for the first time in years, we had a meal together.
m1 talked about perseverance, m2 demonstrated it.
I sipped on my ginger root mojito in the mid-afternoon, closed my eyes momentarily and experienced bliss- warm, familiar, comfortable.
it was a perfect day.
thank you.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Friday, October 28, 2011
Language Lyrics
I compiled a cheat sheet of Luo for anyone who is planning to spend some time in a Luo village in Kenya.
Monday, October 24, 2011
across the universe
six degrees of separation. i believe its less than that...
with the advent of social networking sites, sometimes i gasp when I find friends i made in opposite corners of the world as being mutual friends of friends a mile away.
the earth seems to be becoming smaller, yet a small village in Kenya or a small town in Missouri seems far away, maybe distance is measured in MB these days and data plans
with the advent of social networking sites, sometimes i gasp when I find friends i made in opposite corners of the world as being mutual friends of friends a mile away.
the earth seems to be becoming smaller, yet a small village in Kenya or a small town in Missouri seems far away, maybe distance is measured in MB these days and data plans
Sunday, September 11, 2011
hell's heaven
"I am in heaven(zanzibar) at the moment", I wrote to a friend the morning of September 10, 2011.
The day before, Tim asked me if I could upload a photo story by the weekend in preparation for the Open Show Retrospective to be held on October 20 at Rayko Center in San Francisco. One of my photos has been selected to be exhibited.
Truth be told, my story on Joseph was (and is) incomplete. I never got that shot of him with his family -they loved the camera and I could never get a candid shot or that "last" shot I had thought of with a view of the lake.
So I looked for a photo story in my next destination, Zanzibar. On the morning of 10th, I went to the hotel reception for help just like I had the day before. But this time I found one and it was hell.
MV Spice Islander I, capsized in the Indian Ocean off Zanzibar at around 1 AM that morning. 579 people were rescued, 189 are confirmed dead and as of today, scores are still missing.
I was one of the very few photographers at Nungwi Beach, where the ferry capsized and where the victims were brought to shore.
I was also one of the very few who made it into the tents where the victims were wrapped, numbered and their belongings were placed on top of them.
I was one of the three who was given 5 minutes to take pictures in the identification tent right before the friends and family were allowed in.
sometimes, I discovered, you don't need press credentials to get close to the action, you just need a little compassion, respect and guardian angels who help and comfort you, when you need it most.
The day before, Tim asked me if I could upload a photo story by the weekend in preparation for the Open Show Retrospective to be held on October 20 at Rayko Center in San Francisco. One of my photos has been selected to be exhibited.
Truth be told, my story on Joseph was (and is) incomplete. I never got that shot of him with his family -they loved the camera and I could never get a candid shot or that "last" shot I had thought of with a view of the lake.
So I looked for a photo story in my next destination, Zanzibar. On the morning of 10th, I went to the hotel reception for help just like I had the day before. But this time I found one and it was hell.
MV Spice Islander I, capsized in the Indian Ocean off Zanzibar at around 1 AM that morning. 579 people were rescued, 189 are confirmed dead and as of today, scores are still missing.
I was one of the very few photographers at Nungwi Beach, where the ferry capsized and where the victims were brought to shore.
I was also one of the very few who made it into the tents where the victims were wrapped, numbered and their belongings were placed on top of them.
I was one of the three who was given 5 minutes to take pictures in the identification tent right before the friends and family were allowed in.
sometimes, I discovered, you don't need press credentials to get close to the action, you just need a little compassion, respect and guardian angels who help and comfort you, when you need it most.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
time was
Nairobi, Kenya, Africa
It’s back to the hustle and bustle of Nairobi and clinking cutlery in the guesthouse dining room.
