Kenyan Journal #1: Welcome to Wundanyi
Hello from Wundanyi!
I'm on a six month internship in rural Kenya, teaching basic computer skills at a community centre's employability project. I found the job through the Institute for Leadership Development (ILD) at York University and am working for the American NGO, Global Education Partnership.
I'm hoping to send out a weekly diary by email, of which this is the first installment. If you're interested in reading the others, please send an email to kenya-subscribe@yaacov.theorem.ca . Anyone who wants to can subscribe; I'm sure that I've missed people with this original mailing.
Wundanyi is the town I'm living in and I've now been here a day and a half. The tale of my travel is quite long, so be warned!
It was almost exactly seven days (minus the time change) between leaving the Sault and arriving in Wundanyi. I spent one night on a bus, three nights on planes and two nights on couches. The bed at Ivor's in Nairobi was wonderful.
The day I flew out of Toronto, London had the biggest, nastiest blizzard since Mel Lastman's state of emergency. The two inches of snow caused my trans-Atlantic flight to takeoff two hours late then wait an hour and a half on the runway at Heathrow before letting us off. Then the forty-five minute subway ride into Central London turned into a three-hour bus trip because the Underground was closed due to snow. Given that most of the ground was bare, I was feeling snobbishly proud to be a non-Torontonian Canadian.
Downtown I met a friend from Echo Bay and she took me on the whirlwind tour of London: a thirty-five minute ride on the London Eye. The Eye is an immense Ferris wheel and you can see the entire city from the top.
I then headed right back to Heathrow where my Nairobi flight was three hours late boarding, then had one problem after another, including an hour without air conditioning. Finally at four in the morning the pilot announced that the flight was being canceled due to ice on one of the engines. By six a.m. we were checking into a hotel, where I got six blessed hours of sleep and some tea before being thrown back on the bus to the airport.
At the airport I ate red tape for couple hours, collecting my third entry stamp for Great Britain. The moral of the story is to never be honest with airport security about helping to carry a fellow passenger's luggage. They threatened to destroy the bag because the poor guy had left it "unattended" in my hands, then made us go to the Arrivals level information desk to retrieve it, located conveniently on the other side of Customs and Immigration.
Eight hours after getting to the airport, my flight finally took off and I went to sleep. I woke up to enjoy the view out my window: the wide expanse of the southern Sahara and a thick yellow-green liquid leaking out onto the wing. The flight attendants took half an hour to answer the call button, then got very excited, taking turns sitting in my seat and confirming to each other that there was indeed something leaking. One of the pilots was finally called and pronounced it to be de-icing fluid that had frozen in the wing and was melting as we headed south, but said he would check the hydraulic pressure anyway. The thought of de-icing fluid freezing wasn't exactly making me happy, but I figured that we hadn't crashed yet, so it couldn't be that bad.
There was a great view of Mount Kenya as we descended through twenty thousand feet. It's very exciting to look out the window of a high flying aircraft and see a mountain peak alongside. Huge white birds flew by at seven thousand feet and the land was a wonderful topography of rolling hills with stepped cliffs.
The landing was picture perfect and the cares of travelling slipped away as I started to get really excited that I would soon be setting foot in Africa. I gathered my bags and reached into my money belt to get out my passport.
The money belt was empty. No passport, no traveller's cheques, no bank card, no drivers license, no cash, no Health Card, no Social Insurance number, no plane ticket home.. at least I wasn't carrying a credit card. I was going to get thrown on a plane back to Canada at best but more likely thrown in jail.
Then I felt the passport in my pocket and remembered that I hadn't yet transferred my cash or cards from my normal wallet. All that was missing was six hundred fifty US dollars in traveller's cheques and my ticket home, the only two things that could be easily replaced. A search of the area where I was sitting didn't turn up anything, but I was so happy to still have my passport and bank card that I didn't really care.
Ivor, bless his heart, was at the airport and whisked me safely back to his apartment. We spent the rest of the day getting me Kenyan currency and having dinner with his cousin, who also happens to be in Kenya, working on computers, and getting paid by the Government of Canada. Nairobi was pleasantly cool; we had dinner outside and I was shivering in my dress shirt and khakis by the time we finished.
The next morning I caught the bus from Nairobi to Voi, a town not far from Wundanyi. I was sitting right at the front and had a great view out the windshield. Given previous warnings about Kenyan driving I expected chaos, but instead found that Kenyan drivers are about as good as Canadian ones, though the roads are a lot worse. Which is saying a lot since the road I was on was the Nairobi-Mombassa highway joining the two biggest cities in the country.
Halfway to Voi, Mount Kilimanjaro peaked over a mountain range to the south-west. It was probably about 150km-200km away but towered over the closer mountains nonetheless. Despite what I've heard about the melting snows, the glaciers are still prominent and seem to stretch a long way down the mountain.
