Going to Kenya

And Who Are You?

2011-09-26T17:02:00.003-05:00

Hey guys!

First off I just want to say this blog expresses only my views and thoughts, has nothing to do with the charity, and could have occurred at any school in the world. I still love Africa and I love USIU.

So I have always promised to be open and honest in my blog, so here is me being honest about my most horrifying moment at USIU. The names have not been changed, for the innocent have no reason to be ashamed.

The reason I came home for the summer is because I was sexually assaulted by another student first semester. His name is Guled and I thought he was my friend.

I will not describe the attack as there is a line between honesty and having a private life. Let me say that I did get away with some severe scratches and a hysterical mindset. I ran to a friend’s house and cried in terror and humiliation.

The next morning it turned out things were going to get worse before they became a complete and fucking shitstorm.

I went to my school for help and did everything that was asked of me. I wrote statements, went to the clinic (given a tetanus shot and antibiotics), broke up with Wilson, felt like a public pariah, has my life put on trial, was no longer allowed to have boys in my room, had to switch classes to avoid him and people talked to me about it as if I had made it up or it wasn’t a large deal.

I did this all thinking I would get justice and after a disciplinary hearing was given the verdict that Guled would be suspended for 2 semesters, meaning until the end of this current semester.

It was this knowledge with my summer home that allowed me to come back to USIU.

So imagine my surprise when I saw my attacker in the library.

The school had let him back on campus, after one semester, and without informing me.

This presented a delicate situation.

My absence along with him being back fueled a ridiculous rumor mill with people thinking I made the whole thing up. But the rumors were not the worst.

I was hysterical when I first saw him, unable to go to class, to eat, to sleep for period longer then 4 hours or to speak to friends. But that was not the worst.

People came up to me and talked to me about my attack as if it were no big deal and wondered “would I squash the beef”? But this was not the worst.

The worst was feeling so betrayed by the school. The worst was living with the knowledge that I had gone through all of this for nothing.

The worst my girlfriends telling me about their own sexual assaults and how they refused to go to the authorities to avoid an experience like mine only to receive no justice.

That was the worst.

So now what was I to do?

My last blog was about how to I blend into Kenya? How do I maintain my background as well as live and work here?

But now my question is - what do I have a right to change?

After weeks of deliberation and wondering what my next move would be I decided that at this point I had a right to do whatever I damn well pleased. I decided to stomp my goddamned feet.

The way I did that was to walk over to the Vice Chancellor, President and real leader of this university, Dr. Frieda Brown, and ask for a meeting. To me delight this woman said yes.

Today was that meeting. I spent the first 20 minutes of it crying.

And the wonderful, beautiful, delightful Exhilarating thing was that this woman came down on my side and promised to look into my case.

But then quite suddenly, in reaction my stomping foot, the ground shifted.

It seems that I am the first girl to report a sexual assault at USIU. Woah. Now either I am a terrible anomaly or men here have been getting away with this shit for way to long.

Suddenly Vice Chancellor Brown was talking about policy changes, mandatory counseling, a women’s empowerment group- No! A women’s empowerment seminar! (My idea) - New training for the entire faculty, basically what amounted to a complete system overhaul.

And may I reiterate. Woah.

And with a pep talk and a promise to get back to me in 48 hours I left her office and stumbled into the daylight.

But now I wonder, do I have any part in this overhaul?

Is it my responsibility now to make sure all these things happen? Should I be the one to encourage open communication about this subject? About any subject?

Could I possibly have that kind of strength in me?

The thing is I’m a little exhausted what with the assault and the work with Small Planet Big Plans and the drought to take care of. I’d also like to fit a date it at one point or another.

If I become active in this cause then not only will my story be public (which it kind of already is) but I have a feeling the boys won’t be so friendly.

But if the boys are going to stick together like that (because god help us all. It can’t be a whole campus of assholes can it?) Then shouldn’t us women too?

I’ve always said that every facet of life is intimately related, and I also believe that about people. So shouldn’t all of the women here, regardless of class or creed, stick together to scream we will not take this shit a second longer?

And if all of us women have a responsibility to each other then do I have a choice but to scream at the top of my lungs until some things start to change around here? Isn’t it my duty to reach out? It seems I have no options but to do my part.

But then again I question. Just who the hell do I think I am?

I guess the answer is I am the first woman to go public as a sexual assault victim at this school. And I do not feel ashamed one little bit.

Oh and about those rumors? I forgive the girls for spreading them. I think it’s mostly weak minded girls who feel that need to be “one of the boys”. But if anyone gives me an ounce of crap I will have to correct them quite severely. Although I doubt anyone will be that brave.

Anyway guys here I am once again laid bare. Hope you enjoyed it.

If anyone wants to e-mail me about this one I can be reached at aliyadegrazia@yahoo.com

Stay safe boys and girls!
Aliya

Nigerian Drunks and Other Things I Have No Buisness Writing About

2011-09-19T08:30:00.003-05:00

Hello esteemed readers,

So I have been in Nairobi about a week and things are…interesting.

First off I had no idea my leaving in the middle of the night without saying anything and then returning unannounced as if nothing had happened would cause such a splash. Who knew, eh?

No but seriously every day I get yelled at. Yelled at well getting my coffee, going to the library, waiting for a matatu, etc. But in a good way.

Being back has really gotten me present to how much I love Kenya. I let all the nastiness of first semester cloud my judgment and forgot how amazing it can be here. I had this epiphany as my head was slamming into the ceiling of my matatu.

The interesting thing about this semester is I have interaction with the exchange students which makes me weirdly uncomfortable. I’m so used to being the only white American around and now I know so many- am I not special anymore - but the weird thing is when I want to explain something to one of them I have no idea how.

First off I don’t want to come off as a know it all bitch. “Oh I’ve been living here for over a year, I know everything, la deed a”. No one likes that girl.

The thing is sometimes they say things or do things that just feel so inherently wrong and I can’t explain why.

The second thing is who am I to explain a culture not my own to them? Isn’t that a bit arrogant to assume I know more then them? Or that they can’t learn it themselves?

Can anyone really know another culture?

Not to mention I have no business as I seem to be getting myself into enough trouble so I have no business giving advice.

Thus the title.

One of the things that kind of embarrasses me, and this sounds silly, is that I’m a parrot. I tend to adapt pretty quickly to my environment adopting the accent, gestures, etc. the problem, you ask?

Well I sound like kind of an asshole.

When I’m speaking Swahili and my accent mimics Kenyans that all fine and dandy but what about my English; if I replace “stop that” with “we we” or I adopt the African accent and drop pronouns like my peers am I adopting their culture or am I just a dick? Also what does it mean for my culture back home?

I’m kind of struggling for an identity all the time because as much as I don’t want to lose my home, I also want to blend in with my friends and a place I consider home.

I guess the question is really who the hell do I think I am?

The past summer at home was more about facing my past so I could move forward, so now that I’m at this magic healthy move forward place where shall I go? Is it in an African direction or do I move back towards the west?

Last Friday I was at a bar and a very drunk man approached me as I lit my cigarette. He came up and told me how light my skin was (um, really?) and asked how I got it. Now I have no idea why I said the next thing I said.

Nikko point 5

Meaning I am half black half white.

I then proceeded to convince him in Swahili and sheng that my mother was a white and my father a Kenyan and blah blah.

Now I will say that he was pretty drunk and the club was very dark but I was actually quite proud of myself. First because of the Swahili but second because I’d been able to convince someone that I belonged in that bar, that I wasn’t an outsider.

Except why did I feel like I needed to be African to have a right to be in that bar? I had friends there, who know I’m not at all black, I had a drink, and I could dance damnit! Why did I feel the need to lie?

I kind of feel like betrayed my family and friends and culture back in Chicago by lying. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, so why make things up?

Of course it was pretty cool.

The next one should be written from the mission!!

MISS YOU ALLLLL

Love,
Aliya

Round Two

2011-08-27T13:45:00.003-05:00

Okay, here we go again.

I’ve decided it’s about time that I restart writing the blog. I know I’ve been slacking for awhile, but the past six months have been really tough on me, so I thought it’s be better for all of us if I took I went offline for a little. I do have a journal written of my first semester at college in Nairobi but I don’t know if I will post that yet, if I do I can promise it will be gruesome.

So here is a quick overview of what happened at USIU that had be go off the grid so suddenly

1) Wilson and I broke up- a few times. This often resulted in him threatening to kill himself or hurt someone
2) It turns out the mean girl phenomena is not only alive and well in college but alive and well in Africa. A group of girls took it upon themselves to ostracize and be bitches.
3) I was assaulted by a guy I thought I was friends with so I reported it to the school which causes a whole mess of issues.
4) I was hit by a car
5) I had to have my appendix taken out at a Kenyan hospital that had kittens running around it.
6) I got punched in the face on my last birthday
7) Other miscellaneous that I forget at the moment

So that was my first semester at school.

So I came home for the summer, had a good cry and a stiff drink with some friends, pulled up my big girl pants and am now preparing to return to the scene of the crime.

The problem is my big girl pants are chafing me.

I am no longer as wide eyed and excited as I was when I lived on the mission. In fact I’m actually quite afraid.

Since we’ve been on hiatus things have changed. For one there is a terrible drought going on in eastern Africa which has caused food prices to raise over 300%. This has definitely made it harder for the charity to run as much of the money we’ve sent has had to be spent of food rather then continuing the water project. It’s been expensive to keep these kids in school as well try and keep the project going, and with the economy still in this dip it’s hard to get people to give. I feel a little bit desperate for ideas on how to raise money.

On the other hand we have finally succeeded in putting the pump and the generator in, so clean water is now accessible in Mulot but people just keep asking for more and sometimes it feels like I’m drowning.

SPBP has finally made contact with Kenyan community here in Chicago and it looks like were going to underwrite a reception dinner for the Kenyan marathon runner coming to Chicago in November but I feel like we’re slightly at odds with some of the dinner planners so I’m scared we’re going to lose money on it, rather then make any donations.

I guess my fear comes down to the most basic human fear of failing. I don’t want to lose the project, I don’t want to make any (more) enemies, and I don’t want to fall short.

I suppose we’ll just have to see.

On the other hand I’m not scared for school as I have two secret weapons.

One is Bell Evans, SPBP’s new deputy director who will be enrolling at USIU with me this sem. She is one of the most beautiful, intelligent driven people on earth and a best friend to boot. With her at the school I cannot imagine another catastrophic semester.

The second has to do with a very kind compliment my dear friend and the great, yet under appreciated, philosopher sage BitxBit gave me. She said to me-

“Aliya, it’s so you just to go back to a place and fucking own it””

Which is true, although I might not end up leading the school by any means- I can’t imagine I’d be that driven- I do have a stubborn streak in me along with a contrarian personality. I will not allow myself to be beaten.

So my goals for this new semester are as such.

1) I will return to the positive place Kenya took me to when I first arrived and not let disasters large or small get in the way
2) I will, with the help of bell, bring the charity to a whole new level and raise another $10,000 this year
3) I will keep the physical fighting and disasters to a minimum

And most of all I will not lose contact with you all again. I will bring the blog back to its original place that not only helped me keep connected with home but kept me in an honest place centered in the now. I will document every scrap, every victory, I will be disgusting and honest and raw. I will let you all back into myself, and I will most defiantly not change any names. If I mentioned you in a poor context, you had no innocence to be protected. (Insert evil chortle)

Wish me luck boys and girls for I am returning to the lions den.

Kenya motherfucking believe it?

Love,
Aliya

THE REVOLUTION WILL BE FEMINIZED

2011-01-30T13:53:00.000-06:00

Hey Readers!

So school is beginning to pick up a bit. Sadly the reason school is picking up a bit is I’m stirring up a bit of trouble.

The interesting thing about being a white woman in Kenya is the paradox I am to many people. I am white and thus powerful but a woman and thus weak, so the compromise often made is that I must be rich but fragile. This is a theory I am constantly disproving through bumming cigarettes as well as slight fights.

Now when I say fights I don’t mean any sort of street fighting with punches thrown and blades out (although one guy did step into me); these fights are more along the lines of intense arguments.

I have found myself on the side of radical feminism in this country as I argue for more education as well as available contraception for women all over the country. Weirdly these are radical ideas. The men here find me as one said “a destroyer of the traditional family life and thus traditional family and societal values and thus society itself) because I said I wouldn’t was his underwear.

This seems like a strange argument but essentially this is a live action example of globalization. Kenyans want a globalized economy and technological industry but were unprepared for the flow of ideas. It’s actually fascinating to be in the middle of.

The really mind blowing part is when the girls over hear.

My argumentative friend asked why if women were so strong why men were able to keep them down. I made the radical (and I do see how it’s radical) assertion that it is because men are the weaker sex.

Cue gasps.

My argument was that men knowing they had less innate power then women intentionally kept women uneducated, ignorant and pregnant as soon as possible. As ignorance leads to early pregnancy and early pregnancy leads to continued ignorance as well as the ability to control a woman through her children. I claimed that women’s sexuality actually shaped most history (e.g. Anne Boleyn, Helen of Troy) and that when given access to education women are able to expand the economy in ways never thought possible.

At this point my friend left the table.

Now the point of this conversation wasn’t to change this man’s mind and force him accept equality (although that would have been nice) it was for the girls to overhear.
Because that’s when the magic happens.

Women made aware of their own power as a woman suddenly feel stronger then ever before. From there the conversation was able to grow into hope of building all girls schools in India, teaching sex education in the bush, opening clinics for poor young women in the city and from there it grew into orphanages, free schools, space stations. Anything we could think of. The world was ours to build and to create us merely required the ability to think it.

And this is what I love about living in Kenya. There is simply so much more world left to create. There are more views to argue, more experiences to be had. (Did you know you can go sky diving in Nairobi for 3500 shillings? That’s about $45.)

In a country that is rapidly changing and developing through things such as the new constitution and new schools and new immigrants we are at the center. We are the new change. Here is the new change. Africa is the new change.

Here is the final frontier.

Because this really is the unexplored land. It is mapped out (sort off) but it is unexplored. Right now each step taken in this country is new, each breath different then the ones taken before it, and everything is growing and changing in ways thought impossible. The moon isn’t where we want to go to learn who we are as humans or where the future lays. Africa is.

In many ways Africa is our last chance. This is our chance to industrialize without severe damage to the environment; this is our chance to create fashion embracing all shapes. This is our chance to create governments that are equitable on the first try. This is our chance to put into place all these beautiful ideas we discussed in our basements as kids.

I firmly believe that the entire future of humanity lays in Africa. These are some of the last world being built up and changed and grown and if everyone here and around the world works to protect these worlds from the economic hit men, and fascist puppet governments and if we all start to care about the fate of this continent then within a few hundred (decades?) years these will be the societies we look up to.

And that is what I feel apart of. That is what is bigger then myself. That is what is bigger then the mission and the kids and the water and the anything and everything.

That is the ripple in the pond.

The stars don’t have shit on us.

So everyone care. Do donate, do visit, do volunteer, do anything you can think of. Help your community but think of this as your community to. Think of us over here as your poor but very smart neighbor who you help put through school. Low input high output. High interest rates on your loans.

After all Carl Sagan did say we are all essentially the same as we are all made of star stuff

So I guess that gives space something

Love and miss you all

Aliya de Grazia

Average

2011-01-17T02:45:00.000-06:00

Hey all!

So I guess my life is only as messy as the average college students now days. The average confusion, heartbreak and general confusion; maybe with some extra dancing, I mean we are in Africa.

I can think of very little to say to you all right now. I guess I’m just like any other angsty college student. I feel a little scared, very lost, and very small.

I’ve been trying to do some soul searching, but the problem is I seem to have misplaced it.

Suddenly things that had ceased to bother me when I was dealing with problems on the mission have come back in full. Now that I’m not worried about water and food and school fees (as much) I’m again worried about sex and love and friendship.

I feel like I’m in sort of a reinvention funk. When I’m not Aliya-saving-the-world who am I? Who is College-life-Aliya?

I been feeling lately like someone cut off my connection to the earths center and I am sort of floating away. I’d hold onto the grass to stay down but touching it is a 2,000 shilling fine at USIU. As is littering.

It’s strange the areas in our life that make us feel a mess. I am, for all intensive purposes, a very smart and very successful young woman with an excellent charity who was able to live on her own for quite a few months in a foreign city.

Except I feel like a little kid whispering “Please like me”

Now don’t get all worried, I AM making friends and many of them great friends. But I can’t stop feeling like people don’t like me enough, or don’t want me around, or just don’t think I’m that interesting.

I don’t know what I was expecting but I didn’t expect to feel so upside down.

But this has to be normal for everyone who moves right? Do all new freshmen feel like this? Is everyone’s confidence fake?

On one of my last nights in Chicago Matt, D-kwon, my father and I got into a sort of pseudo philosophical argument. I had put forth my two bit 40 proof theory that although there isn’t a fate leading us there is a balance in the universe. This balance doesn’t necessarily mean that everyone is happy it just means the universe is working at its most efficient. My theory was that each of us has an optimum path we can be on to help achieve this universal balance and when things in life suddenly start going well or going easy then you are on this optimum path.

Kenya felt like my optimum path at the time, which it still does, but whereas at the time it all seemed so clear my path has suddenly become hazy. I went from a corn field stretched highway to driving through the Appalachians. I just can’t see that far ahead. And now I have a nervous curiosity about the future. Like I’m walking along a ledge and need to inch slowly to get to the right place.

I don’t know. For now my “optimum path” is to go to all my classes, turn in my essays, and learn how to shake my ass like all the other girls here.

Miss you all and hope your not too cold back in Chicago!
Love,
Aliya

VIVA

2011-01-12T09:47:00.000-06:00

Hey guys

So I’m sorry it’s been so long but I have been adjusting. It’s been a bit of work but besides having over 1000s mosquito bites (yes we counted) caused by a broken water pipe everything has been really great.

I’m adjusting to college the way anyone would I guess. Just in Africa. I have a core group of people whom I already love very much and have hit the club scene hard. According to my friend Oti this has caused me to “lose all my whiteness”.

When Oti said that I almost fell over with relief. I was so scared that school I would end up as “The White Girl” but as it turns out I’m just Aliya. Don’t get me wrong, everyone brings up my Caucasian aspects once in awhile (thus a 3 hour dance lesson from My friends Nonni and Charlotte) but I am not a token.

Suprisingly there is a clique known as “The White Girls” at the school who are girls from the US and Europe doing a semester abroad. They are never seen apart and appear to bother the hell out of everyone thus making people like me more. Isn’t that lucky?

I know I said I wouldn’t talk about SPBP as much in this blog but I am dying to get all this out this email I just got from Father Patrick-

I hope you have the
news that we TOPPED in this County which has three district and with
Narok South district having 254 primary schools. Our School had a
mean score of 357 out of 500. the number 2 school in our distict had a
meanscore of 337 followed closely by the number 3 with 335 marks.
Thanks for your kind thoughts and timely assistance especially to
those who are in desperate need of some one who can accord them their
hearts desires of a better and assuring education.
We have gotten a quotation from the Kenya Power and Lightning as
pertains to the power for the water pump and the power room or house
is being constructed. Pump testing was done and any time electricity
will come in as we have already paid for the power.

I don’t think I could be any happier!

It’s nice to know that the big and important things in your life can work out even as your personal life shatters and is gently put back together.

Shatter you ask?

Well I broke up with Wilson and it went far worse then anyone could have guessed it would. It went O.C., 90210, Melrose Place bad. Africa edition. This has caused me to lose any friend I made in connection with him.

But sei la vie (La Vie!).

And I have made many other friends. So thank god.

Anyway I have nothing insightful or thoughtful to say so I will sign off with promises of bigger and better.

Miss you all! Just not as much as I thought I would

Rocket Man

2011-01-12T09:46:00.000-06:00

Hello Readers!

So here we are again in O’Hare airport waiting to return to Kenya. Deja’vu and such.

As I sit here I consider what it is waiting for me this time in Kenya; I know what to expect in many aspects (I have friends, the infamous Wilson, the Priests) but now at a time in my life when most people are almost halfway done with their schooling I am about to begin.

I’m excited to have a normal college experience but I’m also interested on an anthropological level about what the difference between an African school and American school will be.

I want all the parties and the great loves and the great disappointments that come with the experience but of course, being the Laura Croft wannabe I am, I want to have my own adventure. Something wild and crazy and that others will be jealous of.

So now I think there are going to be some changes to the blog. Knowing what I know now I think the blog will be less about discovery. As my loyal readers know I disregarded self discovery as a goal during my last trip, remember the puzzle piece metaphor, and I already understand a lot about African culture. I guess what I’ll discover now is how to be a normal college kid.

Also the blog will just have to be more about me.

How can this possibly be you ask? You WRITE the blog Aliya, you say, it is all about your experiences you exclaim!

Well yes, I admit, but to be fair I was also writing about the mission, and Small Planet Big Plans, and the kids and things much bigger then myself. I think as my life becomes more about me and less about the charity- I am handing a lot of responsibility over to the US side and we have the kids tuition paid up for a year- and more about me and what I am predicting will be a pretty humorous black and white indie movie experience. I think I’ll have more stories about misunderstandings on Matatus, language barriers, and such things that caused me to end up holding a chicken in a foreign country with no understanding of my surroundings.

Of course I will return to the mission and Kisumu so I will still have heart wrenching terrible stories of hardship and over coming impossibility and the shear joy one can experience just because they are alive and thankful.

Have you noticed how many times I’ve used the word “expierence” in this blog? Interesting.

God I’m excited. And terrified. And joyful. And sad.

I am leaving my home.

But I am also coming home.

Stay tuned boys and girls because this trip promises to be quite the experience. (tee-hee)

Anyway I will update you all once I am settled.

All the best readers,
Aliya

P.S. JUST because I’m not as focused on my charity it does not mean I will stop harassing al of you for donations. Keep donating. It’s a new year and so we have started a new goal of 10,000 by 2012. GO TEAM.

 <3 . (tee-hee)

Here It Goes, Here It Goes

2010-12-20T01:31:00.001-06:00

Hello Loyalists!

So I’ve decided to start up the blog again. I guess it makes sense with going back to school there and so people can keep tabs on Small Planet Big Plans.

Speaking of SPBP things are going really well in that area. Most of you probably heard my interview with WBEZ (if you didn’t you can find it on www.smallplanetbigplans.org there is a link to the podcast) and because of that we hit our $10,000 goal which means we can buy our pump! It also gets our kids a year through school which is a huge weight off my shoulders. If we can have 6 more years like this we can finish our project.

As amazing as this is I’m having difficultly being excited. Actually all I feel is…scared.

I usually try and make these blogs inspirational and a bit humorous but I keep finding myself coming back to fear. More like terror.

It’s like that feeling I used to get before I went to a scary movie when I was younger. I was really excited until I sat down but then I became really afraid of being afraid (powerless, I know). I would dread the feeling and how for the next couple of days my skin would crawl and then when the music started playing and you knew the 25 year old playing the 16 year old was about to get it I would think…

I can’t do this.

I always made myself sit through it because I never want to look weak but it would take a lot of determination to keep sitting. This is a really painful way to have spent the last few weeks.

Everyone keeps telling me how happy I’ll be once I get there and how I felt like this before and blah blah blah but they really have no idea how bad it is.

The problem is that this time I KNOW how terrible and hard it will be some days and I KNOW how much it will hurt to give all this up. I can already feel that first night again when I was practically hysterical and I don’t want to go back again.

I forgot how nice it was to fit in back here. I used to think I was kind of a misfit and weird etc (teenage angst and such) but the truth is that I have a lot of friends here and as much as my past here hurts, there are also so many amazing memories.

I hadn’t realized how amazing it is to be in a place where people speak your language, look like you, dress like you, get your references and generally are all the same as you. Even though we don’t want to admit it, as Americans we are all a lot alike. And that’s comforting to me.

