have nothing, you have nothing to lose. No real point to that, just a good saying.) Furthermore, people aren’t paid very much money here, and are expected to live on very little (especially when compared to their counterparts in the States). So I can understand how people can become obsessed with how little their lives produce, reward-wise, and therefore see no reason to do good work.
I think the people that have the internal motivation have the gift of idealism. Does that not simply and beautifully explain the visions and dreams of a person who hopes to achieve a personal goal? But I want to know, who gets this gift? Has there ever been a poll on idealism? What are the demographics? What’s the distribution like across the map? I think it’s safe to say that more youth in America are idealistic than youth in Africa. It’s an opportunity thing, where the young stay young longer in America (extended adolescence nationwide), while children in Uganda are being abducted and recruited for armies (similar to the US, only 5-6 incredibly important adolescent years earlier). Being an idealist allows a person to work for very little reward, because they have the ability to dream of something greater than the real, terrible and gross world that we actually live in (oooh, I wonder what the demographics on cynicism are).
In conclusion, it’s the same shit in a different place. I think I see problems that need fixing. The only question, is whether or not they are actually problems. And if they are, what needs to be done to solve the problems. Something to meditate on for a few decades.
The striking universality of human wastefulness
Warning: This journal entry was abandoned because it was going nowhere. Read at your own risk/leisure/if you’re really, really bored. Most generally, it is a comment on how people can allow bad things to happen.
June 8th
I was quite astounded to hear from my girlfriend, who was studying abroad in Kenya, that she and her classmates were getting drunk and high on weeknights and on the weekend. In a corner of the world where malnutrition and disease ravaged populations, I didn’t know how anyone could afford beer or buy pot.
But I think there are a number of elements intrinsic in human nature that allow this scenario to be the case, always.
First, the disparity which humans are willing to allow between those with above average means to accomplish their goals (which is awarded with capitol), and those who have less than average means. This can be restated by the capitolist as the differing abilities in people to survive and thrive.
Strike that, because I’d like to immediately discredit that point. I think a strong argument can be made for efficiency that the people with the most successfull means for generating income also should be the most efficient at effectively minimizing their amount of waste. Generally, if you’re most capable of responsibly generating income, then you’re more able to have a perspective that a person should make an attempt to minimize their own wastefulness. In a proactive senses: eat right, exercise, sleep and drink water; don’t burn trash, recycle, reuse and walk to work.
Unfortunately, I think that there is something inherently discrediting about money that prevents it from being an accurate marker of how ‘successful’ someone’s ‘means’ are. Obviously, just because a person is capable of making money doesn’t mean they’re also capable of living a responsible life: industrialists pollute, priests rape children, presidents have extramarital affairs.
Although this topic is terribly sprawling, I would like to re-generalize my initial point—the disparities—and claim that my original point would better be summarized by the inability of people to maintain perspective. If people aren’t aware of what they’re doing to the environment—if society is there to distract them and connive them into living a lifestyle that is reckless and damaging to their environment (and eventually their offspring—hello, fecundity and reproductive success)—then it will always be difficult to convince people to ‘minimize’ waste to a level that I deem necessary.
The only reason I bring this up is because I can’t believe how polluting Nairobi is, even though it’s hardly the industrial center that cities it’s size are in America. The cars here have no regulations on emissions, and the busses kick diesel like it’s nobodies business; I got nauseous today just because I sat by the roadside for too long.
June 8th
I was quite astounded to hear from my girlfriend, who was studying abroad in Kenya, that she and her classmates were getting drunk and high on weeknights and on the weekend. In a corner of the world where malnutrition and disease ravaged populations, I didn’t know how anyone could afford beer or buy pot.
But I think there are a number of elements intrinsic in human nature that allow this scenario to be the case, always.
First, the disparity which humans are willing to allow between those with above average means to accomplish their goals (which is awarded with capitol), and those who have less than average means. This can be restated by the capitolist as the differing abilities in people to survive and thrive.
Strike that, because I’d like to immediately discredit that point. I think a strong argument can be made for efficiency that the people with the most successfull means for generating income also should be the most efficient at effectively minimizing their amount of waste. Generally, if you’re most capable of responsibly generating income, then you’re more able to have a perspective that a person should make an attempt to minimize their own wastefulness. In a proactive senses: eat right, exercise, sleep and drink water; don’t burn trash, recycle, reuse and walk to work.