Its been 5 hours since I got here and while I wait for a room to check in, I am already missing the village- where the rooster started his daily chant at 4 AM, the cow occasionally chiming in and the sheep and the dog and the bats, and where Maurine’s much-loved radio stayed awake as long as she did- although I don’t miss the insane bat who ran towards the lantern (and hence me) in the evening or the one that was crawling on my bedroom floor one evening or the one that I found in the bathroom…
I have had an exhilarating and exhausting week, including a few 12 hour “working” days, where work included riding matatus, cars, motorcycles, boda-bodas, transplanting kale and tomatoes from the seed bed to the garden, teaching basic computer skills to a handful of youth group men, arguing with the chief, typing documents, waiting, waiting and more waiting for power, vehicles, people, printouts...
But all paid off on Thursday as Pamella, the treasurer, made the first deposit into St. John’s Uhundha Orphans and Vulnerable Children Center CBO bank account we opened that day- a CBO which was registered on Tuesday!!
My last day in the village, yesterday, I have yet another sumptuous feast cooked by five Lakelang youth group girls, who take charge of the kitchen the moment they enter the house-- fresh tilapia that George is sent to “hunt” for by Priscah for my ‘last supper’, as John calls it, and then a very emotional farewell by my friends and family at Uhundha. Priscah gives me a big hug adding, “You have a new home address.”
I will be back- it wasn’t the last supper there...
It’s back to the hustle and bustle of Nairobi and clinking cutlery in the guesthouse dining room.
Its been 5 hours since I got here and while I wait for a room to check in, I am already missing the village- where the rooster started his daily chant at 4 AM, the cow occasionally chiming in and the sheep and the dog and the bats, and where Maurine’s much-loved radio stayed awake as long as she did- although I don’t miss the insane bat who ran towards the lantern (and hence me) in the evening or the one that was crawling on my bedroom floor one evening or the one that I found in the bathroom…
I have had an exhilarating and exhausting week, including a few 12 hour “working” days, where work included riding matatus, cars, motorcycles, boda-bodas, transplanting kale and tomatoes from the seed bed to the garden, teaching basic computer skills to a handful of youth group men, arguing with the chief, typing documents, waiting, waiting and more waiting for power, vehicles, people, printouts...
But all paid off on Thursday as Pamella, the treasurer, made the first deposit into St. John’s Uhundha Orphans and Vulnerable Children Center CBO bank account we opened that day- a CBO which was registered on Tuesday!!
My last day in the village, yesterday, I have yet another sumptuous feast cooked by five Lakelang youth group girls, who take charge of the kitchen the moment they enter the house-- fresh tilapia that George is sent to “hunt” for by Priscah for my ‘last supper’, as John calls it, and then a very emotional farewell by my friends and family at Uhundha. Priscah gives me a big hug adding, “You have a new home address.”
I will be back- it wasn’t the last supper there...
Thursday, August 25, 2011
signs of life
uhundha, Kenya, Africa
The mention and thought of an ‘Anu’ waterline in a fishing village in Kenya has brought smiles in the last week- and some tears of joy - mine.
It’s been another week of mostly incomprehensible but very positive meetings, incredible meals, and marvelous experiences.
Priscah arrives early Thursday morning. A bundle of boundless energy and endless smiles, she boisterously christens me Akinyi right before twenty-five strong church group arrives. She has brought along Jane, a friend from Nairobi to teach the group how to make juices, soups and tie-dyes.
A chicken is slaughtered; the kitchen is overflowing with women socializing, laughing, chopping kale and meat. Another dries the sardines I got the previous night during my night fishing adventure.
I dine on the amazing feast at dinnertime after spending time with the youth group, who I will be accompanying to Nairobi the next day. Just another day in the exquisite Kenyan countryside filled with beautiful, friendly folks!
Maurice and Godfrey from the local branch of Plan International arrive a few hours before we head to Nairobi. We tour the youth group garden, the orphanage garden, the orphanage center- a couple hours later before Godfrey departs, he confides in me, “I wasn’t expecting much before I came here but was pleasantly surprised.” Collaboration. Hope.
The highlights of the ride to Nairobi and back are the zebras I see casually grazing along the freeway, the spectacular rift valley and the occasional decelerating of Easy Coach for a dog, donkey, cow, and pig on the road. A weekend in Nairobi flies by quick. Shiriki welcomes the Lakeland Youth Group- there’s a healthy exchange of ideas, they plan to visit the village in September. I get my urban fix in the Uchumi shopping for cake and biscuits and my African mask fix at the local Masai market.