I also have regular old going to university fears such as will I make friends? Will the work be too hard? What if I hate it?

And one of the worst parts is how final this all feels. With school there being year round and ticket prices being what they are who knows when I’ll be back? It could literally be years before I see any of my childhood friends again. The same goes for my family and that makes me feel ill. And teary. But I’m not crying, my tear ducts have just sprung a leak (stiff upper lip and such. Be a big girl now.)

And you know what really sucks? How unexpectedly (at least for me) and amazingly successful I have been in raising money since I got home. I mean 10k? I never even imagined that.

What’s so bad about success you ask? Well….

Now the stakes are higher. Now 10k is the floor. My projected trajectory is much higher and thus failure means a much longer fall.

I have no idea how to keep this momentum going. I have no idea how to ever raise this much again. It’s almost like now I have even more pressure because this kind of success which feels like a complete fluke to me is expected. And that terrifying. I thought I was scared when I started this, but I had no idea then.

I just keep waiting for someone to stand up and shout WAIT she’s only 19! This girl has no idea what she’s doing! And it will all fall apart. This whole thing feel so fragile and I’m scared to make a move because that will break this amazing accident and the miracle will be over.

I’m so determined to finish this project; I want this done more then anything. I just thought that it would be easier by the time I got to this point.

God I am so stopped at the idea of going back. I have nightmares about going to the airport and seeing my mom cry again and being alone again and being harassed again and having to be on my toes again. It’s enough to make me want to go to sleep for years.

I wonder if my parents can write me a note to get me out of college…

I have no choice at this point but to man up and do the damn thing. But that kind of resolve sounds exhausting.

I just hate this feeling of losing control of my life, like I’m being pushed in a direction that I’m unsure of all of a sudden. And the weird part is everyone else feels so sure.

It’s strange but getting what I wanted my whole life has suddenly made me miserable.

I’m just so scared.

But ready or not here I go. So welcome back boys and girls. We have returned to the roller coaster. Buckle up and keep your arms and legs inside the compartment because we are in for….well who knows?

$10,000 raised. $60,000 to go. 1 girl. 1 mission. And 13 days until we are back in country.

Well fuck.

Love,
Aliya

Kwa Heri kwa ajili yangu

2010-10-24T04:55:00.001-05:00

Hey all.

So I’m sure by now you have heard the news about me contracting typhoid (see below) and some of you might also now know that due to this I will be leaving Africa early.

Like really early.

Like the day after tomorrow.

I guess that means it’s time for me to write the finishing up blog.

I’ve been thinking about this particular blog for awhile. What will I write in it? Who is it for? Is it the last one I will write or will this be a brief hiatus?

Usually when I write these posts I imagine myself writing a letter to you. I imagine the people who read these were, or are by now because honestly if you’ve read these you know parts of me that were unchartered mere months ago, intimate friends. This imagination allowed me to be completely honest and allow myself to write about what I loved and what I feared and what I wanted more then anything. It allowed for honesty I can be proud of and some of the purest, most raw, best writing I have done in awhile.

But this blog isn’t for you.

This one is for me. Because this is my time being finished up, my era ending, my closure needed; I need to write for myself this once. Welcome to my inner monologue of goodbye.

Of course this leaves questions of how will I write this? Will I address you or me? I suppose this will just flow.

So here I am, and how do I feel?

Well it’s a mix.

I can’t deny an ecstasy at knowing I am going to go home (of course I have started referring to coming back in January as “coming home”). Suddenly I am much freer with my thoughts and feeling about this place. For example I am now able to admit that I hate chipatis (a nasty thick fried tortilla), that I despise hand washing my clothes, and deplore almost everything about living in the bush (i.e. no running water, the heat, and the boredom). I can do this now because it’s okay to hate them because it’s all almost over.
When I had months left it was dangerous to admit how much I hated these things because it would depress me. If I had admitted to myself how hard this was on me and how much I hated so much of it I would have been crushed under the depression of months more to go. but now with only hours left I can breathe a sigh of relief and admit that my skin is a mess, my hair looks awful, I desperately need a manicure and miss wearing stilettos more then anything because it’s not for too much longer. I get to go home now.
On the other hand it has also brought into sharp focus all the reasons I have stayed. There is more love here then I have felt in a long time. I am near tears thinking about days (MONTHS) without the family I have here.

Today I learned to make Mandazi (kind of like a fried African doughnut) with Mama Michelle. We laughed and discussed church and played with Michelle and I was given (even more) dating advice as we mixed the dough and suddenly I wanted to sob as I felt a rush of love for this place.

It’s the same washing over feeling I get when I eat at the Father’s house or watch Madame Grace make Ugali (because she will never let me help). And it is a stronger force then I could have expected.

But it’s more then the people. It’s the smell of the air that always has the scent of cut grass and nature. It’s the sky that I swear to God is bluer then any sky I have ever seen in the states. It’s the fact that here I can see more stars then I knew existed.

A part of me dreads going back to the states where it will be loud and aggressive (and cold!). I can’t imagine going to a grocery store in the states and just putting things in a cart and leaving. Not seeing each particular woman I buy each particular different vegetable from and not calling her “mama”.

It also exhausts me because I know the work is no where near over. Being here sometimes it seems like the point was just to identify the projects. There is still so much money to rise, so much to do, only $3,000 has been raised and I want $10,000 by the end of the year more then anything.

This train of thought always brings me to the dark part of my mind that thinks I am a failure (compounded by the fact that I am wimping out and leaving early. Noticed I think elliptically?). I am honestly disappointed with myself that I wasn’t able to get to $5,000 before I left and that I have spent my last days here lying in a bed wishing for the sweet release of death.

But I will raise the money. I don’t know how ling it will take, but I will.

So I guess now it is time to start thinking about my life after this. What’s next for me?

I suppose next is university in Nairobi. But my oh my can you imagine what that will be like?

But the most nagging question is who am I now?

I thought that would be clear after six months here (god knows why) like this experience would mature me to a point where I knew exactly who I was and what I wanted; like my life would stretch out in front of me in a long highway instead of a series of corners I can’t see around.
Rather then looming in front my life is now on a blind curve. But I like it this way.

I don’t know who I am- although I have learned some things about myself- and I definitely don’t think I am an adult now.

But this decimation of who I thought I was and the lack of format for who I am now are good. Now I have a bunch of raw materials to piece together and make myself. I have time to learn and change and experiment.

I think that we’re all kind of like puzzles and the problem with most people (myself included) is that we more often then not don’t want to put the work in to discover who we are and what we really want. Rather then finding pieces that fit we find pieces that look close enough and try to force it all together, like a child trying to force puzzle pieces together. The problem is we usually break the piece and then get upset. Few people want to put the work in to figure it all out. Or else we might concentrate on one part of the puzzle and forget to look at the big picture. We get one part together perfectly but forget to put the rest together so we end up with empty spaces.

But as I sit here and write this I think that maybe the puzzle will put itself together, smoothly the way it’s supposed to be, if we just let it. If I walk away from the table and forget about the puzzle I’ll still be a person right? It’ll get put together and I’ll have room to surprise myself. Perhaps trying to figure yourself out all the time forces you into a box of who you think you should be not who you are and causes even more frustration (I guess that’s trying to force the wrong piece in).

So instead of figuring out who I am I’m going to work on figuring out the world (as best I can).

So here we are with a girl who doesn’t know herself (and isn’t sure she really wants to), bounces between self-respect and self-loathing, and is not at a crossroads so much as in the middle of the spaghetti bowl (that’s what my father calls the loop when all the roads intertwine together). All the paths lead somewhere and run over each other but they are hard to distinguish.

So although I sort of know where I am going (USIU!) I’m not sure how that’ll look or if it will work out.

This has also taught me that sometimes you simply can’t do something. Sometimes you bite of a piece too big for you and you can’t finish (just yet) and that there is no shame in that. I might not last very long at USIU. I might miss home too much, or decide I want to live in a place that only speaks English, or it might just not be the right fit but my oh my isn’t it exciting to try?

That’s really the best part. Knowing you tried something crazy and scary and hard and insane. Knowing that you did something most people wouldn’t do in a million years. Succeeding is a nice added bonus but knowing you have the guts to have tried is really the best part.

That’s what I hope everyone reading this can get one day. I’m not saying you should all move yourself across the world to someplace you don’t know anyone (of course it is fun) but I am saying that doing something you’ve always wanted to do but thought you were too (and excuse my French) chicken shit to try is an amazing feeling.

It’s beyond self-expression, it’s beyond adventure; it’s allowing yourself to be yourself. It’s giving yourself permission to live beyond what you only thought was your capacity and saying it’ ok to fail because the ride down is great.

I guess I’m sort of rambling now.

The thing is I am suddenly overcome with excitement. I suddenly can’t wait to go home and see friends and live life there and then come back and see friends and see what happens here. It’s like that feeling in the pit of your stomach you get at the top of a roller coaster right before it goes down.

Anyway I think that this blog is going to stop for awhile. I might right one and what it’s like to be home and how things differ but I’m not sure. I don’t know what’s going to happen to it. Do you guys think I should keep writing in it?

I suppose, like all other things, we shall see.

Anyway love to all. State side on Wednesday (flight leaves on Tuesday)

Love,
Aliya

Typhoid

2010-10-22T02:47:00.000-05:00

Hey guys.

So I have talked a lot about the water project, and thus a lot about this sickness called typhoid, but I seem to still be lacking in donations.

So because I am incredibly dedicated I thought to myself “how can I convince people how vital this is?”

So I got myself some typhoid.

Ha-ha just kidding guys. But in all seriousness I did get typhoid. So I thought it would be good to give you all an in depth description of how this feels. I want you to keep in mind that 20 people a month here get this from contaminated water, most of them being children, and the strain I picked up was strong enough that I got it even though I took a vaccine meant to last me four years.

So first off was some crippling stomach pain. At first it came in short bursts I thought I could ignore and fight off with some Pepto-Bismol. I was really committed to this plan until Wilson found me in my room curled in a ball half in tears. He wanted to take me to the dispensary right away but first I had to vomit until I was dry heaving.

Then came on fatigue; I felt like my actual life force had been drained out of me. As I half walked/ was carried back to my room a fever began.

I was sick enough to legitimately scare Wilson so he called deacon and I was moved to the Father’s house.

There I was forced to eat, exhausting me more and hurting my stomach immensely, because the antibiotics I was given cannot be taken without food. I went to bed shortly after and that’s when the fever got really high.

The stomach pain probably would have kept me up if not for the exhaustion from the pills and the movement. I felt like I could have slept for a million years but the fever was now high enough to make me half delirious and give me awful fever dreams. I can sort of remember that night and the following day, but I can’t establish what really happened and what didn’t. The only concrete evidence I have of anything that happened that night is looking at my call history. Apparently I called my father sobbing and also at one point talked to Wilson rambling enough for him to call the Father to make him check on me.

The next day the fever seemed to break. This should have been a blessing but now I was fully aware of the awful pain I was in.

Imagine being kicked in the stomach with a steel toed boot as that creature from alien rips its way out of you. That’s how my abdomen felt.

As an added bonus my head hurt so much I could barely finish a thought.
The good news was I didn’t have the diarrhea that is common with typhoid. The bad news is the reason I didn’t have the diarrhea is because I was one of the lucky few who react to typhoid with constipation.

Top it all of with some nausea and there you have a nice bout of typhoid.

So that’s how I felt.

Now here I am a 19 year old girl with lots of people around me and the ability to get myself to a hospital if anything really goes bad. Or even back to the states.

So imagine how small children must feel. Imagine 5 year olds, even 10 year olds, contracting this and having to be home alone well they have it as mom and dad need to work. No real medical care is available except for whatever medicine can be scraped up and there is no one to make sure the fever doesn’t climb too high.

Imagine that this happens to 20 people a month.

Imagine that most people don’t have the money to pay for the needed medicine (it cost me over 500 shillings, that a lot of money here)

Imagine that this is all completely preventable with some education and some money.

Now I suppose you don’t need to imagine why this is so important.

So here is another plea. Please donate.

I’ll write more later as for now I am exhausted from sitting up. but I wanted to get some out well I was in the throes of it.

Unvarying Melancholy

2010-10-20T04:20:00.002-05:00

What shall I write for the blog?

So 19 more days until I come home. wow. I can’t believe I’m leaving.

As excited as I am to come home and see everyone (and eat a bagel) I am so scared and sad to leave.

I’m scared because I feel like there is still so much left to do. I have a little more then 3,000 right now but I want more then anything to get up to $5,000 before I leave. I feel like if I can do that then all this will have been worth it and I can really be proud. My friend ATL keeps telling me to come to Nairobi early and leave the mission because I’ve already raised enough. Partly that’s because he can’t understand how someone could stand living out here but also because I don’t think he understands how important this is to me.

I’m not sure why the water project became so important to me, why it became my “thing”, but it has. And now I won’t be able to rest until I can get it done. I feel like if I can get to $5000 I will be able to take a deep breathe and calm down a bit, but I’m not sure what to do next or where to turn for this last bit. I’ll take any suggestions.

And then the reasons I am sad are probably pretty obvious.

Just like it was hard for me to imagine moving out of Chicago and living here it is hard to imagine not living here anymore. I remember when I left Chicago I sort of felt like that with me gone my home town would just freeze over until I came back, so I guess that’s how I feel now.

I think that’s because as we get older and move into the newest phases of our lives we become afraid of losing the people and the places we loved so much and kept us so comforted. Maybe it’s not a feeling so much as a hope. I hope that the mission will freeze over so that Mama Michelle will always be here making Mandazi, Madame Grace will always be around for sage advice and Ian will never get any older (he is turning 6 this week).

When a place becomes your home like this it’s hard to separate yourself from it but more so it’s hard to imagine anyone else separate themselves from it. Sure there are people on the mission I might not like, some kids I think need more discipline, a cook I could live without, but I don’t want anyone to leave. I want to keep this place I have loved so much exactly the way it is with everyone just as I left them so I can return to it whenever I need to. When the world becomes too much I want to be able to return to my home the exact way I left it—full of love and comfort and laughter. Whether it’s here or Chicago I would like to superglue everything in place. I never want my parents to get older and I never want the seasons to change on the mission.

The problem is that things do change. They always have they always will. In this world, even in the parts we love so much it hurts us, nothing is static. A few years from now Father Patrick might be at a new mission, the teachers will have scattered and Peter and Ian will be on their way to secondary school.

That’s why people say you should always keep people and places in your heart so you can return to them mentally, and although it’s not the same it is helpful. For better or worse Madame Grace will now be the voice in my head telling me something is bad manners, Mama Michelle will be the laughter I associate with tea and Mandazi and peter is as much a member of my family as anyone else.

So here we are stuck between two worlds and pushed forward at a terrifying momentum. I saw "we" because this describes me perfectly but I think it also describes most of the people reading this. Whether it’s my parents being forced to deal with their upcoming “empty nesters status” or the friends who are around my age on their way to moving out; we are all being propelled forward. I don’t know about the rest of you but I’m not sure if I’m ready.

Except that’s not true. I am sure I’m ready (or at least as ready as I will ever be) and that I have been well prepared by everyone in my life for this new phase.

Thank you friends, parents, uncles, priests, seminarians, animals, sisters, brothers, students, ex-boyfriends, cousins, aunts, grand parents, teachers, and all others, thank you to strangers who showed kindness and friends who turned out to be less then honest. Thank you to all I have ever encountered because everything we did together has prepared me for the next moment of my life.

So although I’m sad because of the firmness with which you have been set in the past I am excited for the next phase. I am excited to turn back to the time when I thought I would die of heart break when the next boy shatters my heart, to remember the first days of our friendship as I reach out for new ones, to be comforted by our memories as I tread lightly into a new world. I am excited to hold hands with my past as I move into the future and really realize how important it is.

So what does the future hold? For now it holds a month back in Chicago and then a return flight to Nairobi. Some school registration and a few gen ed classes. Otherwise who knows?

For now I will concentrate on raising money and moving forward.

Remember, you are the pinnacle of all history at any given moment. The entire universe has led up to you.

Love you all!

Aliya

P.S. I know this is kind of like the last one but it’s all that’s on my mind now a days.

Redo and Revisit of Countdown

2010-10-09T04:57:00.000-05:00

Hey guys!

So I decided the last blog I posted was kind of lame cause I was distracted talking to my dear friend and apparently avid reader Alameen (Thanks dude! Miss you!) so I wanted to make up for that.

Anyway today I have exactly one month left here on the mission, so what does that mean? How have I changed? What do I have left to do?

What it means is sadness, a profound melancholy I did not expect. I have created for myself, or more likely it has been created for me, a family and a home. Yesterday the kids, about 200 of them, some watchman, some teachers, and I were watching TV as it was a Friday after all. The show we all like is an English dubbed Spanish soap opera called “In the Name of Love” and when it started everyone tried to sing along to the theme song in Spanish and half way though the younger kids fell asleep, and watching them made me realize how tightly knit all the lives on the mission are. How much love I had for the girls asleep on the floor. It made me want to cry when the kids sang along to the credits.

It also means that a new chapter of my life is about to begin. This time on the mission has felt like a prologue for the rest of my life. It has allowed me to do a lot of good for others but more so for myself. I have grown in ways I never expected and it makes me excited to start the next chapter. Also it has made me feel like I am actually living my life, not waiting for it to start as I felt for many years. I think a lot of people my age feel that way- particularly in high school- that they are waiting for their life to really begin and that it will after college, or when they have a job, or when they’ve moved out or whatever but now I feel like I am constantly living in a present that excites me. It’s an unfamiliar feeling, this sort of happy every day thing, and although a part of me waits for it to fall apart I know it won’t go anywhere if I don’t let it.

Which I guess brings me to how have I changed? Well first off I see an expansive future for the first time. My dad always talked about “ripples”. He was talking about the little things you do and how it can radically change the lives of many others. I understood this logically when he talked about but now I see it in action. When I watch the kids here whom we’ve (we’ve including all who’ve donated) helped it makes me want to scream and run and jump and cry out in joy for the future. I wish I could adequately explain how the world has changed now.

Peter, the boy from Loita who used to walk 30 kilometers through jungle to school, has gone from 27th in his class to 16th in less then 2 months. He keeps telling me he will be second in a few months. Yesterday he told me all about his plans to go to university and get a job to help his family, to get a job to help his tribe, to get a job to help all of Kenya. We even talked about presidency.

I am closest with Peter but I see the change in all of the kids brought here. Davin, for example, who used to talk to no one, has become a talkative and popular girl. She also finds herself in a bit of trouble every so often and although others see a disobedient girl I see the beginnings of a strong young women who is going to question and change what she sees fit. Ian and Junior are too young for my untrained eyes to see much but who knows where they could lead now.

I guess the change in me is I know live what I talked about when I spoke about the interconnectedness of everyone and everything. I can now see it the way others can see math or others can see physics. It is alive and real and physical to me.

I also understand responsibility now. Yesterday Peter asked me how long I would help him, when I asked what he meant he told me that he was scared of having to go home after class 8 because he couldn’t pay for secondary school. I told him that as long as he kept his grades up and stayed in the top 5 of his class I would be helping him. the relief on his face was obvious as was the tension in mine. This is an awesome responsibility I feel heavy on my shoulders. Yet the rewards are so great I finally understand why my parents never kicked me out during my rebellious stage (thanks guys).

I have the privilege of being intimately connected in a young person’s life, and of seeing the possibilities for them they cannot imagine. I can sit around for hour’s fantasizing about they day they graduate from University (hopefully on full scholarships). On their way to some school. I can almost taste the tears that will run down my face the day I hold hands with Madame Grace and Ian graduates and it seems as if it will happen tomorrow, because time is much faster and less forgiving then I ever imagined when I was younger.

Another change in me is I can feel the physical ache of a hunger for life. I sort of felt it before but it was a part of the waiting for my life to start feeling, but now after tasting a bit of what I always wanted the feeling is different. It makes me want to run towards the unknown at a sprint, arms open to whatever I can touch or feel. It’s sort of like I climbed a small mountain in Colorado and now my goal is Mt. Everest because why not?

But also I understand now that I don’t need to be high speed all the time to be living all there is to live. I am just as alive when I am cooling Ian’s tea in the morning, or buying clothes for Peter, or just staring at a sky I swear is bluer in this part of the world. There is no need to be afraid of slowing down, a lower gauge is just as nice every once an awhile.

What I have left to do? Everything.

In the larger sense I have the whole rest of my life to live, and everything left in the world to experience. It’s the less cosmic more physical sense that is killing me.

I still have so much money left to raise for the water project. If I could just get halfway through phase 1 ($5000) I think I might be able to be happy cause then I’d be half way to a healthy community with clean water.

Some of you might be a little sick of me talking about the water project but I don’t know if I have ever explained it in fact so here it is.
The Mission Well Project is vital and practicable. Working together with the Regional Water Commissioner and the Mission Manager, I have figured out how to get to the water and how to store it. More importantly, I have solved how we could provide the water to the rest of the town. I could share with you stories and pictures of puddles you and I would not step in, that young children drink directly from on the side of the road, but I trust you grasp the seriousness of this without a lot of drama and hysterics. It is simple, children get sick and children are dying. This one project will eradicate the 20+ reported cases of typhoid per month as well as the countless cases of cholera, Amoebiasis, Hepatitis E and other water borne pathogens.

Besides the health benefits the economic benefits are enormous. Right now any people go to the river and not only gather the water but sell it to the town. If the mission was able to access the water at a higher rate then they could employ the now impoverished and unemployed women of the town to sell the water at a reduced price, making money for the women and the mission pushing us towards further self sufficiency, not to even mention the immense building progress that could take place in the town as it is a documented fact that with water access comes higher prosperity in small towns. If this happens, and the town expands then the government might start paying more attention and pave the roads, help fix the public school, help…..who knows? The ripples of this could be huge. Will be huge.

But again my eyes glaze over in fantasy.

Man, I can’t believe I come home in a month. See you all soon!
Everyone can start calling my US number around Nov. 10th!
Love,
Aliya

Countdown

2010-10-07T03:54:00.000-05:00

Hey guys,

Sorry I know it’s been awhile, I’ve just had some stuff in my own life to finish up. For those of you who might have missed the post, although I’m sure ALL of you are avid readers, I will officially be starting school here in Kenya at USIU in January. The third to be exact.

More crazy news is that I leave the mission in 33 days. That’s really hard for me to deal with actually. Even though I am so excited to go home and see everyone and eat chipotle I’m so sad to leave. I’m also scared that it’s so soon because I have so much left to do.

What I really want to make real headway on before I leave is what I’ve been calling “The Community Well Project”. I’ve talked a lot about how important this project is but I don’t know if I’ve explained it any sort of detached factual way because I am so passionate about it.

Basically this project would save lives. But that’s not the half of why it’s so important. Nobody in the town besides those of us living on the mission has clean water. There are 20 cases of typhoid a month in our dispensary alone because of this. The public school which the majority of the small children in the town go to has no water at all. It has to send the kids off during the school day with small containers to either risk the rushing river or get water from stagnant pools of bright green liquid.

But besides the health aspects of the project it actually has the capability to lift the town out of poverty. Father Patrick has said that he would hire the no impoverished and unemployed women of the town to sell the water at a reduced price from the people who sell the dirty water to the town. This would give countless families monetary support.

And then when suddenly there is clean water the town can grow exponentially. It is a documented fact that when a town can suddenly access a precious resource like this the economy booms. Imagine how the school could expand, imagine how many more people could pay for teachers at the public school, imagine how the government might pay attention and pave the roads, imagine….

Sorry. My eyes glaze over a bit when I start to think like this.