Unfortunately, I think that there is something inherently discrediting about money that prevents it from being an accurate marker of how ‘successful’ someone’s ‘means’ are. Obviously, just because a person is capable of making money doesn’t mean they’re also capable of living a responsible life: industrialists pollute, priests rape children, presidents have extramarital affairs.
Although this topic is terribly sprawling, I would like to re-generalize my initial point—the disparities—and claim that my original point would better be summarized by the inability of people to maintain perspective. If people aren’t aware of what they’re doing to the environment—if society is there to distract them and connive them into living a lifestyle that is reckless and damaging to their environment (and eventually their offspring—hello, fecundity and reproductive success)—then it will always be difficult to convince people to ‘minimize’ waste to a level that I deem necessary.
The only reason I bring this up is because I can’t believe how polluting Nairobi is, even though it’s hardly the industrial center that cities it’s size are in America. The cars here have no regulations on emissions, and the busses kick diesel like it’s nobodies business; I got nauseous today just because I sat by the roadside for too long.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Home is where your rump rests, really.
June 6th
By far, the hardest part about going to a new place to stay for an extended period of time is the fact that at some point, you have to realize that you are calling this place home for a spell.
The tricky part is feeling comfortable at home. At some point in time, between the kids chirping ‘How are you?’ repeatedly, the fruit stand owners beckoning for the white person to come check their delicious fruits—just so they can rip you off, and the generally weird stares a non-African (note: I just didn’t feel like re-using the term ‘white person’ there) receives for being in any particular place at any particular time, it can be immediately difficult and daunting to feel quote-unquote natural.
Most recently, I went on a hiking trip with a random smattering of people. The trip was organized by a fantastic man that organizes Safari trips; however, this particular trip was sponsored for the purpose of getting his men, The Green Warriors, an environmental group aimed at bringing African youth back to the environment, out into the hills. In addition to the Green Warriors were folks from a local YMCA program, and then some other peoples that they all new. A big group of goofy 20-somethings all fired up for a fun weekend of camping, drinking, and dirty talk.
Immediately, I felt at home seeing these people. Aaah, the refreshing look of youth ready to have some fun, I thought. I’d been getting eye-balled so often by the creepy dude in a papier-mache looking suit, it was nice to see people that would look at me as a peer. However, I soon found myself extremely annoyed by the obnoxious and childish yelling of these young adults. I was disgusted by the overtly sexual tones that were immediately assumed. I was insulted by the amount of pelvic thrusts I saw conjoined with holding something, anything phallic as a proxy johnson. The future of Kenya, folks.
But just waaaaaaait a minute here. Didn’t I used to be one of the most vulgar and obnoxious people around? Well, yes, in fact... but that was back when I had a sense of humor. Hmmm. And wait, pelvic thrusting to make people smile and laugh??? that’s one of my oldest and best tricks. So how can I be so critical of these people, if I’m guilty of all these things? What metamorphesis did I go through that changed me from a jerk-off young adult to the somewhat serious and goal oriented person I claim to be now?
Well, I made a lot of misakes along the way. I went to jail once; I woke up next to several sea creatures; I did things that could’ve made me lose friends (thanks to those who still care forme). So, I guess that’s part of growing up? Is that part of having enough opportunities to screw up? The first thing I noticed when I saw this motley crew, was that they all came from money. Clothes, get ups, even that general sense of ignorant happiness that can only be afforded by youth with opportunity (I am generalizing at this point: a couple of the people clearly had fantastic insight, and they are excluded from this critique).
I thought I was so close to home—so close to comfort—only to find that I was incredibly ill at ease with my present state of being. I could see the red tape surrounding this conundrum, and decided to head straight to the director of my mind via some classic introspection. I ended up journaling under a shade tree in a village, where a village’s worth of little boys watched me as I did so. When I got up to think somewhere else, I told them I was going to climb a tree so I could write and read. When they asked ‘which tree’, I pointed to the top of the nearby mountain. I knew their moms wouldn’t let them go that far from home.
I slowly began to realize that this was just a classic example of me not being comfortable with myself.
In the end, the reason I couldn’t feel at home with these people was due to a beef I keep with myself. I wasn’t comfortable becuase of my own mentality. I wasn’t comfortable because I was making myself uncomfortable with my surroundings.