I return from Nairobi to find Maureen weak and lethargic. She speculates it is malaria (it is confirmed the following day). In the last four weeks, four people I have interacted with have casually mentioned that they had malaria, as if it’s a common cold. In this part of the world, it is.
Gordon stops by Tuesday evening with the Holy Bible- a gift from Priscah with a lovely inscription inside. It’s a first, and after years of being in Catholic school, I look forward to finally reading it.
I spend most of the last couple days in meetings discussing a water line with the community members, village elders, stakeholders, and existing water line committee members. Joshua from Sana International diligently follows up on the request for help with a water line at Honge Beach.
So, there is indeed a strong possibility that safe drinking water will be provided to the 2000 residents there once all the details are ironed out. Along with it, the chairman Moses suggests, the next daughter in the village or the water pipeline be named Anu!!!
As for me, I will gladly accept either - its an honor (and all I did was submit a request!) :)
Must be the reason I used to call myself a “Bhishti” growing up- a water bearer/Aquarian.
It’s all coming together now…(I hope!)
The mention and thought of an ‘Anu’ waterline in a fishing village in Kenya has brought smiles in the last week- and some tears of joy - mine.
It’s been another week of mostly incomprehensible but very positive meetings, incredible meals, and marvelous experiences.
Priscah arrives early Thursday morning. A bundle of boundless energy and endless smiles, she boisterously christens me Akinyi right before twenty-five strong church group arrives. She has brought along Jane, a friend from Nairobi to teach the group how to make juices, soups and tie-dyes.
A chicken is slaughtered; the kitchen is overflowing with women socializing, laughing, chopping kale and meat. Another dries the sardines I got the previous night during my night fishing adventure.
I dine on the amazing feast at dinnertime after spending time with the youth group, who I will be accompanying to Nairobi the next day. Just another day in the exquisite Kenyan countryside filled with beautiful, friendly folks!
Maurice and Godfrey from the local branch of Plan International arrive a few hours before we head to Nairobi. We tour the youth group garden, the orphanage garden, the orphanage center- a couple hours later before Godfrey departs, he confides in me, “I wasn’t expecting much before I came here but was pleasantly surprised.” Collaboration. Hope.
The highlights of the ride to Nairobi and back are the zebras I see casually grazing along the freeway, the spectacular rift valley and the occasional decelerating of Easy Coach for a dog, donkey, cow, and pig on the road. A weekend in Nairobi flies by quick. Shiriki welcomes the Lakeland Youth Group- there’s a healthy exchange of ideas, they plan to visit the village in September. I get my urban fix in the Uchumi shopping for cake and biscuits and my African mask fix at the local Masai market.
I return from Nairobi to find Maureen weak and lethargic. She speculates it is malaria (it is confirmed the following day). In the last four weeks, four people I have interacted with have casually mentioned that they had malaria, as if it’s a common cold. In this part of the world, it is.
Gordon stops by Tuesday evening with the Holy Bible- a gift from Priscah with a lovely inscription inside. It’s a first, and after years of being in Catholic school, I look forward to finally reading it.
I spend most of the last couple days in meetings discussing a water line with the community members, village elders, stakeholders, and existing water line committee members. Joshua from Sana International diligently follows up on the request for help with a water line at Honge Beach.
So, there is indeed a strong possibility that safe drinking water will be provided to the 2000 residents there once all the details are ironed out. Along with it, the chairman Moses suggests, the next daughter in the village or the water pipeline be named Anu!!!
As for me, I will gladly accept either - its an honor (and all I did was submit a request!) :)
Must be the reason I used to call myself a “Bhishti” growing up- a water bearer/Aquarian.
It’s all coming together now…(I hope!)
Thursday, August 18, 2011
something fishy...
I was given an African name today- Akinyi, which indicates I was born in the morning.