It’s the time that’s killing me. I have $3,000 now so I need at least $7000 more to really start the project. The problem is I only have a month left and I’m starting to feel out of options. And yet suddenly this time crunch is making me feel more invigorated and determined. I will finish this. I will get this done. I want it done in thirty days. If not then I will get it by the end of the year (I hope).

I’m just not sure how to go about raising this kind of money though. I’ve never asked for anything like this, I had trouble asking for five dollars back home—now I’m asking for five thousand?!

But this is just so important. I was in Nairobi over the weekend and I went out to this bar where I met a guy from Atlanta. He is living in one of the richest neighborhoods in Nairobi with his wife and three kids and we talked about what it is like to be an American in Kenya. When he asked me what I was doing out here and I described Mulot he looked at me and said

“oh, so your living in hell?”

Now although I do think this is a little bit extreme I will admit that I am missing some creature comforts here. He asked me if I was out of my mind coming here on my own, living out in the bush, and starting these projects. I told him some things are just more important than yourself. So he said “oh you are insane”

Maybe this is why I’m having so much trouble getting the money I need together, but I really do believe that this is more important then me. It is more important then most everyone I know. I don’t mean to offend anyone, please try to understand I love you all dearly. But still can you understand what I mean? What could be more worth sacrifice? Worth time? Worth Bucket Baths? Worth the same food every day for 6 months?

My answer is yes…if I succeed.

It’s hard for me to talk to people about this because I feel like this is so obvious. Like of course you should help me because look at how amazing and important this project is. I really have a difficult time understanding people not wanting to help— but maybe I’m biased a bit.

I just hope I can do this.

See you all in about a month!
Aliya

Musings

2010-09-23T04:00:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I just feel so overwhelmed.

I honestly don’t believe I am going to accomplish everything I want to here. The water project is always on my mind but what scares me more are the students in need of scholarships.

Sure I have the money for this term but what about the next? And after that? Do I seriously think I have the ability to put these kids through school? (No.)

I often feel like I did something wrong taking these kids on. I know I’m not following the normal NGO or charity template when I do this, the PaciCorp might even condemn what I want to do here calling it destabilizing, and that embarrasses and shames me. I mean who the hell do I think I am that I can do something major and long running charities won’t or can’t do? Who the hell do I think I am that I am going to be able to keep these kids in school? That I am somehow ready to be responsible for lives.

That’s what scares me the most, the fact that I am no responsible for the lives of these students. My failure here means what I fear might be the deconstruction of their life.

It scares me so much I am exhausted. Just thinking about it hurts and makes me wish violently I hadn’t insisted on doing things my own way or going down my own path and I had just gone to college and followed the same path everyone else had. People talk about the pain of conformity but do they truly understand the terror that comes with doing things by yourself?

I mean sure I’m not completely alone. I have the support system of many people back home and I have been able to raise some money but…I often feel alone.

I don’t know how to explain this panic that keeps me up at night. I literally can’t breathe when I think about it. I sometimes have to fight the urge to hide from Mama Michelle when she asks me for school fees or from Peter when he comes to tell me he needs school supplies. Instinct tells me to run away, hide under my bed, and do anything to keep from facing this.

Of course I don’t. I feel compelled to put my head down and push myself forward throughout this, but it’s a painful compulsion.

I put everything I have into this but I know it’s not enough. I need the help of other people but I am ignored. I have been turned away by every rotary club, every church, and every major corporation I have approached. I am in this with myself and a few others and I am suspicious none of us have any idea what we are actually doing. This makes me feel like I am drowning.

I want to succeed here, but to succeed is to be responsible for these kids for the next, what, 12 years? It is to somehow stumble upon $70,000 or even just $10,000 to provide clean water to the surrounding town. It is to spend next 10 years of my life picking and choosing who to help and whom to let suffer. I want to say yes to everyone but knowing I can’t makes me want to turn everyone away.

I know a lot of my panic is illogical but still. It’s there. Also anyone who knows me knows I’ve never been super confident in myself. This means I am constantly questioning everything I do out here. Am I making the right decision? Am I moving in the right direction? Am I completely fucking over small children and ruining lives? Could I possibly be doing things correctly?

I look around the town I live in and wonder what I have really done. I only have 46 days left here and I feel like I am going to leave ashamed and secure in the knowledge that I have made no real impact.

I wish more then anything I could just get the water project started well I was here. As if I could magically come across $10,000 so we could get the tank to supply water to the town. If I could reach this benchmark then maybe I could sleep.

This fear of failure is so strong it’s hard to look at myself. I am already convinced I won’t be able to get these kids through school, let alone start putting in a water project, and it makes me kind of disgusted with myself. It’s hard to look at myself in the mirror without a bit of detest for the lack of action on my part. Luckily Madame Grace and I don’t have a mirror in our house.

What am I doing here? How can I still be asking myself these questions this long after my arrival?

I thought that I would know myself at the end of this project. I thought that the mists would suddenly clear and my life would appear before me as a straight line after this. Call it wishful thinking but I thought I would be a grown up. Someone who knew what it was they were doing.

The problem is I still feel like I don’t know what I’m doing but now it’s at a higher level of game. Me not knowing what I’m doing means a lot of trouble for a lot of people.

I try to portray a confidence to everyone here. I act as if there are no problems and we are moving smoothly forward. I act unafraid. This makes me feel like someone who not only has no fucking clue what they are doing but a shameless liar. I don’t want to talk to anyone about it here, although I have poached the subject with Wilson, because…I guess because I like the way they look at me here.

I don’t even want to post this because I want everyone to think I’m running smoothly here. I want everyone to keep thinking I’m like, I dunno, a superhero or something. Taking on the world at 19 saving Africa one orphan at a time. I like the reaction people have to me when I act strong and as if I am unbothered and unburdened. When I pretend nothing is wrong hard enough sometimes I can believe it too. I can believe I am going to be able to do this. And I like the way that feels too.
On the other hand if I don’t write this out and tell somebody then I probably will have a mental break down.

I question if this show of weakness will make people hesitate to help me. But the truth is very few people are helping me and anyone who uses that as an excuse wasn’t going to help me in the first place.

The thing is I do have a plan. I have many plans. I have them all neatly organized on Microsoft excel sheets prettied by calculations and estimates and plans. I have plans and estimates from the school, from the water commission, from the companies that would put the system in. I have estimates from students, from teachers, from everyone I can think of. I have all the plans. I know how much I need. The problem is I just don’t have it.

It’s just not there.

Well okay. Now that I have written out some of my hysterics I can be more rational. Some of it is there. I have about 3000 which isn’t too shabby. My dream is that I will find a company to match me at 5,000 so we can start the water project. And that when I turn over this 10,000 to the school it can be in the name of the students who are being scholar shipped to cover their school fees. Then there will be constructions, and tanks, and clean cool water. And then when people come to the mission to buy the water, when the clean liquid is brought to the public school and the kids can stay in class, when people aren’t sick and dying all the time, when the mission is making money selling the clean water and the now unemployed women of the town are being employed by the mission to sell and carry the water, when this godforsaken little town expands and grows with the water until the government pays attention and brings other amenities, when we have gotten enough money for solar panels and the kids are taking hot showers for many of them the first time in their lives then I can think; Damn. I helped make this happen.

My eyes sometimes glaze over when I fantasize about this.

I have other fantasies too. I dream about watching Davin or Peter graduating from high school and on their way to university. Or a few years forward and Ian is on his way to medical school. Or law school. Something school. That sort of manic hope for the future parents have for their kids before they can walk and talk and sully the plans with their own ideas. I actually gave Peter a stern talking to about his hopes for the future when he told me he wanted to be a driver, telling him he was too smart to think small. I am pushing him towards politics, but I’m not stuck on that.

Speaking of Peter, I bought him his first pair of pants a few days ago. I’m serious. He wore short pants to school back in Loita and couldn’t afford any clothing besides his school uniform so the jeans I bought him were his first. Kinda mind blowing. Not to mention the belt and polo. (He looks so cute in them!)

It’s that kind of moment that makes the panic worth working through. I just wish I could stop thinking I was doing everything wrong. I wish I could banish my self doubt and move forward. I want to stop letting myself be infected by other people’s views on how I should do things or how this should look but I keep thinking that I have to be wrong.

Oh on a side note of daily life here—

I try to go jogging around this acre muddy field at least four times a week. The problem is the mud is so think during the raining season I get stuck and fall. I took my 3rd fall in about a month yesterday and it was pretty nasty, I actually had to go to the dispensary and when the doctor tried to touch it to rub some diclomed into it I screamed and attempted to kick him in the face. This lead to a small intervention being held where the people on the mission asked me to stop running as they are legitimately afraid for my well being. Wilson asked the same thing, I tried to tell him my clumsiness was endearing (well wrapping my sprained wrist from falling off a motorcycle) but he disagreed. He claims it’s more frightening.

Anyway I guess that’s enough for now. Thanks for reading guys!

Aliya

Nymph

2010-09-20T06:49:00.000-05:00

So lately I’ve been thinking a lot bout reconciliation.

By this I mean I’ve been considering how to resolve who I think I am, who I really am, and where I live.

Before I came to Kenya I thought I had a pretty clear picture of who I was and what I wanted. I was known for my sarcasm, a bitter wit, I didn’t like kids, there was almost nothing about me you could call conservative and I had a lot to say. I mean honestly did I ever shut up?

So am I still that person? The answer is no. I am definitely not the person I knew 5 months ago. But now I’m not sure who I am or what I stand for.

The reason this distresses me and I have spent so much time thinking about this is because I kinda liked the person I was. I liked the image I had of myself as a tough sarcastic in your face kind of girl who dressed how she wanted and did what she liked. I was pretty invested in the image I had made for myself.

On the other hand I like this me too. I like this quieter more thoughtful sincere version of myself. I like the work I do, I like hanging out with the women at church, I like doing some simple labors, and I will admit it- Betty Friedan forgive me- I even like cooking for my boyfriend.

So how do I bring these two self’s together? Sometimes the harder version of myself comes out whether or not I like it like when I push a guy down for grabbing at me or tell someone bothering me to fuck off. And I can’t deny that I have some very sarcastic and blasphemous thoughts in church- in the church painting Mother Mary has her eye brow raised like even she can’t believe what’s going on in church.

Now that I have decided to move here permanently I have been forced to consider what things and what’s really important to me nowadays.

An example of this is my Judaism. I mean any one who knew me would tell you I was never a religious person or in touch with my “Jewish Soul” but that was when I was in a Jewish community and I never really had my “jewishness” questioned. Recently I have felt my Judaism under attack and discovered that a lot of my identity is rooted in this faith and that this history is incredibly important and meaningful to me. Maybe my faith isn’t under attack, people have pretty much stopped trying to convert me, but it is not understood (case in point trying to explain the event as well as the significance of the Holocaust to Wilson yesterday)

But on a baser level I struggle with my identity as a “sweet girl” here. I mean sweet? I don’t think anyone has ever used that adjective on me before. I like being a sweet girl but the not so sweet part of me rages against this identity.

I feel quite empty now a days. Not like a painful empty but a noticeable absence of understanding is constant.

When I was in the third grade we all had to do space reports. I did one on sputnik, a Russian satellite, which wasn’t that interesting. The reason I remember this report is because of a space encyclopedia I looked at for the project. The book had a sort of fold out map that outspread to show the 9 planets in an attempt at a scale picture. That night at home I went outside and looked at the night sky and realized how big the universe was. As I pictured the nine, I guess now eight, planets and the billions of stars and the trillions of molecules I felt small. I didn’t feel small in a bad way but in a way that let me know I was a minor component in something much bigger then myself. I felt how little I really knew and how big the world was and how ignorant I was to so much of what was around me. It wasn’t unpleasant but it was sort of…jarring.

That’s the feeling I have now, except turned inwards. It’s as if inside of me has become an empty space I have suddenly become aware of and I don’t fit quite right in my skin anymore. It’s slightly uncomfortable.

I mean I worked really hard to become the person I was, and now that feels useless but maybe that is just a part of growing up?

Or maybe I never really knew myself. Maybe we are incapable of seeing ourselves in any sort of clear light and only others can truly know us.

Or maybe we are just so moldable and changeable that there is no true self but a constantly in motion and changing core acted upon by the environment. Perhaps there is no self for me to know.

And, finally, perhaps it doesn’t matter one way or the other. If I just keep moving forward and making myself happy and moving in the direction I want then there is nothing to reconcile. There is just a love of life to embrace, and a love of people to be enfolded in.

There is no need to struggle for my identity because it will constantly change. I am not the person I was 5 years ago, or 6 months ago, and I will not be this person in a few short years. Maybe this constant struggle for identity is what keeps people from moving forward, and if we allow ourselves to be more fluid we can become people and do things we never imagined.

I mean if I wasn’t fluid minded then I would never have ended up on a catholic mission. I might have ended up somewhere else and still have been happy, but I wouldn’t have this happiness, and I really like this happiness.

So I guess I should stop struggling for who I am because parts of it will be created for me- let’s not kid ourselves for the next couple years I will probably be known as “the white chick” or “the American” or in the community of dancers I’m being introduced to “Wilson’s girlfriend” which is weirdly the one that bothers me the most- but other parts I will create myself and those parts will grow and change my whole life. I kind of feel like if I find a stagnant identity then it means I’m dead, because the only part of my life I want stagnant is my death but that’s only cause there isn’t much choice there.

So I’m not going to worry about it. I’m going to be like water. Water changes shape to whatever container it is in but it is still constantly water. So that sounds like a plan.

Anyway I am home in 49 days!
see ya’ll at the airport?
Aliya

Caterpillar Questions

2010-09-16T03:10:00.001-05:00

Hey guys!

So in case you are wondering Wilson’s mom nixed the whole moving in together plan, thank god, so awkward situation avoided. Kenya is weird sometimes.

I’m glad for a lot of reasons one of them being I wouldn’t want to leave Madame Grace and Ian. I love living with them. I love coming home to find Madame Grace making Mandazi and Ian with 6 friends sitting around the table. I love having a home where people stop by all the time. I love the crazy religious decoration and the plastic bottles we have collected to hold water. I love having an alarm clock of Ian getting ready for school.

I love leaving the house at 8 every night to go watch English dubbed Spanish soap operas and coming home to dinner.

I love the freedom it gives me to wander from house to house in hopes of getting fed. I can wander into the father’s house for dinner, Mama Michelle’s for tea, the staff room etc. It allows me to move around and see all the people I have come to love.

Besides, he can just come over for dinner.

Like last night. Wilson stopped by my office to say hi since he was dropping his sister’s off at school. He of course could not leave the mission without saying hi to Madame Grace so we wandered over to my house insisting he had to leave soon.

We came in to find Madame Grace making fish (SO EXCITING, a rare delicacy) and Peter, the boy we brought from Loita, and Ian doing homework.

We sat together discussing crazy mike the “house boy”, of course he is more like a house man considering he is like 27, and his most recent antics. I asked Wilson if he wanted to leave as he just haaad to go which, of course, upset Madame Grace.

“no” she announced “He will stay and eat”. So he did because you can’t really say no to Madame Grace. As we ate Wilson made fun of my squmaweki, a vegetable they make here that is quite difficult to make, Madame Grace and I discussed how to avoid having the school take our chairs and we all tried to coax Ian into eating. Then Wilson saved me from a spider the size of my hand that caused me to fall into a near hysterical panic- although he was laughing too much at me to do it very gracefully. Thankfully the boys were there to do such helpful things as laugh and point and tell Madame Grace about my near panic attack.

Later that night as we were getting ready for bed I mentioned to Madame Grace how glad I was that Wilson stayed to eat with us; she agreed that it was good he could come and be a part of our “ever growing family”.

And that is really how it feels to me all the time. It’s as if I am always picking up people to become a part of some strange cross cultural hipster semi catholic family. it’s kind of that feeling you have about the friends you had in high school who you swore, and still swear, you are as close to as your family- closer sometimes.

When I first decided to stay in Kenya and attend USIU I was scared I was signing up to years of being an outsider but I realize now that that’s not true. I am signing up to increase the family I have here.

The thing is sometimes I feel caught between two worlds and I feel exhausted with having these two families. A part of the family here are the kids who I have decided to take care of. This means having to watch their clothes for wear and tear, make sure they are fed, keep them clean. I’m also exhausted by the 2 or 3 adopted mothers I have here who all have their own opinions and ideas about what my life should look like (not to mention the fathers and worse of all adopted older brothers).

Sometimes I also get scared of losing who I was in the U.S.A. because I am certainly changed. Do I betray my Jewish upbringing when I cross myself in church? Have I lost the biting wit that people loved so when I have almost completely honest and sincere conversations all the time? Am I a poser when I download African bongo music?

I suppose the questions come down to if you are created by your environment and I keep constantly changing mine- then who am I? and who do I want to be?

I will take any suggestions.

See you guys in 55 days!
Aliya

P.S. Confused about the title? Go read "Alice in Wonderland"

Cross Continental Flirtation

2010-09-14T03:46:00.000-05:00

Hey guys,

So a lot of people, myself included, made the assumption that I would remain very single and very very abstinent well I was here in Africa. Unfortunately, depending on your view of dating and relationships, this has not been true.

I am actually seeing someone here. His name is Wilson.

But this blog isn’t about him, it’s more about how dating works here and the difference between courtship here and back in Chicago.

How I met Wilson is probably the first glaring difference between courtships on our respective continents.

I was standing in the market smoking a cigarette yelling at an old drunk man to leave me alone (which is something quite possible in the USA). I had just pushed him down when Wilson sauntered on over.

Now back home is a guy checks you out he tries to hide it. He focuses on his drink or his friends or his whatever and stays in one spot well he tries to watch you without being seen. Here a guy will blatantly stare at you, unabashed, and might circle you a few times to check out all your angles.

This is what Wilson did about three times.

Now I am not used to being “picked up” most of the time any coquettish conversation I have had have begun by one of the parties finding a common ground- the same drink, a need for a light, liking an article of clothing- and striking up a conversation. Here the flirtation began with Wilson walking over and saying

“Hey girl I just wanted to let you know, you’re pretty fly”

Now the equivalent of this line in the USA might be a compliment on a girl’s hair or eyes or some other feminine feature. This is our cue to giggle and shake out hair a little bit well we lower our eyes.

Instead I kept my eyes level and said “gee, thanks”. As far as I can tell most of the girls here act as if you just stated an obvious fact- imagine a guy walking over and saying “hey the sky is up!”- And react with a polite smile.

After my attempt at a rebuff I grabbed my friend Lydia and tried to walk back to the mission. Now back home this sort of snub would cause a guy to go back to his friends, sip his drink, and complain about bitchy girls or claim I was gay. Instead Wilson followed me- or “escorted me” as he claims- and continued trying to talk to me, at one point introducing himself to Lydia as my future husband.

Alright so I can hear some of the girls back home going “ugh” from here. If a guy had done it in the U.S. I would probably be retching along with you but its different here. In Chicago a phrase such as that would drip with insincerity and probably beer and reek with a desperation covered by false confidence. Here it was actually quite smooth and stated like another fact, “you are fly” and “future husband” being equated with “Kenya is in Africa” or “I have two eyes”.

Wilson followed me back to the mission and asked for my phone number which I refused. He asked for my name to look me up on facebook and I told him only if he could spell it without my help.

Now most guys would have considered this a “shut down” and moved on, here this is considered normal practice for the girl. Girls are serious about playing hard to get here.

Anyway he ended up getting my number from Lydia and has sense called me every day seemingly never doubting the fact we would end up together. I of course acted like it would never happen up until the day it did. Which was three months by the way. Maybe this happens elsewhere in the states but in my neck of the woods I have never heard of a guy chasing a girl for that long.

The differences between the actual relationships astound me though.

Now again maybe this has to do with the weird town I grew up in but to me it seems like guys often don’t even like their girlfriends. They seem to avoid their calls, moan when they have to hang out and do something the girl likes and are often busy looking for a replacement. (That also might have to do with the age…)

Here Wilson calls me everyday at least twice…plus I call him, this is something I always thought I would hate but it’s actually incredibly nice. The security of knowing he is thinking of me is a nice comfort.

Guy’s here are also old fashioned in the way they take care of their women. The old rule of the girl pays for nothing is alive and well here. This extends not just to your girlfriend but to anyone one with the XX chromosome in your area. Wilson always brings me some small sweet when we see each other- which kind of makes me feel like a child- and he holds open doors and pulls out chairs.

As much as we girls in the USA say we don’t need these things it is very nice to have them even if the first time Wilson pulled out a chair for me my heart skipped a beat from shock.

The problem with all of these old fashioned manners is they come along with some old fashioned ideas. As the girl friend I am expected to clean up after the meals, allow myself to be pulled along by my arm, and happily sit in the chair that was pulled out for me even if I wanted to sit somewhere else.

The most infuriating thing is that men will often talk about you like you aren’t there and as if you aren’t capable of doing things yourself. For illustration- once I was with my friend William in Nairobi on my way to meet Wilson (I got a thing for Ws) and on the way their William spoke to me as an independent adult; this changed when Wilson arrived. I was passed off like a child between divorced parents. William informed Wilson that I had not eaten yet and that it was now Wilson’s responsibility to get me fed, ignoring my insistence that I wasn’t hungry, and then it would be his responsibility to make sure I could get to a Matatu safely.

Now can I get around Nairobi by myself? Not that well, so it is nice to have someone come with me to help me out. But feed myself? That I can do.

So I can get frustrated when I feel like guys aren’t listening to me. But I think I get the point across when I grab Wilsons face and speak clearly and slowly about how I’m feeling. Then he clues in that he might not have been listening.

Now I don’t mind carrying a plate to the kitchen but I think anyone who knows me can say I’ve never been much of a domestic and I’ve defiantly never taken on traditional female roles before. I mean I’ll make breakfast bust someone else is sure as hell doing the dishes.

So this is where our cultures clash.

And this is why Father Patrick has offered us a house.

Another thing about dating here is people don’t really believe in “casual”. All relationships should be working towards marriage to be working towards babies to be working towards more people to get married so they may have babies etc. etc.

I suppose this is why Father Patrick wants Wilson and I to move in together into our own “house”, meaning room, and live together to make sure we are compatible. He also made us promise not to get married until I was out of college.

You might be wondering how this conversation came about. You’re probably asking yourself “now how does a priest encourage two youngsters to live in sin on a catholic mission? And how would that conversation go?”

Well I will tell you.

Father Patrick called me outside to sit on the rectory steps well I smoked a cigarette. I could tell the conversation was going to make me extremely uncomfortable when it started with “Aliya is Wilson a serious man?” when I answered yes he asked me how serious. My brilliant response was

“Well he wants me to meet his mom…?”
Father declared that very good and that I should go meet his mom tomorrow if possible. He then talked to me about how whites really love people but Africans don’t so he wanted to look out for me and such. At this point I began to relax and asked father if it was alright for Wilson to visit me on the mission.

This is when the bomb was dropped but like the silence before a storm I had no warning.

“Aliya I want you and Wilson to live in a house together here on the mission. The problem I see is how will you cook?”

“That’s the problem you see?” I asked incredulous.

Father called Wilson to come sit outside with us and after a few invasive questions told Wilson his plan.

By this time I was chain smoking and was close to offering Wilson a cigarette even though he hates when I smoke.

Father Patrick gave us a week to think about it and talk to our parents but seem very keen on this plan.

Wilson and I are less so.

But if it does happen you guys will be the first to know!

See you guys soon,
Aliya

Birthday Potatoes

2010-09-10T09:04:00.000-05:00

The thing about life here is that things tend to snowball. Once people get excited about an idea they tend to run with it. This is how the first Rosh Hashanah occurred.

I hadn’t really realized it was Rosh Hashanah until that morning when I logged on to face book and someone sent me “Shana Tova” which is the greeting used on this holiday fyi.