This is the exact same case in any senario. I don’t have to be upset with the children yelling at me. After all, I’m getting attention from children: they are only providing me an opportunity to make white men look good (for the first fucking time in history, I might add; I hope I’m not doing some terrible evil without realizing it, like white men before me). Every person that beckons me to them is only giving me a chance to learn from them and with them... maybe even teach them something about me. And shit, they’re so incredibly nice about ripping me off. And the awkward stares I get from people—I might as well just smile for them. They can think whatever they like about me, but I know that I want to try and show them that happiness and love can always unite us (that, by the way, is what a smile means to me).
This isn’t meant to be a thought exercise for me. This is meant to be a clear example of how we can always feel comfortable and free wherever we go. Humans of different races share so many more similarities than differences. It’s amazing and slightly disturbing how all walks of life can have the same tendencies. So in the end, the most important part is feeling good about sitting down and making yourself at home. If a person can be confident and positive with themselves, they need never worry about how they blend with their surroundings.
Note: I bet when my Dad reads this entry, he starts to worry more about how I’m going to REALLY stick out in Africa, and get myself kidnapped by some radical Moslem Jihadist. By the way Dad, the Muslims here are really great people, polygamists though they may be.
By far, the hardest part about going to a new place to stay for an extended period of time is the fact that at some point, you have to realize that you are calling this place home for a spell.
The tricky part is feeling comfortable at home. At some point in time, between the kids chirping ‘How are you?’ repeatedly, the fruit stand owners beckoning for the white person to come check their delicious fruits—just so they can rip you off, and the generally weird stares a non-African (note: I just didn’t feel like re-using the term ‘white person’ there) receives for being in any particular place at any particular time, it can be immediately difficult and daunting to feel quote-unquote natural.
Most recently, I went on a hiking trip with a random smattering of people. The trip was organized by a fantastic man that organizes Safari trips; however, this particular trip was sponsored for the purpose of getting his men, The Green Warriors, an environmental group aimed at bringing African youth back to the environment, out into the hills. In addition to the Green Warriors were folks from a local YMCA program, and then some other peoples that they all new. A big group of goofy 20-somethings all fired up for a fun weekend of camping, drinking, and dirty talk.
Immediately, I felt at home seeing these people. Aaah, the refreshing look of youth ready to have some fun, I thought. I’d been getting eye-balled so often by the creepy dude in a papier-mache looking suit, it was nice to see people that would look at me as a peer. However, I soon found myself extremely annoyed by the obnoxious and childish yelling of these young adults. I was disgusted by the overtly sexual tones that were immediately assumed. I was insulted by the amount of pelvic thrusts I saw conjoined with holding something, anything phallic as a proxy johnson. The future of Kenya, folks.
But just waaaaaaait a minute here. Didn’t I used to be one of the most vulgar and obnoxious people around? Well, yes, in fact... but that was back when I had a sense of humor. Hmmm. And wait, pelvic thrusting to make people smile and laugh??? that’s one of my oldest and best tricks. So how can I be so critical of these people, if I’m guilty of all these things? What metamorphesis did I go through that changed me from a jerk-off young adult to the somewhat serious and goal oriented person I claim to be now?
Well, I made a lot of misakes along the way. I went to jail once; I woke up next to several sea creatures; I did things that could’ve made me lose friends (thanks to those who still care forme). So, I guess that’s part of growing up? Is that part of having enough opportunities to screw up? The first thing I noticed when I saw this motley crew, was that they all came from money. Clothes, get ups, even that general sense of ignorant happiness that can only be afforded by youth with opportunity (I am generalizing at this point: a couple of the people clearly had fantastic insight, and they are excluded from this critique).
I thought I was so close to home—so close to comfort—only to find that I was incredibly ill at ease with my present state of being. I could see the red tape surrounding this conundrum, and decided to head straight to the director of my mind via some classic introspection. I ended up journaling under a shade tree in a village, where a village’s worth of little boys watched me as I did so. When I got up to think somewhere else, I told them I was going to climb a tree so I could write and read. When they asked ‘which tree’, I pointed to the top of the nearby mountain. I knew their moms wouldn’t let them go that far from home.
I slowly began to realize that this was just a classic example of me not being comfortable with myself.
In the end, the reason I couldn’t feel at home with these people was due to a beef I keep with myself. I wasn’t comfortable becuase of my own mentality. I wasn’t comfortable because I was making myself uncomfortable with my surroundings.