The week leading up to twenty five women dressed in colorful attire addressing me by my new name in this idyllic village has been anything but that.
After putting in my hour at the shamba, I leave for the closest ‘big city’ Kisumu on Friday. That evening, I make ample use of the free wi-fi at the rooftop bar, Duke of Breeze, over alternating glasses of red wine and French press coffee. I smirk at the forlorn tilapia platter with vegetables at dinner and the milky tea at breakfast - they don’t even come close to the ones at ‘home’ in Uhundha.
Funny how a couple weeks in a foreign land can begin to feel so homely- I have to attribute it to the community, who has made me feel so welcome here, to Charles and Priscah for opening their home to me, for checking up on me every so often, to Maureen for every little awesome thing she does to make sure I am more than comfortable and most of all to Alison, to AVIF, for giving me this great opportunity.
Sunday morning I finally touch the waters of Lake Victoria. I am on a boat with Joseph, George, Nicolas and Jesus, who calls himself God. Joseph, George and Jesus work on casting a net for the next two hours for tilapia, which they will collect in the evening.
Boats pass us by often- there are 400 fishermen in this village, a couple have radios blaring, some pose for me, others laugh at the ‘mzungu’ (foreigner) on the boat- women don’t fish. Two old men stop and show me their loot- I buy 6 little fish, 2 of them still gasping for breath. When I propose to throw them back, Joseph quietly disagrees indicating they wont live in the water anyway.
While the tilapias are making their way to the net, the youth group puts on a great show of dramas for me- I don’t comprehend a word, but the gallery of children do. They squeal and giggle with delight at George’s and SosPeter’s antics. We return home, Maureen and I, exhausted and ready for a hectic week ahead.
Monday is one of the more social days. As I approach the dilapidated mud building of the orphanage, I am welcomed by 40 kids clapping to a rhythmic ‘mzungu’. The volunteer teachers, Pamela and Phoebe, usher them in hurriedly. Once inside, they sing and clap to numerous other songs, one specifically to welcome the ‘visitor’. They mock my Luo with affectionate gusto. Some have never seen brown skin before, least of all speaking Luo.
(By now, I know the basic phrases including “How much is it?”, “Its too expensive.”, and the numbers. I practice them everyday with the motorcycle drivers on my ride to Usenge, everyday I learn something new (today it was ‘Akinyi’) )
This is followed by a meeting with the orphanage committee and some guardians, where we strategize on the future maintenance of the orphanage garden. A “community shamba day” is decided upon to formally let the community take responsibility.
I leave the orphanage with fresh tilapia for lunch, which Maureen quickly fries with spicy fish masala. Yum..
In the afternoon I go to the primary school with 2 posters I made for composting over the weekend. Mr Polycarp excitedly talks to the monitors of the four classes in session about composting, while holding buckets with “Little Rotters Composting Club” written on them! Internet is a great resource, indeed ☺ The children accept the responsibilities listed on the poster happily… The school closes with a prayer in a dense semi circle in the yard as the sky gets woollier with dark clouds and it starts to rain.
Early Tuesday morning, I get a call I have been waiting for- the local NGO is indeed paying us a visit that afternoon to discuss a safe water system. Joshua stops by, as promised, and has a prolonged chat with Henry, the beach chairman and some other beach leaders. Another meeting is scheduled for next week with more community members and village leaders to decide on the best solution of the alternatives we have. That evening Henry and me follow fishermen returning from the lake for fresh fish- another 'small' celebration.
Wednesday, Henry promises to take me fishing- “OMena”(Sardine) fishing.
Henry is Charles’ uncle- very polite, serious but often breaks into an instant smile, says Thank you too often and insists on calling me Madam at times (which makes me very uncomfortable and I tell him so). As I follow Henry to the boat with a kerosene lantern in hand, the news has spread in the village. Apparently no woman has been OMena fishing before in this village. In whispers freighted with laughter and disbelief, as we get ready to go on board, the neighboring fishermen wonder how I will fare in the cold waters of the lake.