This news of course upset me a bit because it made me think of what I must be missing at home- day of at school, a party the night before, some delicious Jewish food at my grandmother’s, and so I was kind of moping around when I arrived at Mama Michelle’s for tea.

Because Mama Michelle is highly tuned to my emotions and takes wonderful care of me she instantly asked me what was bothering me. I explained to her that it was the Jewish New Year in which case she immediately demanded we make the dinner. I told her the food I needed trying to explain how it was impossible but before I knew it she was off to Narok to buy the needed food.

I went to the father’s house to have a cigarette and called my friend Wilson. I explained the holiday to him and being the guy he is he first asked me why I hadn’t told him earlier so we could have stayed in Nairobi to go to the synagogue near the campus or so he could of stayed in Mulot with me so he could come celebrate and then decided he would celebrate the holiday with me the best he could by calling me at sunset and using the 3 Hebrew words I had taught him, meaning the only three I know, as much as possible through out the day.

After I hung up Moses, one of the seminarians found me outside and asked me if it was in fact a holiday. When I told him yes he asked if there was a meal. When I answered I was going to try he declared he would not eat lunch so he would have room for the food at dinner because of how much he loves Jewish food- this is because I made Latkes once.

This is when the panic set in.

Now I never came from a very religious family and I have certainly never put together any sort of Jewish dinner so I pretty much had no idea what to do when I realized it was suddenly up to me to make the dinner as well as create the ceremony that goes along with it. After pushing down the anxiety and hyperventilation I did what anyone else would do in my situation.

I hit the internet.

I wrote out some of the prayers- do things right and such- and set off for the rectory to make latkes. (Yes I know Rosh Hashanah is the apples one but Moses LOVES latkes.)

At first it made me feel kind of lonely to be making this meal. Nothing says I’m a lonely Jew like peeling and grating potatoes by yourself. I thought about home and everyone I was missing and just how out of place I was here. Well I mixed in the flour I realized there were some fundamental differences between me and the people here that no matter what I did we would never get over.

I sighed and left to go make a phone call and give my wrists a break from the peeling.

I called Wilson, (incase you guys haven’t put two and two together I call him a lot. We are kind of more then friends) and before I could say anything he was wishing me a happy new year and asking when I was going to recreate this meal for him. He was anxious for the next Jewish holiday to arrive so we could be together during it.

After I hung up with Wilson I walked back into the kitchen to find Mike, the house boy who is in all likelihood certifiably insane, and Angelia, another teacher, making the Latkes. Mike had figured out how to scoop them out and fry them- even if they were a bit thick- and had decided to take over latke making. I cut the carrots and celery to mix in with the boiling Nyama (that’s goat. Usually it’s fried but for once I put my foot down. It was awesome) well Mike tried to ask me how I learned to make Latkes. I tried because before I could even begin to answer he had already interrupted with another question. Mama Michelle walked into the house with bags of the food I had told her I would need. She stayed in the kitchen to munch on Mike’s thick Latkes and watch me peel carrots.

Angela set the table well I cut apples and honey.

Eventually it was time to sit down around the candles I had lit 18 minutes before sundown and placed on a white napkin- as we didn’t have a white table cloth- and I did my best to say the Hebrew prayers.

The meal was devoured within minutes. Pretty soon we all felt like we wouldn’t be able to leave the table from being “cabesa sheba” (completely full) which is how any Jewish meal should end.

“So” Moses said perking up “will you make Latkes for my birthday?”

“Sure Moses” I moaned from under the table as I had slumped down in pain.

“And next year in Chicago?” Moses said reaching for another Latke

“No next year in Israel”

Moses was quiet for a second.

“No, next year in Chicago, everyone should be together”

So I guess we all aren’t really so different.

I’m glad I have started the New Year here. It is the beginning of forever.
Miss you guys! Shana Tova!
Aliya

The Scenic Route

2010-09-07T04:16:00.000-05:00

Hey guys,

So I have been trying to get a hold of some of you but to avail. No worries though I understand, it’s hard for us to communicate over seas. But because of this I guess I’m just gonna announce this here.

I’ve decided to stay in Kenya a little bit longer. Actually a lot longer. I’ve decided to go to USIU, an American accredited school, and move myself to Nairobi.

Now some of you might be asking yourself what in the hell am I thinking. Believe me I have thought that to myself a few times as well. The thing is I am truly happy here. I have created myself a life here- I have people I consider my family and friends whom I love just as much as I love all of you back home. I feel comfortable here and just like all of my friends who moved out and went to college it’s time for me to move on with my life too.

I love all of you. I love my family. I love my home. But just as the rest of my friends and classmates have moved on with their lives so must I. I feel like the best version of myself in Kenya and I don’t want to lose that just because it seems like I should go back to the states or because I’m scared of the adulthood this decision brings, or because I miss Chipotle.

Don’t mistake me, I am terrified. This is a huge decision that feels a little bit crazy to me as well but it stops feeling so scary when I think about the friends I have here. I miss everyone back home terribly and think of you often but the truth is we have all grown and changed into new people. I am not the girl you knew in high school or even 6 months ago, just like you are no longer that person either. We will never again live in the same cities, go to the same parties, or have the same ideas or feelings. I will love and treasure our friendships forever and look back on it fondly but now it is time for me to move on with my life.

Please don’t think this is because I don’t love the people in my life back home or because I love the people here more then any of you. I love some of you so much that it might terrify you. The ferocity of the emotion I feel for some of you back home can bring me to my knees when I think of how much I will miss you. When I imagine that I will not live down the street from you, I will not wake up with you, I will not drive to your houses in the middle of the night just for a cigarette, I want to cry. But the truth is I wasn’t going to do those things anymore even before I came to Kenya. That part of all our lives is over; me staying here just gave it some finality. The tears I want to shed are not just about missing you but about mourning our childhoods. It is mourning for the days in which our lives were ahead of us and we were unaffected by the logic and reason and extremities of the real world. For when we were naïve enough and our love was ferocious enough and simple enough for us to think those days would never end. For the days when we thought we were the person we wanted to be, not knowing that we would lose ourselves in a few meager years and would develop a soft moldable surface the world would act upon. Our evolution was shocking and inevitable. I love you all, old and new versions, but not more then I love me. Thus we all move on.

It’s not Africa that scares me so much but it is the fact that I will be an adult when this decision comes to fruition. It the idea that I am now old enough to start my life in earnest and am making decisions that will effect the rest of my life. Being in Africa actually makes it easier as I’m not going to be starting somewhere at this all new school where I know no one but in a city where I have friends and safe places to go and people who are incredibly invested in my doing well.

What’s scary is that I am no longer a child. I might not be fully matured yet, I don’t even really know who I am at this point, but I am now the person solely responsible for my life. I no longer have an excuse for my life not being what I want it to be because I have the power to effect it myself.

Although terrifying this is a glorious realization. I am completely free in myself and in control of my life. Me taking control of my life like this and not doing things the way they are supposed to be done because they are supposed to be done that way makes me truly belong to myself. My happiness, my victories, my joys, my sorrows, my everything is wholly mine because I have chosen and fought for it. I may stand on a precipice but I chose this precipice. I may fall into the valley but at least the rocks and sticks that I will hit on the way down will be of my own making. And if I don’t fall but I end up happy with all of my decisions then I can look anyone in the eye and declare myself the full owner of every choice I make. The worst thing I can imagine is looking back on my life and thinking that I wish I had been the one behind the wheel rather then letting conventions, or society, or others push or pull me in a direction I didn’t want.

I want to live a life of consequence. One that means something to not just to me but to others, one that in 50 years I can be proud of but more then anything else I want to be able to look you in the eyes and say I made my fate, not the other way around.

All of this feels more possible in Kenya then it ever felt in the USA. Here I have a peace that I never knew existed.

I am terrified. I am elated. I am humbled. I am sad. I am screaming. I am living in a glorious mix of emotions that reminds me of the wonder it is to be really alive.

I am ready to get started.

I love you all. I miss you all. I will see you all in 2 months. But then I will be leaving to live my own life, just as you will.

Aliya

COSMO! Bush Edition.

2010-08-31T03:43:00.000-05:00

So when my family was here Jillian left me a few Cosmos (thanks Hun!) with lots of tips that would be super useful for any girl not living in the bush; so I thought I might make a list of tips for a bush beauty regimen.

Lets start with the basics…

1) Never skip the simple things like brushing your teeth and washing your face. Although sometimes you are exhausted and the idea of heating up water and walking outside into the cold to brush your teeth sound incredibly hard the momentary relief is not worth the gross feeling that will stick with you.
2) Wash your face AT LEAST twice a day. The wind buries the dust into your skin and causes a grimy layer on your face. Not cute. So I suggest exfoliating in the morning and a cleanser at night (of course you will have to buy those things in Nairobi)
3) Never ever ever ever ever ever ever skip on sunscreen. Particularly on your face. Even if it does make you break out. Just but a special face sunscreen and be happy your face isn’t red and splotchy. And painful. Again.
4) Wash your hair every other day and use plenty of shampoo. As much as you want you hair to be soft and shiny you want it to be clean more. So lather it up.
5) Remember the hair products are meant for a thicker hair then yours (unless you have horse hair like mine) so use less of the conditioner. If you have thick hair prepare to be amazed. I bought this thing called “nourishing hair food” and now my mane is soft and always smells like coconuts. Also use a shampoo and then a leave in conditioner. That way you use less water.
6) Everyone else has them, so you might as well. I know you’re a white girl but go ahead and rock the braids. It’s nice not to have to brush your hair. Can’t handle the ridiculousness? Keep in a French braid and forget about it.
7) If you want your hair to have nice curls here is a trick I learned at a salon- mix some salt in with some hot water. Tie your hair up in a few knots and then dip it into the almost boiling water. Let sit for a few and you end up with some nice curls.
8) Don’t bother painting your fingernails. They will chip and look gross. Just keep them clean and get the dirt out from under them
9) Always keep your toes painted though. For some reason that is super important here. You can even get a pedicure for 300 shillings in some places. Soooooo nice.
10) Never sleep without a mosquito net. They will bite you on the face just to spite you. You will feel gross, your face will be covered in bloody bites and everyone will have the oh so helpful comment of “whats wrong with your face?”
11) Use make-up sparingly. It will all melt off. Maybe some cover up if you want. A little bit around the eyes.
12) Whatever go ahead and do a full face if you feel like it. Just know you have to make that make-up last awhile and to check it around 1 o’clock to avoid that face melted off look
13) Remember the air is against you here. It wants to dry you out. Moisturize EVERYTHING. Everyday. And always use a lather when you shave or else the dry skin will make you want to kill yourself.
14) Exfoliate once a week but just make sure you have an extra bucket of water so that you don’t have the sand floating in the bucket of water your going to pour over yourself when you want to wash your hair.
15) Take extra good care of your clothing. Fix rips and holes immediately. Wash often. And remember these are the only clothes you have.
16) Give up the battle. You are going to gain weight. Just enjoy the carbs, know people think big is beautiful here, and try to get some yoga or a run in. if you don’t it’s ok. Your awesome anyway.
17) Seriously you are going to gain weight. Just be okay with it.

A couple make up tips

1) don’t have a mirror? Use a semi-dirty window or some water and put on only light make-up. You can apply your blush and lip stain or whatever with your fingers and feel your way around but don’t try to do your eyes without a mirror.
2) Subtly is key. You will look CRAZY around here if your make-up is super noticeable. Stick to browns and light pinks.
3) DENY DENY DENY you are wearing make-up. Otherwise others will want to borrow it.

And when it comes to getting dressed

1) Africans like you more when your in a skirt. Why? I have no idea. They just do. So have a few nice skirts all at least knee length and use them when you want something
2) Remember to think conservative
3) Those sexy clothes you have just incase? Save them for Nairobi and revel in the feeling of people’s jaws dropping when they see you.

Oh and with the cosmo man tips…..

Never give out your number. You will get some CRAZY text messages and be forced to change your number.

If you challenge the men here they usually get confused and leave you alone

Guy won’t leave you alone? Casually mention you will never clean up after a man or have kids. They will assume something is wrong with you in the brain and leave you alone. Unless they are the weird super determined ones.

The weird determined ones? Avoid. At all costs.

Creepy guy wink at you? Don’t put on your disgusted face (even if you can’t believe he did that weird stick his tongue out thing) laugh to yourself and turn around. That usually embarrasses them enough to leave you alone.

If you give in to one guy everyone will know. Everyone. So don’t.

And a couple last minute tips-

Looking good is really important here. So always try to look your best.
A few pieces of jewelry always make you feel put together
Always bring a jacket or a shawl because the weather is unpredictable
And finally
Pencil skirts and motorcycles don’t mix. Nothing will be left to the imagination when you get on. Go with a-line skirts.

I mean that last one. It’s pretty awkward.

Love you guys!
Aliya

Leonardo Said it Best...

2010-08-30T07:43:00.000-05:00

Hey guys

So today was another study in how lucky I am to have gone to an American school.

One of the girls here had a seizure today and as far as I could tell a pretty severe one.

Now about a week ago I taught a first aid class, nothing big just something on cuts and scrapes and burns, and I talked about the need for everyone to have this knowledge. People asked me why and I said because a medical emergency can happen at any time to anyone and we should all be prepared. Then it was decided I should do a class for the teachers at a later date. Oh the irony.

Anyway this morning I was sitting in my office when another teacher came in and gently knocked on my door. I invited her in and asked her what seemed to be upsetting her.

“Well” she quietly informed me “one of the girls has passed out or something like that. Can you help?”

Now as much as I wanted to slap the teacher for having wasted time and gone through pleasantries well a child was passed out I couldn’t waste that time and immediately took off running. After having to have explain to the teacher that “just there” isn’t telling me where something is I finally found the girl in the state of a rigid seizure.

No anyone with first aid knowledge knows there is nothing to be done for a seizure but try to keep the victim safe and treat for shock, so this is what I started doing. The problem is the other teachers couldn’t seem to understand that and seemed to think I could somehow make her stop.

For some reason I’ll never understand I had to argue for about 10 minutes- thus totaling the girls rigid seizure time to 40 minutes at their estimation (proving this was not a regular seizure and that we needed to get to the hospital faster)- for us to get her into a car and to the nearest hospital.

So we loaded her into the school’s vehicle (which just so happens to be an ambulance as it fits the most people) and at a speeding 125 kilometers per hour- which is FLYING when the roads aren’t paved- we were off.

In the car on the way she came out of her rigid state but remained unconscious with a few complications (such as not breathing)

Let me just take a moment to thank my father for having me take the class, Mr. Schauble for teaching the class, and Stevenson high school for providing the class, that made this next sentence possible.

I had to perform rescue breathing.

Once she started again her breathe seemed to be even and eventually we arrived at the hospital and were given the very comforting diagnosis of “I dunno”.

This incident has caused me to reflect on a few differences between here and the states in this kind of situation.

1) I would not have been the only person on the mission to know any sort of first aid had this happened in the U.S.A. State side we are lucky enough to have first aid courses available to everyone. If you’re reading this and haven’t taken a first aid course please go sign up for one now.
2) Within minutes of someone seizing in the USA an ambulance, one with EMTs not the school’s old used ambulance, would have been called. There would not have been a wait.
3) If she had stopped breathing in the USA I would have had the correct equipment to deal with the situation and the rescue breathing would have been preformed with a barrier rather then good ole’ fashioned pinch the nose mouth on mouth.

But on the other hand

1) People might not have given their jackets to keep her warm when I treated for shock.
2) Someone might not have been there to comfort her mother and pray with her the entire time
3) She might not have been surrounded by people who loved her

No matter what it is quite the story, eh? The definition of “ditch” medicine as my dad calls it.

I’m kind of exhausted form the whole experience and I’m not sure what to write for now. I just thought some of you might enjoy the mental image of me in the back of an old beat up ambulance performing rescue breathing on an eleven year old girl with women praying in the background and the car flying over rocks and bumps due to unpaved road.

This is Africa.

I love it anyway.

See you all in 2 months!
Aliya

P.S. Incase you are wondering about the title it refers to Leonardo diCaprio in "Blood Diamond" when he said TIA

Brush Your Shoulders Off

2010-08-25T02:29:00.000-05:00

So I don’t know if any of you are thinking of ever coming to Kenya but let me give you a piece of advice if you do. Don’t pass out in public.

A few days ago in Nairobi I was at a stage called railways to catch a matatu (those mini buses) home. Apparently I stepped of the matatu I was on, told Wilson (the person I was with) that I was feeling kind of busy and then hit the floor. I don’t remember anything after that, probably due to the whole unconscious thing, but I’ve been told it was pretty much general upheaval after that and panic. When I came to in some stranger’s car that was about to leave for the hospital my first thought was that Wilson was hurt from the look on his face.

Before I continue let me tell everyone I’m fine. I promise.

Anyway after arguing with people for about a half hour I convinced everyone I did not need to go to the hospital. That’s when the tirade of calls began.

First Wilson called father Patrick to tell him what happened and I had to argue with father that I did not need to go to the hospital but it was too late. The phone tree had been activated.

Within 10 minutes I was receiving calls from Madame Grace, Mama Michelle, Lucy Ann (a woman who travelled with us to Loita and took us to the wedding), Some (pronounced som-a father Patrick’s brother who once let me spend a night at his house on my way to lotoiktoik) well trying to assure Wilson and his friend Vicky, who had apparently come running, that I really was fine.

After much argument on my part it was decided I would stay in Nairobi another night and leave tomorrow. Once we made our way back to the apartment I had spent the night in before a girl was nice enough to let me borrow some clothes of her as mine were dirty.

Anyway I may as well have gone to the hospital when Wilson wanted as within a few hours Lucy Ann had showed up and announced we WERE in fact going to the hospital and both Some and Father Patrick would meet us there.

After many hours at the hospital and a severely unpleasant CT scan the doctors confirmed what I had told everyone- dehydration. (Please spare me any lectures on drinking water. I got one from the doctor and my father and have had water poured into me ever since).

So in the end I am fine with nothing but a bruised ego and a dread of going back to railways and being remembered as that white girl that passed out (please don’t say fainted- it sounds so girly) and a realization of how loved I am here.

It makes it so hard to think about going home because it makes me feel the same way I felt leaving Chicago. Like I’m ripping myself away from my family.

I don’t think I’ve ever been in a place where I have felt so overwhelmed by love from people who seemingly have no business loving me. There is also the feeling of how much I love everyone here.

I want to write a blog about how easy it is to love here and how people become so important to you so fast but all I can be is sad as I think about coming home. Not to mention the terror I feel that has become a common theme in my life.

I usually feel like I haven’t done anything to earn the love an affection I get here. You guys want to know something? My hospital bill was almost 18,000 KSH. Do you know who paid that? Not me. Father Patrick did automatically and with no complaint. What have I ever done to make me worth 18,000 of anything to him? To anyone? When I take a cold look at myself I see a girl who runs away from the bush and to Nairobi at every chance she gets, costs the mission money and is getting people’s hopes up while unable to actually deliver. At all. I have received an immense amount of love and affection here and have had more fun here then I have ever had in my life but what have I done to deserve any of it? Maybe my nature is just neurotic and I will never feel good enough but most of the time I feel disappointed in myself and at worst disgusted with myself because I’m either not doing enough (or anything at all) or I’m not doing it the way a major corporation like the peace-corp. would do things. (I know I’m breaking every rule they ever laid out for their members) I just feel like I’m doing everything wrong sometimes.

Sometimes I wish I had just gone to college and never learned all of these things about the world.

And then it’s time to get up brush myself off and stop feeling sorry for myself. I have to remind myself that what is going on is just the African version of my irrational tendencies and it’s time to be rational.

I will feel much better if we can get some goddamned water here, though.

Anyway I’m kind of out of steam so I will update again soon. I miss you all and will see you soon.
Aliya

Jaded Hopefull Thoughts.

2010-08-20T04:29:00.000-05:00

Ok
SO let’s write a blog.

So I have been here for a little over three months at this point but still tend to feel like I haven’t done much. I think it’s because most of what I have done has focused on the individual rather then things that are big picture. This is partly because big picture stuff is harder to get done and costs far more money so these projects, such as the water project and anything that has to do with the secondary school (which keeps me up at night), come to fruition much later. The water project probably won’t make any real steps forward until I leave. Sometimes I feel like I haven’t done anything really good or helpful because few have felt the impact. I almost always feel like I’m doing nothing and wasting my time here. I also have seemed to have developed a nasty habit of collecting kids and bringing them to the mission.

For those of you who don’t know my family came to visit me here and we spent a few days in VERY interior Kenya so we could go to a traditional Maasai wedding (which was BEAUTIFUL and also very confusing). When we arrived on the mission there was a small boy named Peter. To give you a little back round on Peter, he is 13 years old and lived about 50 kilometers from the mission. His mother is supposedly a sweet woman but his father is MIA which may be better for the family by the sound of it. Peter wants to be a priest when he grows up and thus WALKS 50 km through jungle and mountains, if you want to check it out go look up Loita Plains on a map of Kenya, to get to the mission. He is painfully thin, the oldest of seven and wanted to have as he called it a very serious and private talk.

So on our second day in Loita Peter took me aside and told me that he wanted to go to school in Mulot. Now you think by now I’d be used to this request and wouldn’t be so upset by it but I am afraid this is not true. My blood immediately began to pound behind my eyes well months worth of math figures and accounts began to swim in front.

“it’s not that easy Peter” I tried to say gently but what came out what a painful gurgle because as well as developing a habit of collecting kids I seem to have acquired some sort of horrific allergy to disappointing them. Luckily Peter took pity on me and left. I spent the rest of the morning going over facts and assured myself it was impossible. Beyond impossible. And with that assurance I went on with my day which was spent happily staring at Maasai warriors well they stared back and tugged at my hair.

It was later that night I made the mistake of telling my father about Peter’s request. It started as me lamenting that we could not bring him back to Mulot. I should have known much better.

Before I knew what was happening my father was convincing me about how it was not only possible but probable to bring peter back to Mulot. After 15 minutes of arguing in the back of a pick-up truck we had accidently driven into Tanzania Dad asked if we should talk to Father Patrick.

“Why did we ever pretend we weren’t going to?” I sighed.

Apparently Father Patrick and my father use some sort of different magical math full of good will and fairy dust rather then my terrible angry oppressive math because Peter was packed into the car the next day and brought to Mulot. Really is anyone surprised?

Anyway a little back round on Loita is needed at this point. Loita is the place where the world ends. There is literally nothing there. And when I say nothing I mean nothing. There are no lights, no roads, no cars, no stores, no towns, not even a donkey. The only things there are mountains and Tik Tik which are basically deer in miniature.

This might by why when the car arrived in Narok, a place I always thought of as pretty in the bush, Peter had to stand up out of his car seat so he could press against a window. This was a child who had never seen a car before we arrived let alone the hundreds in Narok. We went into a Naiva’s (Think of it like an Aldys or a Wallgreen’s) and it looked as if Peter might pass out in fear and excitement. I wish I had asked him more about how he was feeling but I was nursing a head injury brought on by the road, or lack there of, and could barely remember the day of the week.

The next day I slept and wore sunglasses inside well Peter wandered the mission. The entire time he was followed around by Ian (another student someone who shall remain nameless brought out of a public school *ahem*) and for probably the first time in his life interacted with 60 kids his own age as well as the rest of the school. It was also probably the first time he wore shoes that covered his feet entirely.

Later that night I was well enough to have my ass handed to me in a game of flowers (It’s the Kenyan poker. I’ll teach it to you when I get back) and peter came to the rectory where he saw Jillian on her laptop.

Please keep in mind here Peter had never seen anything remotely like a computer before. At all. Ever.

I did not pay much attention to what he was doing as I was concentrating on keeping from Brother Moses from winning his 3rd game of Flowers in a row but I did here Peter whisper wow in awe as Jillian giggled and showed him something. About a half hour later peter walked over with my computer (which I had opened up for them as it had more battery) and was shown this note.

