Today as I arrived on campus at American university I searched around my backpack and noticed quite a larger tear. I was suddenly over come with emotion. I know how trivial it may sound to care about a item, especially one as common as a backpack—but for me it’s the end of an era. I don’t remember when I got this backpack, I suspect it’s when I started college. It is lime green and grey and I am sure I admired it’s bright exterior. One thing know for sure is that when I got this backpack I never knew the adventures we’d have together. My backpack has kind of taken a life of its own—my only travel partner and the only thing that has consistently bore witness to other life, my life on the road. I first took it to Ghana in 2006, I remember packing it for my first time really “back packing” a trip to the Volta region. Right after I hit the road with my buddies our tro tro ( local transportation) broke down here is photo evidence. I cradled this backpack in the scorching heat, and we were patient. A few months later I went on 2 ½ week trip to Mali with just me and my back pack. Everyone was shocked that I had packed so light—when we walked through the desert in Dogon country I feel in love with my tiny backpack. This backpack has seen me through hell and high water, literally, high water through the rainy seasons. It has been my pillow, my chair, my head rest, my foot rest. My back pack has been to 17 different countries and 5 continents. It’s seen elephants in Masai Mara, the tops of temples in China, wine country in South Africa, rock hewn churches in Ethiopia, and too many adventures to recount. There are mud stains from South American rainforest, and for some reason always sand from beaches or desserts it cracks.

I guess this is more than just an item to me it has taken on so many roles, it’s a badge of honor, scratched from use. When I was alone and so far from home this backpack was a comforting friend. It is always a reminder of my adventures and close calls it has survived it all. It always did look foreign in America, the item was too worn in this clean cut presence; so maybe it is appropriate that it should fall apart here, I am just hoping I don’t. So I will say goodbye to my longest travel partner, you’ve done well.

I remember sitting underneath my net in the long stretches of the dry seasons and wondering what it would be like to get this point. 6 Months in America.

I still wake up sometimes in the cold confines of an over air-conditioned room and desperately search for my malaria net--my safety blanket. These two worlds feel so entirely different, I always wonder if one was only a dream.

The readjustment back to American life and culture is something often discussed amongst Peace Corps Volunteers and those who live abroad--the tales of tears shed a supermarket or the development of agoraphobia, but everyones experience is different; but yes I did cry at a sight of a mango in a supermarket it looked so out of place in such a cold, clean, space; not in a busy market with a mama selling it. I believe the biggest struggle is the in between time--when your story is " I just got back from the Peace Corps and I am hanging out" the uncertainty is deadly to your confidence, yet I never imagined that having a plan would be difficult as well--it means it is really over. There is no magic time when you should stop grieving the loss of your alternative yet somewhat mythical life--it has to be felt.

I miss my students more than I ever thought possible, yet it is a pain I never expected, a joyful one. One day I furiously wrote down everything I could remember about each of my students in an attempt to save it all, before it slips away and when I broke down in tears when I forgot Jackline's favorite color, I could smile at myself for ever knowing it at all.

Life does move on, and there are so many moments I am filled with so much gratitude for, seeing my grandma turn 90, being there when my niece was born, even the simplest actions such an afternoon with friends and exploring a city make me want to scream with happiness. I started my first full-time job ( albeit a temporary one) and I will be starting school at American University in the fall. I am even planning my first trip out of the country since I have been home to Guatemala to see my family. I realize now the growing importance of family and the wonderful life lesson you receive from looking back.

Six month--the view from here is different than I expected, but it is a bittersweet view.

My foot pounds on the pavement; black and hard it smacks with each step. It's cold and the sky is gray, ice sheets blocks and I run to avoid the slick trap. I can see my breath; something I haven't experienced in more than two years. Houses line the streets, they look so big and so foreign to me, but familiar at the same time. Running, my connection to my old life-- Kenya, my students, Silas its why I run.

It has been about 6 weeks since I have returned to the United States. I braced the snow and all these new challenges I faced: buying a pair of closed toe shoes, remembering how to use a microwave, feeling overwhelmed by all the choices that exists in every store. I felt the need to run, to be outside, to do something that has become so familiar to me in my old life, I wanted to hold onto so closely before it slips away. I decided to run the Monument 10K on April 2nd for my student Silas. My talented student who I tracked down in the village and decided to do anything in my power to get him through school. Hard to believe that was just over one year ago and it seems my heart has fallen to my feet, as a push the pavement with each bound, most of them time with one thing on my mind; the kids I left behind.

I was greeted when I go home from a letter from Silas he writes " I love you so much. My school is the best. I don't ever forget you. You are my teacher always. I love my new teachers and I don't make any mistakes with teachers. I admire you every day. Yours faithfully, Silas."

I am still raising funds for Silas' education. I ask anyone who is interested in sponsoring my run in the Monument 10k, to please contact me at segeryo(at)gmail.com or donate directly to Kenya Education Fund and write Virginia "Ginnie" Seger.

I take to the pavement everyday, warmed by life, and by the little sparks I hoped I lit in my students life.