And I soon discover, not so well ;) Sardine fishing is nothing like the relaxing, quiet sport of fishing is advertised to be in the West. It is 6-7 hours of laborious work in cold, dark, sometimes turbulent waters.
Four fishermen, with four lanterns mounted on floating “platforms” leave as night falls. A kilometer or two from the shore, they anchor those lanterns one-by-one a good distance away from each other at the corners of an imaginary square.
Then they wait for 15 minutes for the fish to be attracted to the light - David chews on a slice of bread and gulps down milk, Henry reassures me they wont be on the Lake till 2 AM tonight! My stomach growls, Its 8 PM.
Then the pace quickens accelerating to a frenzy. They approach the first lantern surrounding it with a net as they close in. As the boat rocks and veers dangerously on one side, they pull in the net, leaving the lantern behind. A few pounds of struggling sardines are emptied into the boat.
It takes about 10 minutes for one lantern. Then it’s on to the next one, and the next… for the next 6-7 hours till the moon appears on the horizon.
But tonight is different. The crew is very sensitive to my presence. Gauging the discomfort from my silence as it starts drizzling, they decide to return after 3 hours. Guided by my phone flashlight, Henry escorts me back home, a bucket of fresh sardines tucked under his arm for my lunch tomorrow, keeping his promise of getting me home by 11 PM.
It’s been a long, and enlightening day into the daily struggles of life here, and I bow to them for their resilience, their patience and their generosity. The trip to the lake tomorrow is dependent on the value of the catch today; it should cover the cost of the kerosene and the crew. The average they make from a trip is about 150 Kshs- less than $2.
My faith in unshaken, if not more validated: what the community needs is not charity or aid, but better resources for income-generating activities- current and future. I quietly resolve to follow up with another NGO I visited earlier in the week with a request for collaboration with the youth group and the orphanage.
And as the heavens pour down this morning, I get a call from them- they are stopping by to meet the youth group and check out the orphanage tomorrow morning.
In Africa, the rains do bring good luck perhaps…
The week leading up to twenty five women dressed in colorful attire addressing me by my new name in this idyllic village has been anything but that.
After putting in my hour at the shamba, I leave for the closest ‘big city’ Kisumu on Friday. That evening, I make ample use of the free wi-fi at the rooftop bar, Duke of Breeze, over alternating glasses of red wine and French press coffee. I smirk at the forlorn tilapia platter with vegetables at dinner and the milky tea at breakfast - they don’t even come close to the ones at ‘home’ in Uhundha.
Funny how a couple weeks in a foreign land can begin to feel so homely- I have to attribute it to the community, who has made me feel so welcome here, to Charles and Priscah for opening their home to me, for checking up on me every so often, to Maureen for every little awesome thing she does to make sure I am more than comfortable and most of all to Alison, to AVIF, for giving me this great opportunity.
Sunday morning I finally touch the waters of Lake Victoria. I am on a boat with Joseph, George, Nicolas and Jesus, who calls himself God. Joseph, George and Jesus work on casting a net for the next two hours for tilapia, which they will collect in the evening.
Boats pass us by often- there are 400 fishermen in this village, a couple have radios blaring, some pose for me, others laugh at the ‘mzungu’ (foreigner) on the boat- women don’t fish. Two old men stop and show me their loot- I buy 6 little fish, 2 of them still gasping for breath. When I propose to throw them back, Joseph quietly disagrees indicating they wont live in the water anyway.
While the tilapias are making their way to the net, the youth group puts on a great show of dramas for me- I don’t comprehend a word, but the gallery of children do. They squeal and giggle with delight at George’s and SosPeter’s antics. We return home, Maureen and I, exhausted and ready for a hectic week ahead.
Monday is one of the more social days. As I approach the dilapidated mud building of the orphanage, I am welcomed by 40 kids clapping to a rhythmic ‘mzungu’. The volunteer teachers, Pamela and Phoebe, usher them in hurriedly. Once inside, they sing and clap to numerous other songs, one specifically to welcome the ‘visitor’. They mock my Luo with affectionate gusto. Some have never seen brown skin before, least of all speaking Luo.