“most kind Aliya thank you for bringing me to school and it is great and I will work hard forever to do well in school and be good and be greatful”

First off this note is pretty amazing for a publicly schooled child in class 6.

Secondly this note made me think that maybe the individual projects are just as important. Who is to say that the next president of Kenya didn’t just write that note? Who is to say what children are worth more or less and who deserves an education? Why shouldn’t I be just as over the moon about Peter being in school as I will be if I ever find the money to get water into this place? I mean there are of course some things that make the water project more important ( like the fact it would save lives and wipe out disease in the community as well as provide jobs and according to the water commissioner turn Mulot into a booming town of industry) but isn’t peter just as important?

No matter what I think now or have thought or will think in the moment I read that note Peter was just as important.

My only regret is that I wasted water by crying after I read the note.

So here is the count
Orphans at the school originally: 11
That debt: 157,000 Kenyan Shilling
Orphans Added: 2
Kids pulled from public school due to being first in class: 2
Amount of debt added by them: 1600 US dollars
Total amount of debt annually added by taking on scholar shipping all of these kids: at least 6,000 US per year for the next three years baring more orphans. (Which we shouldn’t)
Number of nights spent without sleep: Hundreds.
Numbers of lives affected: uncountable.

I feel like this would be a good place to end the blog but I am so full of fear and frustration and hope and emotions I don’t understand that I am going to keep writing partly to sort myself out. I could not post this stuff but I promised myself that this blog would be honest all the time and really let people into my life here so I’m going to keep writing. So go get something to eat and a glass of water, maybe turn off your computer for a bit and come back. That way it can feel like two blogs and not one obscenely long post. Sawa Sawa? (Okay?)

As happy as some of these numbers make me, and as happy as the money that has been raised thus far makes me it also terrifies me. My worst fear is that I will get these kids in school for a year, maybe two, and then the money will stop. $6,000 per year is a lot of money to raise and I don’t know if I’m strong enough or smart enough to raise it. A part of me wants to leave and run away and abandon the kids now because I am so sure of my failure but I know I can’t.

I have also just become so jaded and sure that people won’t help me. I have gone to so many people, so many club and sent out countless e-mails to ask for help. I sent our at least 50 e-mails to catholic churches and convents in the USA to ask for help scholar shipping the students and got no answer. Not one. And the only answer I ever received from a rotary club (clubs meant to bring clean water to places around the world) was a woman offering to charge us only half her usual fee to consult on the project to find money. I mean really?

If everyone at Stevenson high school (my old high school for those of you who aren’t alumnus) gave $12 the entire water project would be paid for. If everyone gave just $6 then we could pay for enough to get the water to the public school and surrounding town. I don’t think half the kids at Stevenson will give half that.

I have started to lose faith in the people back home. I feel like unless I fight on daily basis and argue and beg no one wants to help. I can’t understand how so many don’t want to help and how they make excuses and how they seem to just not care.

Don’t get me wrong some people are amazing. Some people are beyond helpful. Some people are beautiful and wonderful and I love them with all my heart for how much they have given ( That means you Angie and David and Donna and Marti) but so many other give me such paper thin excuses and let me down.

I guess some naïve part of me believed that people want to help and will given the opportunity. I thought that because I am here and all the money goes to the kids and because the need was so obvious and because the kids here are just as thirsty and in need (and end up just as dead) as the kids in Haiti or Pakistan people would be willing to give just a few dollars. It seems that I was wrong. The back of my mind has become jaded and bitter.

On the plus side this jaded sense of being has steeled me to fight harder for this then I have ever fought in my life. Nothing is more important to me then getting this water project done and I will stop at nothing to get this money. And believe you me I will lay down in the street before I let any of these kids be sent home because of tuition fees. I don’t know what will be asked of me in the future to get the money for these kids- who I will have to beg, flatter, fight and the paper work I will have to fill out on a mind numbing basis- but I do know with a clarity of which I know few things that I will do it.

I am also reflecting on the fact that I have to go home in about 2.5 months and that scares me for many reasons. Partly it’s because once I go back to the USA I have to start sorting out college and what I want to do with my life, I am so scared I have forgotten how to learn and be in an academic environment, but also because I’m scared I won’t be able to get things done here from the states.

Also as much as I love the people back home and can’t wait to see you all again I feel more often then not that Kenya is my home and I am just going back to the USA for an extended visit.

I really have a home and a family and a life here that I do not want to leave. From what I’ve read and who I have talked to that is a common reaction to Africa. It’s like once that red dirt gets into your system you can’t get it out. No matter what.

Some times I imagine staying here in a permanent manner. I wonder if maybe I could go to the University of Nairobi and stay here in Kenya. Other times that sounds insane but still. I don’t want to leave.

It’s what I tell my friend Wilson whenever he asks me what I am doing or why I’m disappearing all the time.

I really have no idea what I’m doing.

Anyway I think I should stop here as this has gotten obscenely long and you probably have things to do. I promise to update more often guys.

Love and miss you!
Aliya

Finally a Blog

2010-08-05T17:37:00.000-05:00

Hey guys so I know it has been forever and I’m sorry, I’ve been going through my own personal stuff here that makes it harder for me to write. I promise I will do better.

So first off let me just tell you that Kenya has a new constitution! The referendum happened yesterday and it passed peacefully so in 14 days there will be a new law of the land. Considering the violence in 2008 the fact that this went so smooth is pretty amazing.

I think a huge part of it was that Kenyans are too exhausted for violence to occur.

It is really amazing to see a country being born and it makes me feel really honored and beyond lucky to have been witness to this. In 50 years I will be able to say I remember the day this country was born and I was there. I think that in the US we forget how beyond lucky and blessed we are to have a government that runs smoothly. The fact that no one my age can remember a riot or any sort of tyrannical government (depending on what party you are affiliated with) is pretty freakin’ amazing and we need to appreciate that. Hopefully 25 years from now Kenyan kids will be appreciating the same thing.

Anyway I am about halfway through my time here in Kenya so I’m thinking it’s time to take stock.

So what have I learned?

First off I have learned to make Ugali which is pretty legit. Be jealous. Also I have learned a lot of practical skills like how to wash my clothes by hand, how to do dishes without running water and how to generally doing things the ole fashioned way (of course I very often am not allowed to do it). On a deeper level I have learned a lot about myself, like how I really can persevere when challenged and I really can live in any conditions, but in all honesty what I have learned the most about it love. I have learned that there is no reason I cannot be love incarnate and not feel it for every human being. I have learned there is no reason to exhaust yourself with grudges or anger or being annoyed when you can be in love with the world. It sounds cliché but it’s so true. I wish I could explain how much lighter I feel without having to have the cool veneer of sarcasm and apathy and dislike that is so popular in the states. It’s a pretty amazing freeing feeling.

I have also learned that the world is a lot harder then it seems. It’s great you want to help but sometimes it feels like the world will never allow you. Whether it’s people making comments like “I’ll help locally” or “why not in the USA?” (Which makes no sense; people are people in need no matter the country. Also the people who say that never seem to be doing anything. Like at all). Also the world of charity and NGO work is bogged down in bureaucracy and hard to get through so more often then not we are all inert among paperwork. The road to hell is paved with good intentions and unlined office paper. I’ve also learned the amazing feeling one gets when one gets through the paper and actually does something that’s good or helpful.

But really what have I done? I more often then not feel overwhelmed and that I’ve done nothing; I feel as if I’ve sat around and been a waste of space. I’ve gotten a couple kids into school, bought a few balls, gotten some ARVs and yet it never feels like enough. I dream about a day when I will feel satisfied and as if I have really done something but I am beginning to doubt that day will actually come.

Even if I am somehow able to raise enough money for water infrastructure and install hot water at the school will I am able to clean myself up and slip into a deep sleep or will I lay awake and stare at the ceiling for another night. Wondering if I could have installed a swimming pool or something.

The truth is there will always be another orphan, another school, another person in need and that I will never be satisfied and I will probably never sleep a full night again.

In some ways I dread the rest of my life like this and in others I am proud. I’m glad to know that this is the kind of person I am but I am terrified of living my life in this state of never enough. I’m not sure what the solution here is.

Either way this is the path I have chosen, or was chosen for me, so I’m gonna walk it.

So I guess I might as well walk it in love.

I’ll update you guys again later this week with a more planned blog.
Home in three months!
Love and miss you all.
Aliya

The Color Has Nothing To Do With The Flavor

2010-07-17T00:41:00.001-05:00

Hey guys.

So let’s talk about basic need- water.

In the USA we, or at least I, think about lack of water- not clean water but ANY water- very little. My theory is that we can all understand being hungry and are willing to give food because we’ve been there; nobody likes having the munchies with no money or food.

But my guess is no one reading this has ever really had to live without water.

Now I thought we had it hard here on the mission when it came to water. Our system is always breaking down so more often then not we have to drag tanks around and fill them bucket by bucket from a reservoir. When it is running it runs only in the kitchen and father’s house so in our rooms we still have to fill buckets on one side of the mission and bring them back to the rooms. I might have to cross the mission three or four times to get a bucket of water to heat so I can bathe. I may have mentioned this being a HUGE pain in the ass.

Yesterday I visited the public school. I will never complain again.

Before I go into that visit, let me give you some background.

I am determined to put a running water system in the school so the kids can shower and use actual plumbing instead of pit latrines. I am also trying to raise money to put in solar panels so we can heat the water and lower the cases of sickness within the school from bathing in the mornings or at night with the FREEZING stagnant water.

The total cost of this is about $24,000. When going over these estimates father Patrick told me about the water problems in the surrounding area.

Mulot is well known across the country for being the place to visit if you are really keen on a case of typhoid with about 20 cases a month reported at our dispensary alone. (Please keep in mind that these are only the people who come to the mission for healthcare, this does not include the surrounding hospitals or people to afraid to come for healthcare due to cost).

Why is this number so high?

People are getting their water directly out of the Amala River or other stagnant ponds in the surrounding area. The mission is the only place in Kirusu or Mulot that isn’t forced to get their water from the dirty river- only because we were lucky enough to have water underground- and is defiantly the only place where there is even a thought of pipes or pumps.

So how does this bring us to the public school? Well hold on and I will explain.

For an extra $13,261 the school could afford a 100,000 liter tank. This tank would hole enough water for the mission to provide water to the public school and sell it to the surrounding area. This tank would instantly eradicate Typhoid and other water borne pathogens that plague the town.

So Father Patrick thought I would like to take a little stroll to the public school and see where this water would go.

How do I describe this place? Think of every commercial you’ve ever seen with starving children. Add your worst nightmares. Now throw in a dash of filth and disease that make you want to gag. Remove any shoes or well taken care of clothing. Serve on a platter of unimaginable poverty.

You have the recipe for a Kenyan public school.

Please don’t make the mistake of thinking I exaggerate. Pictures will follow soon once I gather my courage around me.

So upon visiting the school I was taken to the kitchen to see the water they cook with and drink. It was brown. Positively brown.

But perhaps it was just the container?

No, I took a cup of the water out and it stayed brown.

Brown not the color you want to drink? Well luckily there was a basin of green water also.

But the school is thankful for this water. The land the school is on is completely dry and they have no piping to get the water onto the campus.

So how do they get the water you ask?

The children are sent off during school hour’s everyday to fetch water in small five gallon containers. They are instructed to bring back whatever water is found.

So not only are the kids getting sick, but they had to miss school and be sent off to find the diseases.

Please don’t blame the school because what else could be done? They have no plumbing, no pipes, nothing that could bring the water to them and they need to it feed the children and keep the place “clean”.

But here is the real kicker. I hope you’re sitting down because this piece of information almost knocked the wind out of me.

They are going to start PAYING for this diseased water.

And who are they going to pay?

Why the government!

The school is actually going to pay the government to bring in the dirty untreated water if we cannot get this extra tank.

SO

The money the school should be using to fix the buildings that are literally falling apart to a point you can see through the walls, to buy desks instead of the three pieces of wood stapled together with 4 kids crammed in, and to pay more then 14 teachers for the 700 students will actually be going to be used to pay so that they can get ill.

It’s a cute trick, eh?

So as unequivocally important as it is to get warm running water here, it is just as important to get this tank for the public school and surrounding area.

Incase your curious as to what it’s like to catch one of these nasty water bugs let me tell you from my own first hand experience.

It begins with stomach cramps that make you want to die. It feels as if a claw has grabbed onto your intestines and squeezed hard enough to puncture your lower GI tract. The pain can be only just tolerated if you don’t move for six hours. Of course this is impossible because your system is emptying itself of all waste (which makes you feel like you were shitting a knife). The running back and forth and complete loss of fluids exhausted me to the point where I spent an hour trying to convince myself it would be perfectly acceptable for me to shit myself because moving sounded like the most difficult task in the world. The hot flashes make you want to dunk yourself in water unless you can hold out for the cold shivering flashes. As you can imagine it’s pretty hard to think straight throughout this episode so it’s damn near impossible to force yourself to due anything that would make you comfortable. Particularly as the cramps travel up through out your whole backed up system into a pain that develops into your ribs.

By the way, this entire time you are running across the fields to get to latrines so you can shit in a whole. This is the cherry on top because you get to hang out with thousands, and I mean literally thousands, of flies in what passes for a hygienic bathroom here.

Of course this was just me having a small bug. Not typhoid.

Just to drive the point home I want to remind you these are small children dealing with this pain and disease.

So yes I am asking for donations. If we can raise enough to pay for these water systems we can literally save people’s lives.

I can’t even continue this blog anymore, it is really painful to remember that water and picture the kids drinking it.

Go have a hearty glass of water. Appreciate the hell out of it. Then donate so someone else can have that same experience without fear of sickness or even death for the first time in their entire life.

Crossing Alone

2010-07-08T05:41:00.000-05:00

Mambo readers?

(you say poa)

So I am finally back in Mulot after fighting for almost a week to get back. The thing about Kenyans is they love having visitors. They don’t care if they are busy; they want you to stay as long as possible and in an effort to be helpful will often impede you when you try to leave.

For example

I wanted to leave Laiktoktok last Friday. The seminarians convinced me I should stay until at least Sunday to celebrate the fourth (which consisted of them asking me how long we’ve been independent and then being told we should move the fourth of july so it wouldn’t be on a Sunday). On Sunday I was asked to stay until Monday so I could find a matatu (mini-bus) easier. Monday morning one of the priests suggests I stay until Tuesday to get a ride from his friend driving to Nairobi. So what happens next? You guessed it Tuesday rolls around and his friend is still in Tanzania forcing me to wait until Wednesday where at breakfast I had to put my foot down and announce I was leaving if I had to walk back to Mulot (which almost became the case).

As obnoxious as this sounds when I read it back to myself I do have to say I wasn’t really complaining. I really enjoyed my time there and it is nice to feel so wanted.

It was also nice to see Christy- an American ex-peace corps member)- and talk to someone who lives mere hours away from Chicago. Everyday I tried to leave she laughed with me while I made another futile plan. She says she always has the same experience.

The issue is around here you get so close to people so fast that it becomes hard to leave, even when you want to and you know you should. I feel just as close to the people in laiktoktok as I do to many of the people here and I feel closer to some of the people here then I do with people back home I’ve known for years.

So I was sad to leave.

Of course I had to forget about that sadness as I boarded my Matatu home because getting across Kenya by myself became quite the adventure.

It began at 8 am when I got onto my matatu. I sat in the front seat with the driver and another passenger who happened to be in traditional Masai clothing.

To paint a clearer picture for you I need to explain that there was really only enough room for two people in the front of the matatu but they always cram three so we were elbow to elbow with both the driver and I being poked and prodded by the masai man’s jewelry.

The driver only spoke Swahili, the man kimasai and I only English. Usually this would lead to a silent trip but not in Kenya- a language barrier is no reason not to make friends!

So we pantomimed conversation all of us exhausting what little we knew of each other’s languages well the masai man tried to sell me his jewelry.

Eventually we arrived in Nairobi in a completely unfamiliar part. The driver was nice enough to walk me across the city with my bags to the Narok stage (where the buses to Narok wait) but I had to think quick when he asked for my phone number- gotta love the I have no credit excuse.

Eventually I get on the bus and am on my way to Narok where I assume Father Patrick will be waiting to pick me up as the plan was explained to me. But it became clear to me father Patrick would not be picking me up when I sent him a text telling him I was on the way and he answered “safe journey” which is Kenyan for “your on your own kid”.

Alright no problem I’ll just find a bus to Mulot from Narok; I’ve done that before even though never alone but how hard can it be?

Well it suddenly became much harder when the bus broke down halfway to Narok. After sitting on the side of the highway for about a half hour all the passengers got behind the bus and pushed until it started. This is when I noticed that there was only about an hour left until the matatus stopped running.

So because I was under a time crunch I of course got lost in Narok. The bus dropped us off in an unfamiliar area due to the breakdown and left us to walk to wherever we needed to go. luckily I was only lost for 15 minutes and was able to hop on the last matatu in the park. Unluckily I had to sit with a small child in my lap the whole ride.

Now you can imagine after all this plus an hour of a small child kicking and screaming in my lap I was rather frustrated. So I was really not in the mood for the matatu driver’s vulgarity when I reached Mulot.

This is probably why when one of the drivers called out mzungu and made an obscene gesture with his tongue I exploded and proceeded to loudly explain to the driver where he could go, what he could do there, and what kind of animal he was (in case you are wondering the animal I called him was vernacular for Feline. Don’t get it? Just think about it for a bit. It will come to you)

But in the end alls well as I am back on the mission safe and happy except for the fact I accidently grew thin in laiktoktok and now must double my food intake. Which really means the animals here are going to double their food intake as I tend to hide the food outside and pretend I ate it.

Anyway I love and miss you all back home. sorry this one wasn’t too deep but I thought you all might enjoy the story.

Aliya

Universal Intertia

2010-06-29T03:50:00.001-05:00

When I was sixteen I was in a car crash. More like I crashed the car but that’s not the point. I remember the moment when I realized the crash was inevitable, it wasn’t a terrible feeling it was just as if knowledge had been added. Rocks are hard, waters wet and I am about to total this car. I looked down and thought “oh good the airbags are deploying”.

It’s that sort of calm inevitably at high speeds I feel now.

I officially have no idea what’s next as school plans just changed completely,” change” here meaning disappeared, so I have no idea where I am headed. I just know I am headed forward. Or backwards. Maybe sideways? I just know the movement can’t stop.

I thought so many things before I arrived that I unthink now. I don’t disagree with them so much as think them backwards. Try to figure out where the ideas came from and why they are here.

I have lost myself completely. I feel like I’m floating alone with nothing solid. Maybe there is just nothingness. But it’s a special nothingness. It’s the nothingness of possibility. It’s not scary, it’s enticing, it’s comforting, it’s everything. An everything nothingness.

I guess it’s more like emptiness that I’m excited to fill.

I don’t know what the existentialists are bitching about. “Who am I?” and “why am I here?” aren’t depressing they’re electrifying.

Who the hell am I? I’m whoever the fuck I want to be. I’m here because I want to be. I’m doing this because I can.

Look at me, I’m alive. I can run and I can jump and I can scream and I can be whoever and whatever I want.

You surround yourself with your riches but my wealth is in my potential. It’s opposite-tangible because it has to be but I love it this way. The blankness is what allows me to open my arms and spin. I feel bad for those who are caught and choked by their reasons. To those who can’t move because they are too cramped by plans I am sorry. I encourage you to throw them out.

I don’t even know where this writing is going. It’s open ended. Never ended. Ever ended.

I’ve either completely lost my mind or reached enlightenment.

I have no idea what’s next but I’m not afraid. It’s like I’m falling to my back but instead of bracing I’m enjoying the view of the sky.

I love you all for reading my blog and considering my thoughts and paying attentions to my actions. If my blog has ever given you any advice or thoughts about your own life then know this now.

Do not be afraid of the landing.

It can be soft or hard or anything in between but we have no idea. Life becomes much more fun, more enticing, more enjoyable, when you cease to flail your arms and legs and brace for the inevitable. When you just let the free falling sensation wash over you, you are allowed to open your eyes in all directions. The world gets bigger and smaller- bigger in that you can finally see it and smaller in that you can see yourself as a continuation of it rather then a piece of it- and infinitely more beautiful.

If I have learned nothing else in Africa then this is the lesson I will hold dear for the rest of my life.

This acceptance is within everyone here, priests, children, volunteers, and comes in all forms. It is this that allows us to work through what seemed like it would kill us months ago.

I wrote about faith and how it here in places it has no business being because to the people here just being alive, even for minutes, is enough of a gift to celebrate and thank god for. I understood that on an intellectual level but now it has made it’s way into my core being.

I am, we are, so lucky to have the whole world before us.

I know what direction I’m moving. Front-wise. I am just going and going because how in the hell can a person stop when life exists in all it’s wonder?

I hope this manic ecstasy has shaken you up the way it has me. I hope it has made you too big for your own skin so that you have to get up and see what you can do with your new self.

Please don’t be afraid. (and please pay me for this advice. Through donations. Hahaha just kidding. Not really.)

I know this had little to do with Africa and completely lacked the story telling you are used to. Sorry. Had to get it out. If you are unsatisfied here is a quick anecdote-

I was locked in my room for 3 hours a few days ago as the door was broken. I am visiting a new mission and had no one’s phone number so I just had to sit and wait for a solution to present itself. Which it did in two small children I scared the hell out of after I leaned out of a window and yelled for them. One of the kids ran away the toher fought with the door for a few minutes until leaving to find someone else. Once the oor was finally opened I realized I couldn’t find my phone. Once the phone was found the lights wouldn’t turn on. This has caused me to come the the conclusion that problems, much like matter, are never created or destroyed. They simply change shape.

I love you and will be home in four months.
Aliya (or Aliambo if you are in Kisumu.)

Living of Love

2010-06-24T04:30:00.000-05:00

Hey guys!

So we finished shooting the gospel video, thank God, and I am now back in Mulot. The problem is now I miss Kisumu.

The thing about getting to travel around and live this kind of life is you start to love all the people and places almost too much. Saying goodbye to the people in Kisumu was almost as hard as saying goodbye to the people back home.

I have another home now, the problem is I had to leave it. Just like I’ll have to leave this one. To go back to the one I miss desperately across the globe. For the rest of my life a I will miss somewhere else.

I think the reason I miss Kisumu so much, and know I will miss Mulot so much, is because both of these places are so full of love. People here are so willing to love an accept you; they want to love you. It is truly the communal family feeling my friends and I tried to create throughout high school.

You can see this love in every aspect of society. All the women are “Mamas” the men “Abbas” the younger crowd, so around my age, are all “brother” or “sister” and every child is called “son” or “daughter” by everyone. Everyone is considered an intimate member of the family.

You can find examples of this everywhere. In the community built orphanages, the fact that no food goes unshared, in just the way people interact with each other. Nobody ever starts a conversation without prefacing it by asking how you are or inquiring about your health.

Yesterday on the bus home Madame Grace and I sat in the front. About half way through a small child started coughing. Without thinking Madame Grace took one of the plastic bottles of water brought with and handed to the child’s mother. After she struggled with opening it for a few minutes a man behind her grabbed it, opened it and then proceded to hold it so the child could drink.

This doesn’t sound like a particularly love filled or community oriented story but think about it- when was the last time you did something like that? When was the last time you saw someone do something like that?

My friend Jay, who is poor as shit and probably can barely pay his rent, never goes hungry because someone in his apartment complex will give him dinner no question asked. The only expectation of Jay is that he would do the same thing for them. Which of course he would.

What inspires people who have so little to share it? Why don’t the hoard the little they have and refuse to see others in order to protect it? I mean if all I had to live of was an acre of maize I don’t know if I would be so willing to share it.