This is the exact same case in any senario. I don’t have to be upset with the children yelling at me. After all, I’m getting attention from children: they are only providing me an opportunity to make white men look good (for the first fucking time in history, I might add; I hope I’m not doing some terrible evil without realizing it, like white men before me). Every person that beckons me to them is only giving me a chance to learn from them and with them... maybe even teach them something about me. And shit, they’re so incredibly nice about ripping me off. And the awkward stares I get from people—I might as well just smile for them. They can think whatever they like about me, but I know that I want to try and show them that happiness and love can always unite us (that, by the way, is what a smile means to me).
This isn’t meant to be a thought exercise for me. This is meant to be a clear example of how we can always feel comfortable and free wherever we go. Humans of different races share so many more similarities than differences. It’s amazing and slightly disturbing how all walks of life can have the same tendencies. So in the end, the most important part is feeling good about sitting down and making yourself at home. If a person can be confident and positive with themselves, they need never worry about how they blend with their surroundings.
Note: I bet when my Dad reads this entry, he starts to worry more about how I’m going to REALLY stick out in Africa, and get myself kidnapped by some radical Moslem Jihadist. By the way Dad, the Muslims here are really great people, polygamists though they may be.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Kitui: The Midwest of Kenya
30/05/07
It’s taken me a while just to get this first one up and running, just because of the insane amounts of everything. I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to just walk into a totally new place, culture, state of mind, and think I would have the time to sit down and write it down as I watched it.
My first entry will have to be about the people of Kitui. Kitui is a region in Kenya located mostly in the center of the country. It is found on a huge plateau—the biggest plateau in Africa, which stretches from central Kenya to the coast. The central Kitui region is a region of poverty (more poverty than most regions, that is); their poverty stems from the incredible dryness of the region. During the dry seasons, the bush dies off, the trees die off, and the people have to work very hard to survive.
However, the people of Kitui have found means to survive. They have united as a community to form a group called ‘Mital’ (which, of course, means hard work in Kikamba, their native tongue). This group has worked with artisans from larger cities to devise ways to preserve and increase the water in the region. Tree nurseries, ingenious sand dams, and other laborious projects have all been developed and worked on by the people of the community. (Over 200 sand dams, I am told; trust me, it’s a shiest load of work.)
But I didn’t have any idea of these things until after my three day stay was over. My linear mental and physical trip began much differently. For starters, I had to eat supper when I arrived at 9pm at night, although I was already full and ready for bed. I slept hard until 7am, at which point I got up and washed my face, walked around the yard (an acre of land that held a small house for the women, a small house for the men, a kitchen house, a toilet and washroom, a store for the extra food, and of course a stable for the animals) and met the chairmen of the community. (Note: I am partially deaf, and, at times, have a terrible time with accents. Because of this, I could hardly understand anything anyone said, and also, because I wasn’t accustomed to their vernacular, I couldn’t use the right words and therefore, although my hosts spoke English fairly well, they COULD NOT UNDERSTAND ME. What a very interesting and slightly debilitating situation.) After the chairmen and I didn’t talk for a while, he, Nicole and I hit the dusty trail—a dried stream: a road system that connects the homesteads and farms of the Kamba people.
We walked from house to house, meeting different people, all of whom were happy to see their first Mzungu (white person) in Kitui in the last 20 years. I met old, young, and children; and it would be impossible to pick which group were the most receptive, because it was so individually based. But I should note that every place I went, I had a seat in the shade, tea, paw-paw to eat, and sometimes even a full meal (depending on when I last ate, and whether I should be ready for more food, as determined by my guide—none of which I could understand, because this discussion always took place in Kikamba. I ate full meals, on average, five times a day. I’m fat now.).
As I began to have my first inkling of what these people were about—the hard living situations, the hard work of the people, this group called Mital—we reached a destination where I was to meet a man who was learned in the ways of treating illness with trees and herbs. (The people arranged this, because I had inadvertantly let them know that I was interested in herbal medicines. I had no say in the matter—they knew my interest and arranged the meeting.) The man with herbal experience happened to be the brother of the chairmen. His name is Motinda. In another life, he was an American physician, certainly.
The meeting place where we found Motinda happened to be a celebration of a wedding. The chairmen, on any other day, would’ve been presiding over the meeting: but today, he had charged himself with the duty of taking the Mzungus through his land. As a tour guide, escort, welcoming crew. We greeted the wedding party, and sat for a bit. Soon, I saw the chairmen gesture to Motinda, at which point they grabbed their chairs and headed to another shade tree in a field. I followed their lead (I didn’t know yet that I was at a wedding celebration) and took tea and lunch with the chairmen, Motinda, Nicole, and a teacher named Peter. (Note: if you notice a change in my own vernacular, it is because of my acclimation to the African-English here.)