I wake up everyday at 6, or sometimes 4 A.M. and I wonder where I am. I don't hear birds, or the rooster, and I panic, then I feel blankets and sheets and realized I am not in my bed, house, or old life. I am in this new one--that is neither mine nor is not. It feels as if I pressed pause on this life--but it continued, and I am joining again, in the middle of was once mine, just--different.

When the plane took off, the first time I left the African continent in two years I cried. What did I leave behind there? What did I take with me?

I walked through a supermarket, blinded by it artificial glow--dazed by all the choices, I saw a mango. I picked it up and held it and cried-- this was not my market, this was not mango season, it was over; really over.

It needed to end it wasn't mine, and after two years of trying, it still wasn't mine. I carved out my life in that school; and though I built up in the lives of my students; I was just--different.

Being here is really hard, exciting, new, different, sometimes I just want to run. Run away from the questions, the cold, the things. I want to run to a place thats quite and sunny where my head doesn't chatter with car payments or job opportunities, where it just is.

Everything here is so nice, clean, conformed, I feel too worn in it presence. Everything is easy but nothing is simple. How can two just different places exist on the same planet?

Maybe I will go for that run, see where I end up.

Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,

Healthy, free, the world before me,

The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.

Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,

Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,

Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,

Strong and content I travel the open road.

The earth, that is sufficient,

I do not want the constellations any nearer,

I know they are very well where they are,

I know they suffice for those who belong to them.

(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens,

I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go,

I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them,

I am fill'd with them, and I will fill them in return.)

2

You road I enter upon and look around, I believe you are not all

that is here,

I believe that much unseen is also here.

Here the profound lesson of reception, nor preference nor denial,

The black with his woolly head, the felon, the diseas'd, the

illiterate person, are not denied;

The birth, the hasting after the physician, the beggar's tramp, the

drunkard's stagger, the laughing party of mechanics,

The escaped youth, the rich person's carriage, the fop, the eloping couple,

The early market-man, the hearse, the moving of furniture into the

town, the return back from the town,

They pass, I also pass, any thing passes, none can be interdicted,

None but are accepted, none but shall be dear to me.

Walt Whitman

I am leaving Cairo today after 8 days of an awesome trip. I really love traveling alone, and everyday as soon as I stepped out the door--adventure waited. My favorite part was discovering Cairo on foot--getting lost, finding beautiful spots, sitting and watching the 24 million people pass. I also took enjoyment of things that I haven't experienced in 2 years, hot showers, metros, McDonalds!( I know, I know, I normally don't eat such things in the US, but to me, after two years, this is exotic! )

I have met very warm and friendly people, who have guided me through their lovely city. I will never forget Cairo, although I have a feeling we are not quite finished yet.

Highlights:

Discovering Giza on the back of a camel

Figuring out metro routes, and shared taxi's despite my lack of Arabic.

Getting lost in Islamic Cairo, only to find beautiful Mameluke Palaces and mosques, and the ending up exactly where I wanted to be.

Discovering the red pyramid as I climbed inside and was the only person inside, 5,000 years old.

Curiously staring at mummies, who forever hold their gaze.

Mint tea and hookah in the afternoons.

Quite conversations with strangers, and now friends.

Walking the bridge over the Nile as the sun was setting, in awe, complete awe, of the beauty that the world possess--with a goofy happy grin on my face.

Now I have one more trip before I return home. I will spend a week in London, seeing friends from my time in Ghana. For some of them it has been 5 years since I have seen them, but I know that with good friends, time, it makes no difference.

Off to the next adventure, Insha'Allah!

What a world wind this past month has been! I feel like I have no place to start! I update more when I have a chance to sit and think but quick takes-- I finished up at my school and went to the coast, beautiful beaches, late nights, wonderful people. My next stop was Nairobi where I officially closed my service--it was exciting and bittersweet, about half my group went home and never made it to that point, so I was a bit proud for making it through.

My next trip was to Lodwar and Lake Turkana-- the travel gods did not smile upon me for this trip that I should describe, in more detail later. I'll just sum up. I sat for a long time in matatus, buses, trucks, and cars, waiting to leave, then I sat in matatus, buses, trucks, and cars, for hours in transit. I ate bad goat which came back to haunt me later. I was with good people and that made a huge difference.

Next I went to Ethiopia. Ethiopia was amazing. The history and the culture are so rich, beautiful. From rock carved churches in Lalibela, to the castle of the queen of Sheba, and the arc of the covenant in Axum, it was magical.

Once again the ghost of Lodwar came to haunt my stomach and I dealt with the ghost of goat pasts. I got dysentery...again and was unable to climb Mount Kenya. I decided to high tail it to Egypt where I am right now! Cairo is busy, full of life and energy. I had a staring contest with King Tut this morning (he won), and I'll travel to Giza tomorrow to see the pyramids. I am also enjoying the afternoons with mint tea and hookah with the locals.