Are we as westerners so fundamentally different from Africans? Why are we less willing to help each other out? It’s tempting to tell yourself that people don’t need as much help in the USA so it’s easier not to share but let’s not entertain that kind of bullshit for a second. People need just as much help there as they do here but for some reason we fight like hell not to give it. Whether people are arguing against welfare or walking by the homeless without a passing glance or are bitching about the 50 hours of required community service from high school it’s like we are always fighting to not have to share.

Do you know where that gets us? At home alone with our shit.

I don’t want to offend anyone by saying that no one is the US shares but I don’t think anyone could argue that it isn’t a very different begrudging sharing. Like “I will lend you 5 dollars but I will not be happy about it and I expect you to give me that 5 dollars back soon” whereas in Africa it is more along the lines of “I will give you have my food because you are my neighbor and you are hungry and one day you will do the same for me because we are both human”

Yes we have more wealth in the US but where has that really gotten us?

Interesting related note, I can’t find the Swahili word for “please” I don’t think it exists but they do have “thank-you” and “welcome”

It can drive one a little crazy, everyone being connected like a family and nothing belonging to any one person, but only as crazy as your family back home drives you. It’s really amazing to live so communally.

Maybe the reason people have such huge families here is because they feel like they have too much infinite love for the small amount of people already alive so they have to make more.

My Infinite Love is back home with you
Aliya

I SINGLEHANDEDLY Sexualized Kenya's Gospel Scene and All I Got Was This Stupid Blog

2010-06-19T14:17:00.002-05:00

There comes a time in one’s life, when one wonders

“How did I get here and what in the hell did I do to deserve this?”

This thought crossed my mind yesterday wearing a burlap traditional African outfit well dancing to gospel music. All with a smile on my face as I was being recorded.

On Thursday Madame Grace and I left the mission to go visit her home in Kisumu. I was excited thinking it might be a nice change from the mission. How wrong I was.

Throughout the journey I was forced to fight of vendors who were a delightful mixture of obscene, crude, aggressive and smelly.

Now when I say aggressive I don’t mean the guy who follows you around the club for a little while well you dance with your friends. I mean the kind of aggressive that caused a man to jump onto a moving bus and refuse to let go until I gave him my phone number. Don’t worry I gave him a fake number and when he jumped off the moving bus and tumbled to the ground he looked alright.

When we finally reached the mission after 3 matatus and a motorcycle ride I assumed I had reached salvation. Little did I know I was just heading for the next ring of hell.

It turns out the reason we are spending a week here in kisumu rather then the weekend I thought we were spending is because we are shooting a gospel music video. Which I am in. dancing. Dead center.

Just kill me.

I tried to get out of it by throwing up in the church during rosary but to no avail. It is too late. There is video evidence of this event. Which is too bad because it means I will have to kill these people, burn down the mission and destroy all the evidence.

Even if I didn't have a solo dance part because someone saw me pop my butt I would have to kill these people. but as it is I swiveled my hips and now they have me dancing in a way that makes it look like the music should be called "Jesus- Gettin' down wit some bitchez". The girls have also starting imitating the dances. I can feel myself being pulled underground and into hell.

but all of this dancing, all of this gospel, all of this future blackmail begs the questionwhy are we doing this? Why is one always hearing a hymn and seeing people dance spontaneously? In essence…

what is faith?

I have been pondering this in question and today during rosary watching people actively enjoy what has been portrayed as boring obligation to many back home I think I got some answers.

Faith is believing that the lights are going to come back on even though they have been off for hours and the storm is raging. Faith is believing the water is clean.

Faith is the songs your mother sang you to sleep with. Faith is the place where you and all your loved ones live and gather. Faith is where you played as a child, where your food was gotten, where your friends all met. Faith is home.

But because these answers I came up with didn’t seem enough I decided to ask.

I asked Mercy. I asked her because she is missing her right leg, her left foot, many of her fingers and has a burn up her arm that hurts to look at. And she goes to church everyday. I asked Mercy how she can retain her faith after such terrible things happened to her. Her answer?

“Because I survived”

And it is as simple as that. Life itself s considered gift enough to praise god. The mere fact that you live and breathe and have been allowed even minutes on this earth is enough to force you to your knees and thank God until you are hoarse.

It is a profound appreciation I hope I can one day adopt.

I guess when you have nothing, you have everything to gain.

I would have written more but it is time to go dance again.

I Love You and Miss You and Am Not Giving You a Copy of These Tapes

Aliya

La Douleur Exquise

2010-06-14T03:35:00.002-05:00

Hey guys. I know it’s been awhile. I’ll be sorry when I have that kind of energy to spare.

I meant to write something about the school or the kids. But today it’s about me. And it’s not cheerful so consider yourself warned.

I am at a place beyond overwhelmed. I am beyond stress. I live within a constant hum of numbers and figures of what’s needed. I live within a constant blur of faces of those who are hurt and helpless and are reaching out for hope. I live within a constant scream.

Yesterday I went to visit a friend in Narok thinking I could have a day away from the mission with a friend. Just chill. Forget for a few hours about the great and terrible need. That was stupid of me. Poverty is always lying in wait to pounce.

My friend’s landlord stopped me and told me the newest version of the same story. Dead parents, three young kids living with him, no money for school not to even mention food or clothing.

All I could do was nod my head and say “I’ll see what I can do”, because I am out of promises. What I wanted to do was shake him and scream DO YOU REALIZE THAT YOU HAVE ADDED $10,000 TO WHAT I NEED? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH MONEY I NEED?

Instead I shook his hand and watched as his wife cried tears of hope.

I sat in my friend’s apartment with my head in my hands and when asked if I was crying I said no I’m doing math. As I ran through the calculations of school fees, debt relief numbers and expense reports that are my continuous companions he stopped me to tell me I could try just getting fees for one.

I had to stop myself from slapping him. I almost screamed “What do you mean just one? You can’t just take one. That’s worse then taking none” and he understood. Because there really is no way to pick and choose. They are all just as orphaned. Just as in need. Just as beautiful and deserving.

One of the aforementioned orphans came into his apartment and crawled into my lap and I wanted to cry and cry and cry and tell the child how beautiful and wonderful it was and how much I hated it and wished I had never met it. How I would never stop until I found a school for him but how a terrible and dark part of me hoped something would happen to take his burden off my hands.

As I looked into the child’s eyes all I could see reflected back at me were his added costs.

The more I grow into a hero here the smaller I feel. The more confident I am of my failure. I often feel that I am causing more harm than good. That I am wreaking havoc because in the end I will disappoint all and they will be worse off then they wore because they tasted hope.
I try to tell myself that if I can raise half the money, help half the people, reach a checkpoint I will be happy with myself. But that is a line of bullshit that makes me gag. I know I will never be able to look at myself again if I fail at this. I know that if I fall short at this then for the rest of my life I will look in the mirror and see Duncan or Daisy or Mary or Terrance looking back at me. Asking me why. Why didn’t I have the strength or the courage or the ability to help them.

If I fail at this I will never be without guilt.

Do you think I’m too involved in this? Do you think I’m too invested? Well I challenge you to do something remotely like this and not end up like me.

If I did not end up in this sort of exquisite agony then I would not be a person I could be proud of.

Maybe I’ll forgive myself if I fail, but I will never forgive myself if I do not exhaust every option I have.

So I’m calling in all debts. Did I lend you $5 in the seventh grade for lunch? Hand it over. Did I ever treat you to a movie? It’s payback time. That gas money I never asked for? I want it now. Pay me for any meal you ever ate at my house, for any joking bet we ever made, for anytime I bought the party favors. I don’t care why you pay me just hand the money over. If you don’t think you owe me any money then lend some to me now. Donate and keep tabs. I will pay you back. With interest. I will go into debt myself. What do you need? What can I do? Begging? Done. Pleading? Already happening. Want me to crawl on my hands and knees? Tell me when and where.

This is Africa. We all live in 7x5 quarters. There is no room for dignity.

I wonder if this is how Al Gore feels when he tries to get an environmental passed.

I love you. Please take part in my agony.
Aliya

Speaking for Themselves

2010-06-07T05:05:00.002-05:00

So instead of listening to me in this post, I want you to listen to some of the kids here that need the most help. These are essas from the poorest cildren at the school written to me asking for help to pay their school fees. Hopefully this moves you to donate.

Kennedy Lemayian- class 8
To Madame Aliya
My name is Kennedy Lemayian. I live in Narok in a place called Protian. It’s a forest.
My mom can not be able to cater for all the things I need. I have a brother staying in Nairobi. His name is Keith and he’s now in form 3 in a school called Upper Hill.
Their schools fees is so high that my mom can’t be able to pay all our debts. My dad died before I was born because of a certain disease.
I please ask you to help my family to pay my debts so as to reduce the costs of living to my mom.
Please help us. Thank you.

Mordecai Kiprotich- Class 5
My name is Mordecai Kiprotich and I am ten years old my home is in rift valley province and my school is also in rift valley.
I want to explain what a family is. A family is a group of people who are related together. The head of the family is father and when father is not there the head of the family shall not be here.
My family’s name is called Kirui Family and I and my family we are 6 in number. I have 5 sisters and one brother in total we add up to six.
I love my family so much and I also thank God because of helping my parent and my family to stay alive. My mother is a widow. A widow is a woman who doesn’t have a husband. So I thank God for helping my mother to pay for me school fees and bringing me to school.
I have my older sister and older brother. My older brother is still in secondary form 4 and my older sister has got married. I also have last born a girl who is in standard three who is following me and I am second last born.
My school is Bishop Colin Davis Academy in mulot division. Where I use to learn and enjoy myself by playing and reading storybooks. In this school where I am I also have a sister called Doreen Chepkirui.
My mother usually being help by my other relatives like uncle, aunt, and even the brother to my father who lives in Bomet where my father was working in.
I and my family usually go to church known as SD a where many people love because there are people who are having faithful and they believe that God is there. So I pray for my family to do good.

Doreen Chepkini-Class 8
My name is Doreen Chepkini Kinui. I am 13 years old of age. I am in class 8 in /bishop Colin Davis Academy School. My mother’s name is Emily while my late father’s name is Richard Kinui.
We are 6 children in my family. My elder sister is married followed by other 4 girls in school including me. I have 2 brothers one in secondary and the other one is in primary school. In total children in secondary are 3 while the ones in primary are 3 including me.
My mother’s career is business woman and other small jobs. My father was also in the same business before he passed away about nine years back. Ever since that day we have not been living a quite without our father. My mum have been struggling hard so as to pay our school fees despite the fact of many challenges. But anyway God has been on our side, also throughout our lives. Through determination and hardwork we have been able to make our devoted mother happy of us.

Shelia Chebet- class 8

I am called Shelia Chebet. I am a girl from B.C.D.A in standard eight. My parent’s names are Magret Kenduiywo and my late father David Kendaiywo. In my family we are five. It consists of three girls including me with two boys.
My mother is a teacher and my father was a police officer who died four years ago of throat cancer. In our family, we are very happy of my hardworking mother who has devoted herself really for the payment of our fees and as a result actually I can say she is capable.

Gilbert Towett Form 1
Dear sir/madam
I am a boy of 15 years old. I was born in the family of seven children in Kenya Narock district at Kilisu village. In our family we went to school at very late age because of poverty and having nothing hands our living standard. We had nothing to eat at some time we spend night without eating anything or sometime a very difficult job to get something to pay food.
I went to school when I was seven years old for lack of school fees. This all happen because my mother was chased away by my father, who was very drinker. My mother was also health problems and she spent all she got to pay hospital pills and for school.
I joined school because of one of a good hearted man who was living neighbor to us. I thank God for that. The man was paying my school fees primary before the government free the pupil school so that no one will be paying pupil school. I was at class one by then. I was very old at all class pupils and knowing nothing at all. I promise myself that I will do my best to come up with my fellow pupils. Therefore I worked very hard and come up with my fellow when I was at class three I became a position one. I kept on working very hard in other classes although I was facing many problems at my background.
I done the final examination in the year 2008 where I succedded by exam. I lacked the school fees to join form one. There was nobody to pay for me. This all could not give me to lose hope for anything. Instead I keep on believing in god that one day he will provide me.
I used to believe in God that I will become a doctor and there will be no longer any problem. I will live to hands my life and to help my siblings and other people in need.
I decided to repeat some class in the year 2009 at the same pupil school. Although I had several problems. After that year I passed again the examination but the problem was still the same.
In good will one of the priests of our church decided to help me to join one of their secondary schools form one this year.
Further more I would like to ask for help to pay my school fees for I to continue with my studies. My wish is to study up to higher learning and education. For I to help the needy and my world.
I promise that I will work hard all the time to succed in my studies. I will become a disciplined boy I will seek good convention in my life.
I hope to hear from you. May god bless you forever.
Yours faithfully
Gilbert Towett.

Mary Nchoe Form 1
I am a girl of age 14 years old. I have four brothers and five sisters who are older than I. both of the are the parents now. I am the only one at home who is in school.
My parent is a single family. My mother is alive and she has become very old that is not able to do any business. In 2000 I dropped out of school because of a lack of school fees and my parents were not able to look even after us because my mother was involved in drinking the wine and abuse the drugs.
We hardly had enough to eat and even to put on. One of my sister was looking after me and helped with some food, clothing and even paying school fees. Although it was for a short time.
My mother sometimes went for about four months and she didn’t left us something to eat.
So I decide to go for help and some people who belong to the church came home and brought for us the food and clothes.
When I was standard eight my sister was paying for me school fees and promised me that she will pay for me up to university but that was for a short period.
Our family was given many uncounted names and later god gave them strength.
Last year when I was in class eight we go for help there was an organization which was coming to help the orphans and disable people and our names were written down but it has fail to help. When I complete my primary education and KCPE I stayed at home almost five months at home but one thing I had was faith and prayed every day until god opened the way. I went to the Mennonite church and inform the people to help me to continue with my education.
Some of them help and other changed their mind. Surely they have helped me a lot. The Mennonite church Christian had buy for me those items but thank god those people helped me.
I came to school very late because of lack of school fees and the money that were needed to buy personal items. My sister and brothers have wealth but they fail to pay for school fees.
We are living in a house which we usually pay house rent and we don’t have some money even some times the owner chased us way during th night and there was no one to help. This year I joined the secondary school because of God’s favor. I came to school when I don’t have some personal item like a towel but later my mother brought to me. I was very happy to join bishop colin davies school I was about to loose hope and many people have gone to school I was the only one left at home. My life has changed since I joined this school. I will do my best if I only get any assistance that will be able to continue my education. I really appreciate because I am being sent home to go find bring school fees and personal items. If I get assistance I will be glad and will promise to help others in the future .
Thank you
Mary Nchoe

Cheruto Langat Daisy Form 1

I am a girl of age fourteen. I have two sisters and a brother and they are younger than me. They are both going to school.
My brother and sisters and I was born in a village called Sugutek, Keringet Location, Molo District.
My siblings and I went to Mwane primary school. When I was in class six in the year 2006 my mother got sick and unfortunately she died.
My siblings and I got taken by my mother’s sister called mary. From there we were taken by her children.
In the year 2008 I did my K.C.P.E by then my sisters mother got sick and unfortunately she dies. I never got a chance of joining form one because there was no one to pay my school fees.
I had to repeat so I repeated at Sogoo Township and did my K.C.P.E in the year 2009.
Again there was no money for my school fees but God came through a Mulot parish priest called Patrick Nkaai who offered to pay for me school fees.
My teachers and neighbors bought for me shopping to take to school.
I was welcomed though I did not have everything required for school.
The problem which I do normally encounter in school is that I sometimes back shopping to use.
I also enjoy school because I get adequate education and also because it is a place where holy place that is church is found hence giving me a holy life to live.
The importance of me being in school is to get education in order to achieve my career so as to earn myself a living in the future.
I would like to request is there is someone a good Samaritan who can help me in side of school fees, shopping and also uniform I think and hope that my dreams will come through.
I promise to work hard, achieve my goal so as to help my sibilings and other needy in the society as I am being helped.
I will be glad to hear good respond. Thank you.
Yours sincerely,
Cheruto Langat Daisy

Duncan Bosire form 1

Hi, I’m a boy of age 15 years old. I have two brothers and three sisters who are younger than me. Both of them are no longer in school because of lack of school fees. Im the only one at home whi is in school.
My parent died a few years ago –(1st April 2004)- they were involved in a road accident while going to visit my grandmother who was at that time very sick. They were admitted to a national hospital but unfortunately they passed away.
They left us alone, I as the eldest son, my siblings were now at my hands. I dropped out of school in order to take care of my siblings. Some villagers helped us with some food, clothing and even paying house rent. Although this was for a short period.
We lived a hard life, we hardly had enough to eat and even to put on. I started working in a tea plantation in order to get something to eat with my brothers and sisters.
My brother, also died three months after the death of my parents. This was agter he had only suffered for three works.
Our grandmother took us to her home. We lived there for only a few years then our aunt decided to help us because grandmother was unable to look after us proper due to her old age.
One day, I met a certain teacher and told me to go back to school because I am still young. I agreed because I knew there is no way I will succeed and bring up my siblings without education. But the problem was, “who will pay for me school fees and provide other facilities which I needed in school?”
I talked to my aunt but she refused. I left that day her house and went to grandma’s house. I told her that I wanted to go to school. She agreed and even took me to school.
I worked hard and did well on all my examination. The teachers liked me because of my discipline.
I did my Kenya National Exam in the year 2008. I was supposed to join a secondary school but I did not get school fees.
I talked to out priest who really offered to help me continue with my education. I repeated grade eight and did my national exam in the year 2009. I did very well. This year, 2010, I join a secondary school and I’m so thankful for his help.
I have seen many changes in my life since I joined this secondary school. My life has completely change and I would like to continue with this education. If I would get any assistance to enable me continue with school, I would really appreciate because sometimes you find I’m being sent to go bring school fees while others are in school, sometimes being sent to go and bring personal items books, school shoes and other things but I rarely get.
Please, if I get any assistance I will be very happy and I promise to work hard so that I may also help other in future.
Thank you
Duncan Bosire

The Laundry Room

2010-06-05T07:33:00.001-05:00

Hey guys. Sorry it’s been so long since my last update- I’ve been busy travelling. I’ve seen like 6 tourist sites for free in the past two days. Awesome but exhausting.

But anyway I figured that now that you are all clean from your bucket shower- I should teach you how to wash your clothes.

First gather all your dirty clothes, aka all your clothes, and put on your least dirty thing. Put them in a bucket for safe keeping.

Now that you’ve gathered your clothing go get some water. Get three more buckets- no you can’t use the one your clothes are in- and fill them with “clean” water, clean here being least amount of bugs floating in it and the closest to clear.

Anyway carry your buckets of water to an outside grassy area. It doesn’t necessarily have to be grassy- I just enjoy the feeling of the sun and grass while I clean- but it does have to be outside because water gets everywhere and water on your concrete floor is very unpleasant.

So line all your buckets together in a line to maximize efficiency and dump your clothes out at one end of the line. Take your now empty bucket and put it on the end of the line opposite your clothes.

Now before you start washing make sure you get distracted by some kids needing a quick talk or you say hello to at least five other women washing. I’m not sure if this part is crucial but I’ve never washed without having it happen.

Now walk back across your compound because you forgot your bar of soap in your room. Again. Chat with a few more teachers during this part.

So now that you have walked back to your clothing and water the washing can begin. Take a few articles of clothing, I usually start with three, and put them in the first bucket of water and start scrubbing. Rub the bar of soap into the clothing. After you have gotten soap all over the article of clothing fold it in half and rub it against itself. This makes sure the soap really gets in there. Keep the bar of soap in the water. It will make it extra sudsy which helps clean.

Now what I choose to do is soap up as much clothing as I can before moving on to step two but if you want to do this one piece of clothing at a time go ahead. Whatever floats your boat. You probably don’t have that much clothing anyway.

So after you have gotten the soap in there deep- and I mean you put soap into the pockets deep- wring the clothes out and put it into the next bucket. This is the first rinse. After you have moved all the clothing from bucket A to bucket B repeat this step only move the clothes to bucket C. I know it’s tempting to skip bucket C but if you do the soap won’t come completely off and your clothes will get scummy.

So after the second rinse put all your clothes into the original and now empty bucket. Make sure you wring the clothes out before moving on to this step though or else it will be too heavy to carry.

Now walk across the compound to hang your clothes up to dry. Just get over your embarrassment of having your bra and panties hanging out to dry next to the boys dorm. They don’t really care. Except for the two of them who you are pretty sure are trying to spot you changing and that’s why they are always near your window. Don’t be alarmed by those boys though- they are 15 you can take them.

Now you will have discovered your legs are COVERED in mud so walk back to the clean water to wash of your legs.

FUN TIP- shave your legs right now. It will make you feel cleaner and it will make showering in the freezing night much quicker and more pleasant. Why should you bother shaving your legs you ask? Because you’re an American and eventually you will at one point look down and feel disgusted with your legs if you don’t.

Anyway leave your clothes out to dry and pray it doesn’t rain. It’s pretty much impossible to predict weather out here so all you can hope is that it won’t storm. If you start to notice a drizzle run to get your clothes IMMEDIATELY because you have 10 minutes AT MOST before it is going to pour.

Congratulations! You have now washed your clothing! Now go wash the floor.

But before you rush off to wash your clothes the good ‘ole African way let me update you on the goings on around here.

I mentioned that I’d been traveling the past two days, I thought I could tell you guys the highlights of the trip.

On day one we left the compound at 4 am and went to Nairobi, a five hour drive, starting with the airport. The kids were ecstatic to see the planes- most of them had never seen one and were practically salivating when they went inside. During this part I stayed behind at an outdoor airport café where I smoked a pack of cigarettes and sucked down two lattes.

Interestingly enough I was joined by a man named Peter who works for the EU and is travelling around Africa to hand out money to worthy causes. So I might have done a little bit of networking there. He also bought me a latte. Yesssssss

Then we had another hours drive out to the Nairobi Museum/ snake park where I argued with Father Patrick about evolution. Then we had another hours drive to an animal orphanage where I touched a cheetah and then we drove another half hour to- and this was the best part- A SUPERMAKRET. I literally bought 3 tubs of peanut butter. I would have bought more but I thought that would make me look a little insane. I also bought some chocolate and shampoo etc. it was actually kind of hard to shop though, even though I’ve only been here a month the city made me feel suffocated and the supermarket was beyond overwhelming. When I realized how many choices I had in the potato chip aisle I felt a little bit like crying.

Anyway then we drove 6 hours home and arrived on the compound around midnight. Luckily I was able to have a very nice three hour nap before we were off again.

This time we drove 7 hours to this national park Bolgoria. There we got to see flamingos and springs so hot that we could boil eggs in them. Which we did and then promptly ate for breakfast/lunch. This is where it was discovered I won’t eat the yolk of a boiled egg causing people to fight over who got to sit next to me and eat my yolks.

From there we went to Lake Nakuru, another 4 hour drive, which was awesome. Nakuru is an animal preserve you can drive around and take pictures. I was particularly delighted by the giraffe (pictures on the way).

After that another supermarket and then we could finally go home. This time we were in bed around two.

Anyway I am still tired and thus am going back to sleep. I love and miss you all.
Aliya

Beyond The Deficit

2010-06-02T06:32:00.003-05:00

So today I discovered that the school is over 150,000 shillings in debt. That is just the debt from unpaid tuition fees.

I was introduced to the 11 most financially desperate cases in the school and their combined debt to the academy is 157,180 shillings.

This is the lowest the school could get the debt.

I watched the head teacher Mr. Barraza cut down a student’s tuition from the 10,000 shillings per term down to 8,000 by pretty much trimming more then the fat. He was legitimately just cutting down the number to the bare minimum and then below that.