We spoke of many things: my past and education, Nicole (Mwutani being her Kamba-given name, meaning one who is happy) and her previous stay in Kitui, the hard work of the people and Mital, the health practices of the people, global warming, and the fun little differences found between people, which were so clearly seen between Africans and Americans, and also the elements of human nature that unite all people, regardless of their upbringing, culture or socialization. All this was happening in a field in Africa, under a shade tree, taking tea: we spoke of these things: three men I had only just met—I spoke to them like peers, friends, and fellow students. In fact, it was a very academic setting. Afterwards they called me their brother. This was my third day in Africa.
I could write a book about these first couple days in Kitui. But the real beauty of it: I was able to see where people came from. I saw the countryside lifestyle first—the hometown, hillbilly attitudes. Just going to Nairobi, the capitol and hub of East Africa with 5 million people, is very daunting. Seeing the simple life of the people, and how it could grow into a life in Nairobi—it made everything make so much more sense.
I don’t want to stop writing, but I must now. Because I must shit. And then I must go to work. That is why I’m here: to work my ass of for these people and this country. Anything I can give this summer.
It’s taken me a while just to get this first one up and running, just because of the insane amounts of everything. I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to just walk into a totally new place, culture, state of mind, and think I would have the time to sit down and write it down as I watched it.
My first entry will have to be about the people of Kitui. Kitui is a region in Kenya located mostly in the center of the country. It is found on a huge plateau—the biggest plateau in Africa, which stretches from central Kenya to the coast. The central Kitui region is a region of poverty (more poverty than most regions, that is); their poverty stems from the incredible dryness of the region. During the dry seasons, the bush dies off, the trees die off, and the people have to work very hard to survive.
However, the people of Kitui have found means to survive. They have united as a community to form a group called ‘Mital’ (which, of course, means hard work in Kikamba, their native tongue). This group has worked with artisans from larger cities to devise ways to preserve and increase the water in the region. Tree nurseries, ingenious sand dams, and other laborious projects have all been developed and worked on by the people of the community. (Over 200 sand dams, I am told; trust me, it’s a shiest load of work.)
But I didn’t have any idea of these things until after my three day stay was over. My linear mental and physical trip began much differently. For starters, I had to eat supper when I arrived at 9pm at night, although I was already full and ready for bed. I slept hard until 7am, at which point I got up and washed my face, walked around the yard (an acre of land that held a small house for the women, a small house for the men, a kitchen house, a toilet and washroom, a store for the extra food, and of course a stable for the animals) and met the chairmen of the community. (Note: I am partially deaf, and, at times, have a terrible time with accents. Because of this, I could hardly understand anything anyone said, and also, because I wasn’t accustomed to their vernacular, I couldn’t use the right words and therefore, although my hosts spoke English fairly well, they COULD NOT UNDERSTAND ME. What a very interesting and slightly debilitating situation.) After the chairmen and I didn’t talk for a while, he, Nicole and I hit the dusty trail—a dried stream: a road system that connects the homesteads and farms of the Kamba people.
We walked from house to house, meeting different people, all of whom were happy to see their first Mzungu (white person) in Kitui in the last 20 years. I met old, young, and children; and it would be impossible to pick which group were the most receptive, because it was so individually based. But I should note that every place I went, I had a seat in the shade, tea, paw-paw to eat, and sometimes even a full meal (depending on when I last ate, and whether I should be ready for more food, as determined by my guide—none of which I could understand, because this discussion always took place in Kikamba. I ate full meals, on average, five times a day. I’m fat now.).
As I began to have my first inkling of what these people were about—the hard living situations, the hard work of the people, this group called Mital—we reached a destination where I was to meet a man who was learned in the ways of treating illness with trees and herbs. (The people arranged this, because I had inadvertantly let them know that I was interested in herbal medicines. I had no say in the matter—they knew my interest and arranged the meeting.) The man with herbal experience happened to be the brother of the chairmen. His name is Motinda. In another life, he was an American physician, certainly.
The meeting place where we found Motinda happened to be a celebration of a wedding. The chairmen, on any other day, would’ve been presiding over the meeting: but today, he had charged himself with the duty of taking the Mzungus through his land. As a tour guide, escort, welcoming crew. We greeted the wedding party, and sat for a bit. Soon, I saw the chairmen gesture to Motinda, at which point they grabbed their chairs and headed to another shade tree in a field. I followed their lead (I didn’t know yet that I was at a wedding celebration) and took tea and lunch with the chairmen, Motinda, Nicole, and a teacher named Peter. (Note: if you notice a change in my own vernacular, it is because of my acclimation to the African-English here.)