As we got closer to Voi, the temperature started to rise. My water bottle got emptier and emptier, something of a problem, since I'm determined not to drink from the taps here. When we arrived in Voi, it was well over thirty degrees. Ed, the Executive Director of GEP and Jacqueline, my new boss, were waiting for me. Ed was easily recognisable as promised: "I'll be the only other white guy". He introduced himself then took my place on the bus and headed to Mombassa on his way to visit the Tanzania office.
Jacqueline helped me pack my stuff into a little 4x4 and we sped off to Wundanyi. As soon as we turned off the highway the road became much worse. The pothole evasion reminded me of Northern Ontario snowmobilers who cross the ice at top speed in the hope that they will skim over any open water in their path.
I was sweating profusely and my Nalgene was empty, so I was quite relieved when Jacqueline started complaining about the heat. Wundanyi is only about 40kms from Voi, but it's probably a kilometre higher and as we climbed the temperature dropped back to a reasonable low-to-mid twenties. The view was fantastic, with the Taita hills all around and some lovely cliffs (photo coming soon), which buoyed my mood. Kenya does really big geography. Big mountains separated by big plains cleft by big valleys.
Riding into town, I had my first experience of being mzungu. That's the Kiswahili word for "white person", and I'm currently the only one in a town of ten thousand-ish. Fortunately, being a yarmulke-wearing Jew in Sault Ste Marie was good preparation, but a little black cap on a head of dark brown hair isn't as obvious as a very white face. The townspeople were polite, pretending not to stare, but that only made it worse.
Walking into my new house was the biggest shock. I guess the address, "Mbela Estates", had raised my expectations. And it's true that after having lived there for several hours, I'm not really sure why it felt so awful at first. All the same, the cement slab floor, corrugated metal roof, janitor's-closet washroom (the view from the front door looks straight into it) and dirty walls shook me up. All I could say was "Very nice." I hope Jacqueline believed me.
There's no hot water except what I heat on the stove, and actually no water at all for most of the day, though I'm told that's only temporary until we get more rain. The electricity works, though half of the light bulbs are blown. The front two burners on the gas stove are working and the only leak in the gas line seems to be the one out the top of one of the burners. The little bar fridge worked once I plugged it in, and I can fit both my Nalgenes in it with room for a pot of leftovers. The odd cobwebs and mouse droppings aren't exactly comforting, but I've dealt with those before; though my broom was more than a bundle of straw back then.
I felt a bit guilty for my reaction when I later learned that I had one of the best houses in town, one that a family of four would be privileged to have. Jacqueline, who seems to be quite well off, lives in a similar house with her immediate, and part of her extended, familiy. In fact, most people in the area live in clay brick houses with dirt floors, no electricity, a coal "jiko" for cooking and no running water.
There were some pleasant surprises, like the town soccer pitch (Ultimate is coming to Kenya!), a computer lab with fifteen computers, several of which are as good as the one I left at home, and a stall selling batteries for my digital camera ("Everpower" and "Duracharge"). The most pleasant surprise was that the bed here is great. Comfortable, firm, and not at all lumpy.
The most interesting thing so far has been the milk. I now have a standing order with the local dairy for half a litre each day to be picked up in the evenings. They measure it out in front of me and pour it into a plastic bag like the ones we put veggies in at the supermarket, then tie it tightly shut. Pasteur is probably rolling over in his grave. I decided to boil the milk, then refrigerate it over night before using it on my cereal. If anyone knows about the health issues regarding unpasteurised milk or a good way to sterilise it, please tell me, because it takes a lot of skill to boil milk for six minutes without making a huge mess on the stove.
Job wise, I've fixed two computers and written a curriculum and lesson plans for teaching PowerPoint, so I'm feeling useful at least. To be honest, fixing the second computer wasn't particularly difficult, though it proved that Macs aren't as user friendly as claimed. No one here could figure out how to turn the thing on, and it took me several minutes before concluding that there was no ON button and then remembering that Macs have a keyboard key for a power switch.
I found out that there is a bank machine in Wundanyi, contrary to previous information, and I hope it takes my card, since the one I was counting on in Voi has closed since Lonely Planet last passed through here. Mombassa is the next closest, though it's over two hours away and fifteen degrees warmer.
Well, the vent has been good and I think I'm going to enjoy it here. I'm sooo happy that I brought some music (thank you Christine and Ivor!) and my frisbee. I've got a spare room with a real bed and anyone who wants to find out what living in rural Africa is like is welcome to join me.
All the best,
Yaacov
P.S. It's taken me a week to get my email sorted out enough that I can send this, so installments two and three of this journal will likely appear together. The week's worth of experience has me laughing at how much my perspective has changed. Now my house seems luxurious and the social conditions are much more interesting than the environment. But I'll wait for the next installment to give you the details!
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