I had no idea how in the red the school is. The USA could learn something about deficit spending from Father Patrick here.

The school does what it can to have these students pay as little as possible. People literally give timber or chickens or whatever they have to spare, which is practically nothing. It’s like living in the 1920s.

My mind is literally blown. I cannot imagine how the school is moving forward in this much debt. How are we feeding the students? How has father Patrick extended electricity to the teachers? How are we affording to do anything?

But here is the real question. What could be done without this debt? What would the school look like?

Here is an example of what some money could do here…

There are probably half a dozen cases of Malaria right now, and that is just the reported cases I would guess that at least 10 more people have malaria but don’t want to go to the dispensary due to cost. Also everyone here constantly has a cough or cold, is just getting over something potentially devastating illness or is just beginning one. Even I have a pretty severe cough and cold here.

This poses the question, why are we so sick?

My answer- our “showers”.

You might remember my blog about taking a bucket shower, well as terrible as it sounds for the students it is even worse as they cannot heat their water. So the students are constantly bathing with cold unclean water. On top of this the students have to either shower in the early morning, when I refuse to go out in less then my knitted drug rug and two pairs of pants, or at night, where I refuse to leave my room due to the freezing temperatures.

Imagine if you will dunking yourself in ice water, naked, standing outside in Chicago lets say in mid November.

So my guess is that’s why we are all sick. Not to mention we all clean our clothes, wash out utensils, brush our teeth etc. with the unclean water.

So what can we do? Well

500,000 Kenyan shillings would give us clean running water.

That would mean the kids could take hot showers. So instead of having to endure, and believe me it is a painful experience-I need a word better then endure, these bucket showers or just have to be obscenely grossly disturbingly dirty these kids could be healthy warm and clean.

This would bring the costs of the school’s dispensary costs down as well as improve the general hygiene of the school.

Not to mention that we could clean our things- clothes, plates, drinking glasses, with hot water instead of stagnant cold water.

That idea excites me more then the thought of a chicken nugget.

By the way the same goes for the teachers here. They clean in the same dirty water, take the same cold bucket showers and get just as sick.

We all live like this.

To be completely honest I think grades would improve with clean water. Self-esteem and feelings of self-worth would improve greatly.

Don’t believe me? Take bucket showers for a week and then see how you feel.

Can you imagine never having had the feeling of stepping out of a nice hot shower? Of being totally clean?

So perhaps if we can get this debt paid…

I salivate at the thought of what money could do here.

And too think that the school is spending itself into the deepest red rather then collecting these debts.

I’m actually kind of scared of the school closing. If this school closes a lot of these kids have no where to go, and I mean they are orphans with no homes. Not to mention that if they are forced to go to public schools they may as well drop out. Public school here is less then a joke.

Junior, the eight year old we pulled out of public school to put here, he couldn’t even read SWAHILI at a first grade level. I can read as much Swahili as him.

Please keep donating guys. Please ask everyone you know to donate. Please ask your family, your friends, your parents, your churches, your temples, your schools, your teachers, your cousins, your grandparents, your anyone to donate.

All my pendo (love) is back home.
I ache to see you all back at home.
Aliya

Why did the Chicken get onto the Matatu? To Sit in the Mzungu's Lap!

2010-05-31T11:02:00.000-05:00

Jambo rafaiki! Habari yako? (Hey readers. How are you?)

I am going to learn Swahili if it kills me.

Anyway I figured I’d update you guys on a few stories that have happened lately.

So here in Kenya the rules of the road aren’t so much rules as polite suggestions like “wouldn’t it be nice if we all drove on the same side of the road?” You can guess that walking the streets can be a little dangerous. One should always be checking their six if you catch my drift. (for those of you don’t it means look behind you). I learned this lesson personally on Saturday.

Well walking down the street in the city Narok I met this guy Jay who also happens to be a counselor. We were walking along a road discussing the best way to teach kids safe sex when suddenly I heard a scream and felt myself being pulled through the air. I looked to my right to see a truck, yes a TRUCK, missing me by so close that the mirror hit my ar- and left a quite nasty scratch. Luckily Jay had pulled me out of the way right in time essentially saving my life.

Now here is the funny part of the story. The driver stopped the truck to ask if I was all right and apologized profusely. Then got back in his car and drove away. About 15 minutes later he drove past again, this time at a safe distance, and honked at us and waived asking how my arm was and told us to have a nice day. This is a wonderful metaphor for Kenyan culture; as soon as someone says sorry the issue is completely over. No grudges, no need to fight, no need to argue just move on with your life. This is why many issues are settled out of court. The people here see no reason to allow their lives to be infected by anger.

And here is another great metaphor for the culture.

On a matatu yesterday, meaning the small overcrowded insane buses, well getting onto the bus a man asked me if I would mind holding something. I agreed thinking at worst it would be a small child or a package as I have ridden the buses with both of these things on my lap. Little did I know that what he was going to hand me was not a briefcase or an infant but three, YES THREE, chickens tied together. Live chickens. Now I don’t know if you’ve ever held a live chicken, let alone three, but they are loud smelly creatures. I have also decided they have quite an insidious look to them- as if they are ready to attack at a moments notice. Luckily I was able to put the chickens on the floor where one of the chickens snuggled up to my foot.

The metaphor here being….only white girls are afraid of chickens here.

Just kidding. The insight this provides is that here in Kenya that people here think of favors as something anyone will do for anyone. Why shouldn’t we all be kind to eachother? Because if I’d wanted to I could have jumped of the matatu with his chickens and made quite a bundle, and yet this man trusted me with what was most likely his only livelihood.

Oh here is another story. On a different matatu a different chicken laid an egg. Literally. A woman got on with four chickens and when she got off we found a warm egg on the ground.

There is no metaphor here. That’s just weird.

Other metaphorless but funny tidbits are-

I am now the most popular girl here in Mulot as I rapped the first verse of gin and juice. Thank God for that cover.

One of the Form One boys, so what we would call a freshman in highschool, has fallen madly in love with Liz- a friend of mine I think most of you have met, because he saw her through skype.

And

Two prostitutes asked me to buy them beer because I am white. Those were their exact words.

In other news…WE MADE OUR GOAL TO KEEP FELISTER IN SCHOOL! That makes me so happy I can’t breathe. I was terrified of failing this girl. I am so scared of failing here.

Luckily on parents day someone told me that I wouldn’t be able to get the girls into the US- thus guaranteeing that I will risk life and limb to get this girls in just to prove that man wrong.

Otherwise it’s mostly quiet here, which is kind of bad because it gives me more time to miss home.

Yesterday a friend of mine named Dennis asked me if I missed Chicago and I burst into tears. FYI girls crying freaks out Kenyan guys as much as it does American guys.

Don’t get me wrong I’m still busy but only physically busy. It doesn’t take a lot of brain power to fetch water, wash your clothes by hand, boil the water to clean it, walk a kilometer to buy some milk etc. All of these things are pretty simple so I can drift off to home a lot.

That is until I fall into the slick mud or am carrying the water back to my room. When I am carrying the water all I can think about is how much the water weighs and how much I love whoever invented thick plastic handles for buckets- as opposed to thin wire ones that cut into your skin.

Anyway I am rambling. So I will sign off and write a better blog later.

Love/Miss/ Can’t wait to see you/ Wish you were here.
Pendo Pendo Pendo! (Love Love Love)

Aliya

Minds Kindled by Oppurtunity

2010-05-25T04:22:00.000-05:00

Hey everybody,

So I realized today that I hadn’t really written about the kids here. So let me tell you…

They are fucking awe inspiring.

Now when I use the word “awe” I mean it in the grandest sense of the term. These kids can literally bring me to tears on a daily basis. Not just because they need so much but because they ask for so little and try so hard.

They are so filled with determination and bravery but they never realize it because they have never thought about being any other way.

I mean think about it, what does it mean that I have been approached by four girls who want to come study in the US? They aren’t trying to go to the US so they can access cell phones or go to concerts or have any of things we, or at least I, desired so much at their age. They are going because they are desperate for education. I don’t know about you guys but I think that’s beautiful.

And they are so freaking smart. Here is an example-

Last Saturday a 13 year old named Lorraine, who had never seen a computer or an ipod before I came, was sitting in my office with me just chatting. I was reading some e-mail so I looked away from her for what could not be any longer then five minutes. When I looked up to say something to her I discovered that not only had she opened my kindle and figured out how to work it but she was deeply engrossed in the book “I, Lucifer”.

Now think about this. A girl who was exposed to this kind of technology a mere 3 weeks ago was able to figure out a piece of technology that confused most people at Stevenson. That’s amazing. Not to mention that about two hours later she was 20% through the book and had figured out how to use the dictionary on it with zero help from me.

And she isn’t the only one. Two other kids are engrossed in books on the kindle and showing everyone how to use it.

And that kind of sweetness and want to help others is seen everywhere, here is another example.

Davin and Junior took their placement exams into the school today, which has been a mix of joy and sorrow for me here, to see what grades they should be placed in.

Davin should be in the 5th grade and Junior in 1st according to their ages and these were the grades they were in when they left public school.

Neither of them could finish their tests.

Now this is clearly because of the public education out here but it was still soul crushing to look at Davin’s highest score of 30% on her Swahili test.

Junior couldn’t even read the Swahili test.

By the way they are both perfectly fluent in Swahili and speak it at home, rather then their mother tongue.

That is how bad public school here is. The kids in it don’t even have a chance. Thus the mix of sorrow and joy. Sorrow at the state of education in the country and how close these kids were to living in abject poverty for the rest of their lives but overpowering joy at the idea that they now had a real chance.

And where is the sweetness you ask?

Davin tried to take Junior’s Swahili test for him. Try to tell me that an older sister struggling with her own tests taking her brother’s test for him because of his pain and embarrassment isn’t beyond sweet- it’s the picture of raw love.

But back to the kids reading these books- you can’t imagine how amazing it is to watch them read.

The students here have never been exposed to literature besides what is in their texts book or anything with religious overtones, so for them the books I have are mind blowing. They never realized that there was a world out there.

I don’t know if you’ve ever watched someone expand their mind to understand a world outside of something as small as a catholic mission but it makes shitting over a hole kind of worth it.

Or totally worth it.

I can’t wait to see you all again. Don’t ever think for a minute I don’t achingly miss you all the time.

Love,
Aliya

Manifest Destiny

2010-05-24T03:44:00.001-05:00

Hey guys sorry I haven’t updated in awhile.

It’s just been hard to get time lately.

It’s also been hard just to make myself write because sometimes I’m scared of what will come out.

Because I’m angry. Angrier then I have ever been in my life.

I get frustrated whenever people in the US tell me they don’t have money to donate to help these kids and I think about how much I spent with one of you in one weekend and it makes me want to scream. I have to constantly remind myself that my friends are students and really don’t have a lot to share and remind myself that most people don’t really have an inclination to give up their drug money to help far away kids.

But it’s hard for me to listen to people say they have no money well I sleep on a pile of clothes and watch people, children, literally wither away in front of me from lack of nutrition, shelter, clothing, and hope for a future.

But anyway. I do have a good story.

On Saturday Mama and Abba (father) Michelle and I went to Bomet to get the cash to enroll the kids in school.

After buying the things they needed for school such as mattresses, shoes etc. we made our way to Bomet as it is the city nearest Mulot that has a bank. We hoped onto a “Matumba” or small bus meant to hold 14 people but was packed with about 23. The ride wasn’t terrible until he last 20 minutes when someone got on with a live chicken.

FYI chickens are loud, smelly, obnoxious creatures.

Once of our bus/mobile petting zoo we walked to a restaurant where we waited about 2 hours for some mutton and “oogali”, the boiled flour food, which would have been obnoxious if it wasn’t for Abba Michelle buying me Guinness after Guinness. Before you freak about me drinking in a foreign country let me tell you that Abba Michelle is a paramilitary police officer so I was feeling pretty safe.

So incase you are wondering what it is like to eat in a Kenyan restaurant I’ll say a couple things. First they bring you a basin and a pitcher of warm water to clean your hands with. After the waiter has washed all your hands he brings the food over on one giant plate and then one small plate with napkins on it. No utensils and no personal plates. People tend to be completely silent well they eat here. I’m not sure why. Also they tend to have a glass of water after dinner but never with. Ah well. Anyway when you have eaten everything on the plate and then some, and believe me you will not be allowed to leave the restaurant until you have eaten everything, they wash your hands again and bring you toothpicks and the check in a glass. They also sell cigarettes.

SO after that we had to walk to two banks because the first one wouldn’t accept my card, which of course caused Mama Michelle to panic that the money wasn’t there. She was practically hyperventilating with panic by the time we reached the second bank.

Mama and Abba stayed back well I pulled the money out because in Kenya it’s rude to stand near someone well they pull money out, but it was clear they wanted to be near the ATM.

So I put my card in and out came Ksh 20,000.

If your wondering what it feels like to hold that much money, even in shillings, in your hand I can tell you- it feels like tangible hope.

So I walked over to the parents waiting with baited breath and upon being handed the money Mama Michelle burst into something beyond sobs. Of course she refused to be held because she was too busy crushing me in an embrace. Small women, big hugs.

Abba Michelle couldn’t display as much emotion in public being a man but could offer me a handshake so vigorous I thought my shoulder might dislocate.

We made our way back to the main street and jumped onto a moving bus. And I mean that literally, the buses here don’t stop they slow down enough for you to be able to jog next to it and jump on.

As I sat on this overcrowded bus, and when I say overcrowded I mean it- I actually had to have a little girl sit in my lap because there weren’t enough seats, I felt something in myself connect.

I realized I had begun the rest of my life. I will never again have a choice in how I spend my time and energy because it is going to be doing this.

There is no going back now boys and girls. I have officially blessed my life/ fucked myself over.

Love and Miss and Demand money from all of you,
Aliya

The Next Possibility

2010-05-20T06:46:00.000-05:00

Hello lovers!

So Kenya is providing me with so many weird stories that I don’t know where to start.

For example last night I met an Irish priest named Father Jack who is violently anti-religion, and at one point said-and I quote- “Jesus just got a little over excited” when I asked about Jesus destroying vendor stalls in Jerusalem.

I was also baptized with beer last night, but that’s another story.

In real news Mama Michelle will be bringing her nephew here by Tuesday and he will be in school by next week as will Davin.

For those of you who are out of the loop Davin and Junior, Junior is the boy (who named these kids?), are two orphans that Mama Michelle has been trying to get in school here for years but didn’t have the money to. So thank you to all who are helping get these kids, I wish I could explain how astronomically changed these kids lives have changed for the better.

But no more need to talk about past victories time for present problems. Such as my need to find a sponsor for a senior here to go to Narok college or my search for funding for a school for HIV orphans. Any ideas? If yes please tell me.

My father has started a website smallplanetbigplans.com that should have a paypal account so everyone who felt moved to help could donate money.

It’s amazing how little money can go so far here. Yesterday a girl came to my office hysterical about not being able to afford a sweater for her school uniform. The cost you ask? 100 keyan shillings. That’s about a $1.70 so your aware.
It’s hard sometimes to stop myself from just giving money away. Really hard.

Particularly because I feel like such a pseudo-mommy here. I thought it would take awhile for the kids to warm up to me and talk about real issues, but it was like the second someone said guidance and counseling the flood gates opened. I feel like these kids don’t get asked how they think or feel ever and so the idea that there was someone who’s specific purpose was to just listen to them was mind-blowing. A kind of intimacy that is unfamiliar on both sides has been created and become strong enough that kids come to me not just when they are upset but to share things about a good day or when they don’t feel well or they just want to sit.

It’s a strange feeling to be so needed and wanted by so many. It makes me terrified of failure. And when I say terrified I mean keeps me up at night scared. I would face a million armed muggers if it meant I wouldn’t fail these kids.

Also could people send old books? The kids are literature deprived and I want to start a small library.

So my office just filled with kids cause it’s porridge time so I need to sign off.

Love love love love love you
Aliya

The African Swing

2010-05-18T03:04:00.000-05:00

Hey guys.

I feel like I don’t have the ability to write in any sort of way that would explain how I feel right now.

I just don’t have the capacity to explain the profound impact Kenya is having on me.

It’s like at some points I’m so high on helping I can’t ever imagine leaving.

And at some points I’m so content with the life here I think I might just get married in the church and live on the mission

And then at other points I’m so overwhelmed and depressed I can barley speak.

Kenya is exhausting me and my supply of cigarettes.

I don’t know how to explain it.

Sometimes it’s worth shitting in a hole and not having a shower to be able to send a kid to school and change their life in ways unimaginable.

And other times I feel so achingly alone that I would kill a kid if it meant I could go home right now.

And all the time I want chicken nuggets.

It’s really hard here guys I’m not gonna lie. Day after day it’s someone needs money to go to college or someone needs money to get to the US or this girl needs help out off an arranged marriage.

And I feel like there are so few I can turn to support to here.
Don’t get me wrong I’m very well loved but…well let’s just say I have a whole new respect for Eminem.

There is a profound difference between me and these people and that is that in 6 months I go home on a business class flight and get to take showers and have electricity and go to college and in six months they will still be here. In Africa. Unless I do something about it.

And sometimes that knowledge creeps into everyone’s mind at the same time and I can feel a small part of them hate me.

Of course other times people just want to touch me. Strangers here have actually stopped me on the street to thank me for coming to Kenya. People think I’m slightly insane for giving up everything I had in the US to some here but they are glad I came.

It’s just hard to deal with this pendulum.

And man I am so sick of being stared at. Particularly by the African high school girls and the girls in there 20s. There is some mad hatred going on there.

I’m just a bit down today. But really it’s more like right now as I will probably be high again in an hour.

I love you. I miss you. I wish you would all come here and give me a hug.

Love,
Aliya

P.S. I’ve started to have dreams about showering and chocolate.
P.P.S. My J.Lo song just finished downloading so I’m high again

So, You Want to Take a Shower?

2010-05-16T04:08:00.001-05:00

Hey guys I know it’s been awhile and I’m sorry I’ve just been busy and electricity here is iffy so I’m afraid everyone will have to adapt.

Anyway here is Kenya the phrase “running water” is what we in the USA know as “a lie” so I thought I would tell you how to take a shower.

First heat a bucket of water you got from the nearby water source. Try to make sure it is filtered and clean but you can’t be too picky. Now there are two ways you can heat the water. Either use your nearby gas burner that you also use to heat your food and heat it one bowl at a time and use lukewarm water or tempt electrocution and stick an electric heater into your water and let it heat for, say, 20 minutes.

So during this time go have a smoke and read a bible verse or something. Don’t worry about time, your in a LDC you have nothing but time. You might as well change into your PJs now though. This will be explained later. Also gather your soap.

Ok so now you have heated the water. It’s time to move a bit quicker. Take your water, soap, towel, a wash clothe, and walk across the place you are living and go to the “bathrooms”.

Ok so now get naked. Try to hang your clothes and your towel somewhere you can keep it dry, but again you don’t have a chance to be super picky. Try for the least damp place.

Dip your wash clothe into the water. I hope that you heated the water to near boiling, that way it will stay warmer longer.

Use the clothe to moisten your skin. Then dip the wash clothe in the water and wring it out over your head to get your hair wet. The point right now is to use as little water as possible so you can save it for later.

Allright so now you can shampoo your hair and brush it well it is wet to get the tangles out. Do not be alarmed to find sticks or bugs in your hair. That’s just from when you tumbled down the mountain or from when you tripped running away from some crazy dogs.

Ok so now you have two choices. Either wring out the clothe over your head again to get rid of the shampoo or, if you are feeling lucky, try to pour a bit over your head. I usually wring it out.

Now you can condition your hair. You want to leave the conditioner in as long as possible because by now it has the texture of straw.

Also rub yourself with soap now. DO NOT PUT IT ON THE WASH CLOTHE! If you do the next time you dunk the clothe it will get the rest of the water soapy and you won’t have clean water to rinse yourself with.

Also if you are still choosing to go ahead and shave your legs right now. Why not? Might as well.

Make sure you have all the tangles out of your hair.

Ok now here is the best part- pour some of the water over yourself. It will feel wonderfully like a shower. Don’t make the rookie mistake of doing it all at once though. You might want to pour it over yourself a few times.

Now use your semi-damp towel to dry yourself off and get dressed. Wring your hair out and then put in a towel. You do not want wet hair around here, particularly at night.
Now you can put all your things into your empty bucket and carry them back to your room. Then take of your clothes and put on lotion because your skin is probably drying out. Enjoy the short time you had naked.

Obviously you can change your routine for what works for you, but this seems to be the best.

God I miss home.
Love,
Aliya

Quite a Ride

2010-05-12T00:59:00.001-05:00

So I was thinking that in this blog rather then talking about the HIV orphans I’ve met, the clothes the children wear here that are literally tattered or just the aching poverty that shames me- I would talk about almost shitting myself in public.

On Saturday I went to the Mulot Market here with Madame Grace, you might have seen a few of the photos. The walk started out nice, the weather was good, I was able to take photos and people were literally staring at me mouth agape.

Interesting fact before I continue, if you are a white Jewish girl with a digital camera in a poor African country people will actually stop what they are doing to stare at you. A few brave ones might even call out “Mzungu” which is the Swahili word for foreigner.

Anyway there I was feeling fine until suddenly the fact hit me like a ton of bricks- I was going to shit myself. Not only that but I was also going to vomit all over myself.

My only guess is that I got a bug from a piece of fruit I didn’t peel all the way or from brushing my teeth with the water too soon but either way I was pretty sure I was going to die as I couldn’t even stand up.

After I told Madame Grace and Madame Patricia about my imminent death they decided the best course of action would be to leave me alone sitting by myself in some shade in the market well they went to get some money. You can only imagine my joy.
As I sat there I knew that I could not under any circumstances get ill in front of these people or for the next six months I would be the white girl who threw up. So I sat there smoked cigarettes and literally smiled until it hurt.

So when Madame Patricia returned and announced we would take a taxi back I could practically feel the relief that would come. Until I saw the taxi.

It was a motorcycle. For the three of us.

Now I don’t know if you have ever ridden on the back of a motor cycle with three other people well ever liquid in your body is trying to escape but let me say it is not a pleasant experience. I would actually say it is quite painful and terrifying particularly because here you are not supposed to hold onto the person in front of you.

So there I was holding onto to dear life by squeezing my legs together hoping trying not to soil myself well riding through the countryside of Kenya.

How is this my real life?

Anyway of course when I returned I ran to the nearest bathroom but I had to wait another hour before I could get to some drugs to stop the pain.

I guess that’s Africa for you.

On the other hand last night I got drunk with two priests so I suppose everything evens itself out.

Love and Miss and Wish you were here all,
Aliya.

Mission on the Mission.

2010-05-09T03:27:00.000-05:00

Ok guys so the reason I am posting two blogs in one day is that sometimes I write one on word and can’t post it for awhile. Just so you know.

God there are a million heartbreaking stories here. It is a seriously painful expierence at moments watching these children work towards such an unknown future. Sure, when we were in high school we didn’t know for sure what school we would end up but it was sort of common knowledge that we would go to college get a job and lead a genuinely comfortable life. Here the kids aren’t even sure if they can get to a high school. There certain future if they cannot continue to pay fo rhte very expensive private education, which onlthat we would go to college get a job and lead a genuinely comfortable life. Here the kids aren’t even sure if they can get to a high school. There certain future if they cannot continue to pay for private education, which only gets more expensive as they get older, is really to end up in a village living a life without the amenities we think are the bare minimum. God I wish I could help them all.

There are two girls here who want me to get them to US highschools but I’m just not sure how to do that. One maybe, MAYBE, but two? How the fuck can I do that?

It’s so hard because everybody here is so kind and giving but also seem to want something from me. They want me to get them to the US or scholarship or just a way to get clean water.

I just wanted to build greenhouses.