(By now, I know the basic phrases including “How much is it?”, “Its too expensive.”, and the numbers. I practice them everyday with the motorcycle drivers on my ride to Usenge, everyday I learn something new (today it was ‘Akinyi’) )
This is followed by a meeting with the orphanage committee and some guardians, where we strategize on the future maintenance of the orphanage garden. A “community shamba day” is decided upon to formally let the community take responsibility.
I leave the orphanage with fresh tilapia for lunch, which Maureen quickly fries with spicy fish masala. Yum..
In the afternoon I go to the primary school with 2 posters I made for composting over the weekend. Mr Polycarp excitedly talks to the monitors of the four classes in session about composting, while holding buckets with “Little Rotters Composting Club” written on them! Internet is a great resource, indeed ☺ The children accept the responsibilities listed on the poster happily… The school closes with a prayer in a dense semi circle in the yard as the sky gets woollier with dark clouds and it starts to rain.
Early Tuesday morning, I get a call I have been waiting for- the local NGO is indeed paying us a visit that afternoon to discuss a safe water system. Joshua stops by, as promised, and has a prolonged chat with Henry, the beach chairman and some other beach leaders. Another meeting is scheduled for next week with more community members and village leaders to decide on the best solution of the alternatives we have. That evening Henry and me follow fishermen returning from the lake for fresh fish- another 'small' celebration.
Wednesday, Henry promises to take me fishing- “OMena”(Sardine) fishing.
Henry is Charles’ uncle- very polite, serious but often breaks into an instant smile, says Thank you too often and insists on calling me Madam at times (which makes me very uncomfortable and I tell him so). As I follow Henry to the boat with a kerosene lantern in hand, the news has spread in the village. Apparently no woman has been OMena fishing before in this village. In whispers freighted with laughter and disbelief, as we get ready to go on board, the neighboring fishermen wonder how I will fare in the cold waters of the lake.
And I soon discover, not so well ;) Sardine fishing is nothing like the relaxing, quiet sport of fishing is advertised to be in the West. It is 6-7 hours of laborious work in cold, dark, sometimes turbulent waters.
Four fishermen, with four lanterns mounted on floating “platforms” leave as night falls. A kilometer or two from the shore, they anchor those lanterns one-by-one a good distance away from each other at the corners of an imaginary square.
Then they wait for 15 minutes for the fish to be attracted to the light - David chews on a slice of bread and gulps down milk, Henry reassures me they wont be on the Lake till 2 AM tonight! My stomach growls, Its 8 PM.
Then the pace quickens accelerating to a frenzy. They approach the first lantern surrounding it with a net as they close in. As the boat rocks and veers dangerously on one side, they pull in the net, leaving the lantern behind. A few pounds of struggling sardines are emptied into the boat.
It takes about 10 minutes for one lantern. Then it’s on to the next one, and the next… for the next 6-7 hours till the moon appears on the horizon.
But tonight is different. The crew is very sensitive to my presence. Gauging the discomfort from my silence as it starts drizzling, they decide to return after 3 hours. Guided by my phone flashlight, Henry escorts me back home, a bucket of fresh sardines tucked under his arm for my lunch tomorrow, keeping his promise of getting me home by 11 PM.
It’s been a long, and enlightening day into the daily struggles of life here, and I bow to them for their resilience, their patience and their generosity. The trip to the lake tomorrow is dependent on the value of the catch today; it should cover the cost of the kerosene and the crew. The average they make from a trip is about 150 Kshs- less than $2.
My faith in unshaken, if not more validated: what the community needs is not charity or aid, but better resources for income-generating activities- current and future. I quietly resolve to follow up with another NGO I visited earlier in the week with a request for collaboration with the youth group and the orphanage.
And as the heavens pour down this morning, I get a call from them- they are stopping by to meet the youth group and check out the orphanage tomorrow morning.
In Africa, the rains do bring good luck perhaps…
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