We spoke of many things: my past and education, Nicole (Mwutani being her Kamba-given name, meaning one who is happy) and her previous stay in Kitui, the hard work of the people and Mital, the health practices of the people, global warming, and the fun little differences found between people, which were so clearly seen between Africans and Americans, and also the elements of human nature that unite all people, regardless of their upbringing, culture or socialization. All this was happening in a field in Africa, under a shade tree, taking tea: we spoke of these things: three men I had only just met—I spoke to them like peers, friends, and fellow students. In fact, it was a very academic setting. Afterwards they called me their brother. This was my third day in Africa.
I could write a book about these first couple days in Kitui. But the real beauty of it: I was able to see where people came from. I saw the countryside lifestyle first—the hometown, hillbilly attitudes. Just going to Nairobi, the capitol and hub of East Africa with 5 million people, is very daunting. Seeing the simple life of the people, and how it could grow into a life in Nairobi—it made everything make so much more sense.
I don’t want to stop writing, but I must now. Because I must shit. And then I must go to work. That is why I’m here: to work my ass of for these people and this country. Anything I can give this summer.
Waxing omnipotent
Hello all. Thank you for visiting my blog.
I've created this blog to help me collect and chronicle my thoughts during my 3 month stay in Nairobi. I would like to think that this blog will give an interesting perspective on health care in Africa. Unfortunately, I'm not working as intimately with health care as I thought I would: I'm working at a research compound where lab tests are done for incredible research projects. However, I'm understanding now that systems are always just a manifestation of a local culture, and that the systems of the local culture are characteristically congruent (accounting for the varying locations within a location, say Nairobi, that is). If you're still with me, then you understand that despite my smattering of various posts, I have faith that they will offer a substantial yet irresolute perspective for you all to take gain from.
The title of my blog came, of course, on an afternoon whim. During my attempted meditation at lunch, I decided to direct my wandering mind away from dichotomy, and towards a space with more... well... space. I tried to envision not just right vs. wrong, but the two always in context with an ambivalent observer. It was very refreshing, and surprisingly fun and easy to stick to; and it helped relax me before my afternoon mental workout. The title of this blog is supposed to embody my 'outside' perspective, which focuses on a society and people that thrive, interact and function with the same constructs that Americans have created: family, religion, government, love.
But I must deter you from being excited due to false pretenses, because this blog has no answers. (Actually, it probably has as many lies as truths.) There is no 'outside' perspective that can be uninvolved, only another perspective that is fully dependent on the others. Three may be the magic number, but only because I can blog about it. Additionally, I'm sure that this blog will be more self-indulgent than objective, at times.
In closing, thank you for reading. I love you all. And I can't wait to hear from you.
Love,
Brian
I've created this blog to help me collect and chronicle my thoughts during my 3 month stay in Nairobi. I would like to think that this blog will give an interesting perspective on health care in Africa. Unfortunately, I'm not working as intimately with health care as I thought I would: I'm working at a research compound where lab tests are done for incredible research projects. However, I'm understanding now that systems are always just a manifestation of a local culture, and that the systems of the local culture are characteristically congruent (accounting for the varying locations within a location, say Nairobi, that is). If you're still with me, then you understand that despite my smattering of various posts, I have faith that they will offer a substantial yet irresolute perspective for you all to take gain from.
The title of my blog came, of course, on an afternoon whim. During my attempted meditation at lunch, I decided to direct my wandering mind away from dichotomy, and towards a space with more... well... space. I tried to envision not just right vs. wrong, but the two always in context with an ambivalent observer. It was very refreshing, and surprisingly fun and easy to stick to; and it helped relax me before my afternoon mental workout. The title of this blog is supposed to embody my 'outside' perspective, which focuses on a society and people that thrive, interact and function with the same constructs that Americans have created: family, religion, government, love.
But I must deter you from being excited due to false pretenses, because this blog has no answers. (Actually, it probably has as many lies as truths.) There is no 'outside' perspective that can be uninvolved, only another perspective that is fully dependent on the others. Three may be the magic number, but only because I can blog about it. Additionally, I'm sure that this blog will be more self-indulgent than objective, at times.
In closing, thank you for reading. I love you all. And I can't wait to hear from you.
Love,
Brian
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