I am so overwhelmed. I am sure othe only possible ending here is my absolute failure and let down, particularly of the girls who want to get to the US.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE IF YOU KNOW PEOPLE WHO CAN SPONSOR KIDS TO GET TO THE US OR CAN SEND MONEY TO CHILDREN HERE SO THEY CAN SCHOLARSHIP INTO PRIVATE HIGHSCHOOL PLEASE TELL ME.

God I wish I could get even a moment alone to think to myself. I already feel stretched so thin. I don’t know what to do as my next move.

I love you all and miss you so much. I can’t wait to come home and see you.

Aliya

Challenge

2010-05-09T03:25:00.001-05:00

So guys I am feeling much better both mentally and physically, so no worries.

Anyway, all of you know me as a pretty unreligious and at times anti-religious person, but Kenya has changed me.

I challenge anyone to come here and not love God.

Although by no means have I converted to Christianity I have realized it’s beauty. In the U.S. I think we are often taught that the missionaries that came to Africa were bad and forced an unwanted religion on an unwilling people but if someone actually looks at this place you realize that the people here love the church, not just God or Christ, but the church. It is common knowledge here that there is no way they would have the things they have if not for the church coming here.

Last night I met Bishop Davis Colins one of the ORIGINAL missionaries to come here to Africa. It takes mere minutes to realize that he came here not on a mission of bringing religion to Africa but on a mission of people. The only difference between me or this bishop is a church sent him here well I came with the NGO.

And if you could see the joy the church brings here. It has centered the community and made it a strong and loving place, the feelings of familiarity here can only be rivaled by those among small groups of young women. People love to gather there and sing and dance and just be.

Oh and the dancing you guys! I’m going to see if I can get a video of it so you can truly see the joy on these children’s faces and the peace it brings the adults. It is simply amazing, but it is more then that. It is awe-inspiring to realize that a mere 50 years ago this would not have been possible and yet here I am today dancing with the kids, watching them bring water, seeing children who would have died before have the chance at a real education.

It is enough to move me to tears, but more then that is enough to bring me to my knees and thank whatever power you tell me to because this is the truest and most pure beauty I will ever experience.

This is worth shitting over a hole for 6 months. For years. Forever. I can only hope that everyone I love can one day experience the ecstasy that I feel here.

On a different note all the girls here have mentioned to me that they want to get to the US and I am beyond determined to help them. I’m just not sure how. If anyone has any ideas on how I could get in contact with boarding highschools or colleges to get this kids to the west PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE send them to me. Either comment or send me an e-mail at aliyadegrazia@yahoo.com.

Also money is still needed and because I am trying to build greenhouses here I need supplies so if anyone wanted to give my parents money or send it to me directly it would be beyond appreciated.

ALSO COULD EVERYONE PLEASE GET A SKYPE?

I miss your faces.

I miss everyone and love you all so so much

Love,
Aliya

SIck as a dog

2010-05-07T04:37:00.000-05:00

Dirty has reached a whole new level here. If I ever here anyone bitch about a public rest room again I will slap them.

I was told by the NGO that the mission would have running water. Apparently not. Father Patrick has promised many times that the water will be running in a few hours, but I have seen now progress. Until then it’s all about a hole in the ground and brought over river water. I want to upload pictures of the “bathrooms” but I think the images might be too graphic. Even if that water gets up and running we still have to take basin shower¬s, essentially meaning splash some water on yourself, rub yourself with some soap and then ¬¬e remaining water over your head.

On the plus side I have a toothbrush so I guess I’m doing pretty well.

You’ll have to excuse my unhappy tone but I feel like I’m dying right now due to a mix of altitude sickness, adapting to the water and general wanting to go home.

There have been some great times here though and some times those in the moment was terrible but are already funny.¬¬

And example being how I immediately got my period upon arrival here and accidently peed with my tampon in and being not quite ready to use the bathrooms pulled it out and threw it into a bush.

Also Madame Grace won’t let me leave a table without finishing everything on my plate and me having to literally hide some in a napkin to throw into the garden.

Also the kids have been great now that I’ve finally met them. They always want to touch me or pull at me, particularly my hair. Yesterday about 6 girls braided my hair well the boys figured out my phone could take pictures and ran around the church snapping photos. The kids all tried to teach me the church dances and afterwards I tried to teach them the cupid shuffle but my ipod was too much of amazement for them to keep it on one song. Kenyan kids, by the way, LOVE Sean Paul. So that was cute.

All the kids are asking me if they can get scholarships to get to America, I’m overwhelmed with a want to help them all.

That can be the problem here everybody wants something from you or needs something from you or just generally wants to be in your space and stare at you and touch your things. Sometimes it makes me want to scream. Just like any more tea or oongali will make me scream.

Oh yeah food? Here it is.

Peanut butter sandwiches
Carrots and lettuce.
Oongali. If you would like to try some oongali go home, boil some water and mix flour until it is a paste. Then stir it and fold it until it is a ball with the consistency of a brick. CONGRATULATIONS you know have a Kenyan lunch and dinner.

Also I went to church this morning. It probably would have gone better if I hadn’t accidently sat in the choir section and even a fraction of it had been in English. I crossed myself backwards.

I have no idea what I am doing out here.

Love you and miss you and love you and want to come home and see you all,
Aliya

Kenya Motherfucking Believe It?

2010-05-05T13:55:00.002-05:00

Well guys here we are. Finally in Kenya. Just barely though.

The cab driver dropped me off at Hitler's Beige Maze (heathrow) but sadly at the wrong teminal. So of course I had to run dragging my 70 lbs of luggage only to get to my gate and find that my plane was late. A half hour to be exact. Could someone tell me how the fuck a plane can leave late at 6 am? What are there just too many pople trying to leave London at six in the morning?

Anyway that of course made me late for my flight to nairobi as after walking a 1/4 mile to get to the SECOND (wtf?) security check I had to take a train and walk another mile to get to my flight where i practically had to jump onto the moving vehicle. But whatever I made it.

Once in Nairobi I got to stay in my super deluxe room where for some reason the shower wouldn't stop runnning.

Nairobi is kind of everything you expect an african city to be but with more people in winter coats. Why? Well because it's only 70 degrees out. duh. Any story about Nairobi is tedious, allI can really say is that driving in it gave me a series of heart attacks. The rules of the road here are more like suggestions like "wouldn't it be nice if all drove on the right side of the road?" or "hey guys how about going less then 110mph?" In order to avoid death by shock I slept mostly through the journey. But when I woke up...I was in Africa.

It is so green here I can't imagine the gardenof eden being any differant. Lush, fresh, alive, whatever word you choose won't even come near describing this beauty. And no word you know can truly describe the poverty seen here. I only thought I knew what sad looked like until I reached mulot market. The people there looked beyond starving, the donkey's are more well fed. Except for the woman who offered me a dead chicken...she looked ok.

Before you read any further please go kiss the nearest paved road because you have no idea what a blessing that is. Even in just the five minute ride from mulot to the mission I felt ill.

The mission is beautiful and full of kids. They have something like 400? Alot of the kids don't accutalltypay to go to school but they are so bright that Father patrick makes ends meet.

The kids are shy but sweet. When I went to shake one girls hand next thing I knew I had 25 girls all grabbing at my arms screaming "HI" so I guess I'm welcome here.

I wish I had words to desribe the beauty but they don't exist.

But I do have words to describe the need for money here. WE NEED MORE MONEY. THE MISSION IS RUNNING LOW, WE DON'T HAVE ENOUGH CLASSROOMS AND WE NEED A GRRENHOUSE. Please send some.

I love loveity love you all and can't wait to come home.
Aliya

Instincts.

2010-05-03T04:31:00.002-05:00

Hey guys

So by now most of you heard the story of my near disaster a few nights ago but if not here is a breif synopsis.

I accidently got off at the wrong tube stop around 11:30 and after wandering around for a bit I found two nice looking british boys and asked them where the nearest station was. They told me that that was where they were going and we could walk together so quite trustingly I followed them. After about 10 minutes into the walk I noticed the guys arguing with eachother quietly and flipping a coin. This was not a good sign. I finally asked them, as they were about to turn down an alley, where the stop was and they informed me it was too late and the tubes had closed and my only choice was to stay at their flat. CLEARLY not ok. After the the one that seemed to be about to be belligerantly drunk eyed me like a piece of meat I agreed to stay with them but I had to call my cousin first. SO after they turned around I literally ran away and high tailed it out of there. This time I wasx smart enough to ask couples where things were but by the time I got to the tubes they were closed. So fuck me.

So I figured I would catch a cab but this is much harder then you'd think here as the cabs here are more difficult to distinguish from the regular cars and apparently there is an epidemic of people posing as cabs and robbing and assulting people, so after another five minutes and what was the begining of a full blown terror attack I asked people to help me get a cab, which they very nicely did, and ended up home safe.

Wierdly I am proud of my new found ability to trust my instincts in these situations because many of you know that just a year ago I probably would have just followed the boys home.

It feels strange to be proud of myself to be mature enough to get myself out of what was clearly a sketchy situation but I do and it has made me more confident in my abilities to keep myself safe in Kenya.

I think though that alot of people, girl in particular, have to reach this stage in life. For some reason trusting out insitincts is something we are told not to do well we grow up- you know don't judge a book by it's cover, judgement bad etc.- and we have to have a few nasty expierences to learn how to keep ourselves out of trouble. have been pondering this for awhile.

In other news I have seriously decided to move to London. I love this city and have loved most of the people and never ever want to leave, but we will have to see how that goes.

Love love
Aliya

Oh me? I'm just in London with some beautiful men.

2010-05-01T04:06:00.000-05:00

There is nothing quite like being in another country to make you want to call anyone who has ever been mean to you and say “oh me? I’m just in Europe having some drinks and dancing with beautiful men”

I have decided I could quite happily live in London and embrace a life of self-indulgence here. Fuck Africa.

Well of course I am kidding and will most defiantly go to Kenya and follow through with that plan I am honestly thinking that I would like to move here and thus all of you should come over.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m in foreign city or because I am leaving or because I am striking out on my own but I find myself completely uninhibited, pause here to question what my inhibitions possibly could have been at home, but in a way it has made me much kinder. It’s like at home everyone had this idea that I would kick their ass, which I would, and I acted accordingly but here everyone assumes I’m just as sweet as the American girls on TV and so I get to be that way.

That is probably why this Iranian guy here on, whatsit Amnesty? Jesus I am so tired I can’t remember a thing. Anyway he wrote me a poem last night at the Latin club we were at.

I had some deeper profound meaning I was trying to get across here but fuck it I’m going to bed.

Love Love Love and kisses
Aliya.

PS don’t think I don’t miss home, I cried yesterday well buying a pair of pants because I miss you all so much.

The loss of Music

2010-04-29T14:57:00.000-05:00

OK guys so I am still in London and will not leave until Tuesday so we can stop playing a live “Where’s Waldo”

So can I just say I love London, because I really do.

Besides all the amazing historical things there are here, you know the tower the bridge ect, there are some randomn but equally fascinating places to go here. For example today when I was getting the feeling that I was hopelessly lost I cam across “The Clink” which is apparently englands oldest prison and is also the reason we know jails as clinks nowadays. So I spent an afternoon looking at thumbscrews, what a great city.

But besides that the people here are just so polite it borders on mania, particularly if your being hit on which is a nice break from “hey baby” or the infamous “juicy”. In fact one of the last guys to hit on me gave be 3 pounds of my leg of lamb.

It has been ,onlier then I thought it would be though. It’s hard to travel alone. I know that I’m extremely lucky to be in London and to be traveling but it’s hard to be alone all the time when I’m used to constantly being surrounded by the people I love. I particularly miss texting. Even though I have a phone that can text the times are so off that it’s hard to reach anyone that has a real life, which is all of you, and leaves me the most alone I’ve ever been.

Luckily I have my ipod to be my friend and create a soundtrack for my travels, but even that feels slightly off. Almost none of my music has the right feel for what I’m going through right now. Except Tom Petty, because he is after all the only man who will ever understand. It’s strange, it’s as if this music I used to be so connected to has become like old photos or yearbooks, something I hold very dear but is no longer very….current? I’m not sure. It just gives me the feeling that a chapter of my life is ending and a new completely empty one is looming over me.

It’s like I’m listening to the old me fade away and am emptying myself. It’s just strange because there is no immediate filler.

The possibilities are beyond endless, they are practically paralyzing. Sometimes I’m so scared and awestruck and excited and just filled with an ecstasy that I get to feel this and suddenly relish in my ability to live. Or I cry.

Anyway hugs and kisses my darlings I love and miss you all more then you can imagine

Love Aliya

On the ground

2010-04-28T00:38:00.000-05:00

Yes, I know it's been forever since I updated.

Ok guys so I am currently typing this on word and hoping to actually put it up on the blog later so forgive me if the chronological order is off.

I finally, after 12 hours that lasted forever, landed in London today. After managing to somehow survive Heathrow, or as I affectionately call it Hitler’s beige maze of doom, I discovered that for the first time in history the weather in London is better then the weather back home. So if you are looking to get to London now is the time.

As much as I love London I already miss everyone and everything back home terribly. The thought of not seeing anyone’s happy smiling faces for 6 months is actually enough to cripple me with sadness- which is why I was the strange crying girl on the plane. Thank god my friend Evan burned me “Gone With the Wind” or I would have spent the entire flight a complete wreck. Luckily Ms. Katie Scarlett can always keep me together.

It feels strange to be so disconnected from my home as I begin this journey. I feel a profound emptiness at the thought of my world of 19 years continuing without me, but in a way it is also incredibly freeing. It’s as if fore the first time I am wholly myself and nothing else, there is no one and nothing causing me to be connected to the world and in that way I completely own myself. It’s a strange sense of independence I imagine everyone at one point feels. As if you are floating in nothing with your feet firmly planted in your mind. It’s a strange exhilaration to have nothing but yourself to hold onto at the moment because you know every decision is yours, every word is yours, every thought is yours and yours alone as nothing from your home can dilute it. It’s terrifying but it is also wonderful. I wonder if those of you who left me to my foul job at Macy’s and Starbucks, cough Alison and Jamie cough, feel that same way or if it requires a complete disconnect from your world.

It’s strange to know you are alone without even the comfort of the internet to connect you back home. It leaves an emptiness that has suddenly filled me with possibility. I am beyond exhilarated. I am on a plane that is completely me and me alone. It is so much more beautiful and profound and terrifying and glorious and awe-inspiring that I can explain. Like being your own thunderstorm.

Don’t get me wrong though. I do love and miss you all already and I will hold my plane notes and my book so dear.

Stay out of trouble my loves for I will need you all in one piece when I return.

Love always always always and a million times over,
Aliya.

Communication

2010-03-21T15:10:00.002-06:00

Allright guys so we are down to 43 days until I am on the ground in Kenya. So i've started thinking about how i'm going to connect to the kids (please feel free to comment ideas) and how I'm going to teach them. I feel like I won't have a problem connectin gto the msichana (swahili) but I wonder how I can get them to respect me.

I'm terrified for the child who is going to ask why do I need to learn this? Particularly if we ever discuss books thematicaly. Because honestly how often do we need to disect writing in our everyday life? How do I teach it as a practical skill?

The truth is being able to dissect writing is probably one of the most important and practical things we can learn as at it's core is communication- and what could possibly matter more? How do I explain to thwem that by learning whatever it is I'm trying to teach they make a connection to a world outside themselves and learn how to use the most powerful tool ever invented. Language.

I can barly stand the responsibility that will be placed on me as someone who holds the power of language. It creates everything; without we have no emotions, no relationships, no reality. It would be impossible for us to function as a species the way we do if it were not for language, and I am expected to pass that on somehow? How can anyone be in charge of something so awesome?

Jesus I'm terrified.

54 more days boys and girls.

1 Pair of Underwear?

2010-03-10T15:29:00.002-06:00

Ok guys so since I will be in Kenya in exactly 54 days it is time I went shopping. Thus far I have bout $90 worth of wool socks, which buys less then you'd think, and one seemingly amazing pair of underwear. Their add is....

EXOFFICIO 17 countries. 6 weeks. One pair of underwear. (ok, maybe two.)

hmm. The claim is that this underwear is that 1 can wear 1 pair for a week at a time but still be frsh and clean because this underwear kills bacteria and wicks away moisture. It is also treated with insectshield to repel bugs for 70 washings, is lightweight, wicks moisture, protects from UVA and UVB rays, is water reistant, odor resistant,Stain resistant, Wrinkle resistant and quick drying. It is also supposed to dry in 2 hours without a dryer. hm.

If all this is true this underwear is a godsend as packing lightly is very important for any trip (pay attention those of you who want to study abroad).

SO I am going to go workout in these underwear and see if this is really true.

Exofficio also makes other clothing so i might just have found my new fav brand.

Where We Were Born

2010-03-03T23:54:00.002-06:00

Today is exactly 60 days until I hit the ground running in Kenya. And do you know what I just realized?

where the fuck it is that I am going.

I am going to where we as a species stood up for the first time. To the place where fire was invented. To the very first place someone spoke the very first word.

We are the continuation of an unbroken history of evolution that boggles the mind. One forgets how far we've come.

It has only just dawned on me that I will walk where the first steps were ever taken.

I may be overly sentimental at these thoughts but doesn't it make you just want to revel in your ability to walk? To run?

I think about seeing the children in Kenya and I wonder if the know that they live in the dawn of an awesome history. How can I possibly teach them English when I will just want to run my hands through the dirt and cry out

STAND TALL FOR YOU ARE HUMAN.

Because truly is there anything more inspiring than that?

I wish everyone could come with me just to feel this feeling. Maybe it's because I'm historically inclined but it makes me feel taller and stronger to know that there is a physical manifestation of our history and that I will be able to see it. Am I making any sense?

The thought of looking over the rift valley and picturing what we were before, when we were mere whispers possibility makes me want to cry. It makes me feel like the opposite of small. As if I'm, we're, the epitome of history. All of us right now are what the world has worked this billion years towards and I sit in a state of gratitude for this.

I hope everyone can at one point feel strength the way I feel now.

I would just like to say that I love you all for reading this because I respect the opinion of everyone of my friends or acquaintances (particularly David as I've always admired your writing so the fact you read my blog makes me feel like I might not just be rambling here) and I already want all of you to come see me in Kenya.

Be proud boys and girls, for we are man.

On a less sentimental note I really do have to go shopping. I need my gps locator, my steri straw, my crazy geo boots, a whole new conservative wardrobe, and lots and lots of socks.

I'll update more soon.

BTW I found out my village is so small Google earth can't find it.

New Updates for Kenya

2010-03-01T12:07:00.000-06:00

Dear all,
Thanks and nice to hear from you sir.
Yes Kilusu is between Narok and bomet.
Kilusu is small village in mulot.
From Narok to mulot is about 50 km and from Mulot market to Kilusu is
about 2 km.
FROM JOMO KENYATTA AIRPORT WE WILL TRAVEL TO NAIROBI CITY CENTRE THEN
TRAVEL TO NAROKO TOWN THEN TO OLUTUNGA THEN TO NGORENGORE THEN TO
KAPKIMOLWA THEN MULOT THEN KILUSU.THEN ENTER MULOT CATHOLIC CHURCH PARISH.
Then next town after mulot is called LOKISA.

NB:Before we proceed to NAROKO TOWN THEN TO OLUTUNGA THEN TO NGORENGORE
THEN TO KAPKIMOLWA THEN MULOT THEN KILUSU.THEN ENTER MULOT CATHOLIC CHURCH
PARISH.we will first visit catholic diocese of Ngong to meet the
Development officer who is in charge of all the development activities
for the Catholics churches in Ngong and Rift valley province.

Just some randomn facts

What Am I thinking?

2010-02-25T00:01:00.000-06:00

I think the title is self explainatory. my tickets have finally been nailed down and I will be leaving my home of 15 years for as long as 6 months. For a third world country. Holy crap.

Suddenly I'm paniced.

As my dear friend shauna would say OMFG.

I'm really scared. I've never lived on my own and allthough i'll be living with a family I'm really scared of being alone there. What if I can't make friends? Thats the scariest part. I don't want to spend 6 months lonely with no friends.

Also I'm kind of scared I won't live up to the expectation sI have for myself. Like i won't be good at teaching er something.

On the plus side I have a chance to work with this really cool project that interviews women around the world, kind of a girl power connection think. I'm really excited to be a part of that.
Thats the reason I want to do this at all, I think we all need to learn to be connected to everyone. We forget that there is a whole world outside of us and that Africa or Haiti or wherever isn't a place just on TV commercials.

Don't get me wrong sometimes i get so excited to go I can't breathe, but the flight plans just make it so final you know? So definate. I know it will be amazing but it's just so huge. But I feel like if i don't do this now when I don't have any close by friends or a good job or a boyfriend or school I might never do this. I want to earn a story now.

I want everyone to come visit me lol. I'm all ready sad thinking how much i'll miss everyone.

I love anyone who reads this.

Details

2010-02-16T13:09:00.000-06:00

Ok guys so Christopher has sent me my project details

I will be a peer counsler at the Bishop Calin Davies Academy, which is a catholic primary school.

so we'll just see how that goes..

Anyway I'll be staying with a family at the mission in the village kilusu in the division mulot in the south rift province. I'm not quite sure what that means. Is a province like a state?

Also I have been promised water and electricty so it's looking pretty good guys.

Also there is a market and health office where I am encouraged to reach out to other women.

Thats all I have time for now as i have to go to work, and don't particularly feel like writing. I'm restless.

2010-02-11T22:45:00.000-06:00

Howdy Few Followers.

I love you guys.

SO I have an abstract schedule

My last day of work is March 7th then I have all my free time to hang out with everyone over spring break. I will spend the rest of march shopping and getting things ready to leave and spend a week or so with my AUnt Nancy in new Jersey--for which I am very excited.

I will then spend the begining of april crying.
I will then leave mid-April and go London to hang with the family there

and I will be in Kenya May 1st.

Learn Swahili!!!!!!
0-sifuri
1-moja
2-mbila
3-tatu
4-nne
5-tanu
6-sita
7-saba
8-nane
9-tisa
10-kumi

Swahili is Crazy

2010-02-03T20:29:00.000-06:00

Allright.
So.

I am officially going to Kenya. And I am officialy going to be living in the bush.

For those of you who don't know the bush is the part of kenya we associate with the Lion King. I will be living out in Maasai country, Maasai being the indigenous nomadic people of Kenya, and working with a catholic organization to improve social welfare of children and women particularly but of all Maasai people. I will be living with a Maasai family so hopefully they don't need to move well I'm there.

So far to get ready for Kenya I have gotten my Hep A and B shots, Aquired my Malaria and Typhoid pills and an antibiotic called Cipro that is basically a body reboot taht somehow stops DNA from rewinding. My doctor told me not to take it. That makes me slightly nervous.

So here is what I know about Kenya thus far

It's HUGE and mostly dry
They are currently rewriting their constitution
The Maasai mainly live off of a diet of cows blood mixed with milk ( Nutritious and Delicious)
The Maasai male can be circumcised as old as 22
To offer a Maasai Male food is to embarras him
It has the most car accidents in the world (which is weird as most people use public transit)
People cover everything in Doilies
I should wear boots.

I guess I should throw out my heels?

I am also trying to teach myself Swahili and if any one reading this is interested let me tell you that it is harder than you think. The pronunciation is completly alien. Here are a few words

Ndege- Dog
Paka- Cat
Mvula-boy

I know more complex words but i'm not sure how to spell them. The grammar also makes no sense thus far.

I am 18 year old girl going to a border line 3rd worl d country by myself. I have never lived on my own before and the longest I have ever been away from home is 3 weeks.

Please excuse me well I throw up in Terror.

Updates will follow.

I already miss everyone

So I am an 18 year old girl going to a differant continent by myself.