Next I'll travel to the U.K. to see some old friends of mine from the University of Ghana, many years ago. I have never left the airports of Europe or the U.K. so this will be a first for me, but I am looking forward to things like, washing machines, cheese, showers!

I do love to travel but this past month, I have dealt with the highs and lows of travel. A part of me knows I am going home so soon, and I long to be there, instead of thinking of it so much, but these next few years I may not be able to travel at all, so I am taking it all in. I love wandering new streets, and as my dad says " I am not lost I am only exploring" so I explore. I love feeling so small next to such old pieces of art and history. I love learning new things about myself and the world around me, but my heart is calling out back to a place that is my own- where that place is--who knows, but here I go.

"People are unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered. Love them anyway. If you do good, people may accuse you of selfish motives. Do good anyway. If you are successful, you may win false friends and true enemies. Succeed anyway. The good you do today may be forgotten tomorrow. Do good anyway. Honesty and transparency make you vulnerable. Be honest and transparent anyway. What you spend years building may be destroyed overnight. Build anyway. People who really want help may attack you if you help them. Help them anyway. Give the world the best you have and you may get hurt. Give the world your best anyway." - Mother Teresa

Signed conversation Rhoda: You are going to America?Me: Yes in month 1( January) I will go to America,Rhoda: What color is the plane?Me: White, why?Rhoda: So I will see you in the sky.I watch as they tumble on each other, cartwheels, flips, and high kicks--their laughs, I want to always remember. I enter the compound to 20 little hands, wanting to assist with my things, I want to always remember these hands. I leave my house every morning, and walk toward the school, I am greeted with "good morning teacher" and 97 little smile, I always want to remember these smiles. These past few weeks have been full of different events. I had some newbies stay with me for one week and shadow my work, and I even made them teach a bit, and they did great, I am sure they'll make lovely Volunteers. I was also fortunate that their visit coincided with a “field day/ life skills day” that I had planned for the kids, so the newbie’s and another Health Volunteer were extra wranglers for the day. I wanted to do something nice for my kids before they left; I considered re-painting the dinning hall a source of ire, as of recently; but I decided to go with my strengths, which is not art, but rather playing! The day started with face paint, sack race, three-legged race, and football tournament. In the afternoon we played Frisbee, and had a water balloon toss, which my kids have never seen before! Needless to say it was very entertaining, and the kids had a blast. We finished the evening with arts ( all the kids made pipe cleaner glasses; adorable) and crafts and some HIV/AIDS games. It was great to see the kids having so much fun, and to see the newbie’s and the Volunteer fall in love with my kids! They really are the cutest kids, ever. I was proud to see everything fall into place, and mostly to see my smiling kids and hearing their squeals of delight. I would update adorable pictures, but my flash drive was destroyed, so no pictures until I return home I suppose. I guess with 1 week and half left; I should be introspective about my experience but I won’t; not right now. I am doing everything the same as I always do at site, refusing to let the ticking clock distract me. Perhaps I am just in denial that the fact that my whole world for the past two years is coming to a close, or that I fear I will leave the best part of me in this little village, in this little school, in these 97 little people. No, for now I will sit on my stoop let the kids crowd around until dinner, and I will remain seated, without a care, in admiration. Goodbyes; not now. I will head out at the end of this month to Mombasa to finish up a project; a video about HIV/AIDS counseling and testing. Then I will attend a farewell weekend with fellow Peace Corps Volunteers in my group, and make my way to Nairobi, where I officially “close my service”. After that I’ll make my way to Lake Turkana in the most remote part of the country, Northern Kenya. I will then fly to Ethiopia for a 10-day trip with one of my favorite people in the world! I will spend Christmas with some hostel buddies, and Boxing Day with my Kenyan Mama in Embu. Afterwards I will head out to the massive Mount Kenya; the mountain the country is named after; and the mountain I have stared at for two years. I will ring in the New Year 17,000 ft above sea level, staring out onto the land I have called home for two years. Then I will make my way back to Embu and spend a few quite days with my Kenyan Mama and visit my school-for the last time. I’ll fly to Egypt for a quick trip to the pyramids, and eventually to the U.K. for a week with old friends. Finally, after being away for over two years, I will fly to the United States. Inshalla. No goodbye for now, let the adventure begin.

These past few months have turned to weeks, and days—it hard to comprehend rational of time. Peace Corps is ephemeral by nature; two years is what you have, and as you experience highs, it is a ticking time bomb—a set of amount of time to accomplish something. During your lows, it is a sentence—a fixed time to when you can be “home” again. Yet they co-exist, somehow, to my vexation.

Mid-term exams were taken and all the students anxiously awaited the results; to their surprise, so did I. I have worked with my class 8 for 2 years now, in social studies—the most despised subject in the school. Every year the results from exam show that social studies always have the lowest average of all subjects. For students who struggle with English, social studies can be very—wordy. I didn’t know all this when I first began teaching 2 years ago, in fact I had no idea that the class I was taking on currently had a failing class average in the subject, I just knew my best subject was always social studies and history, so I eagerly choice this class. Before I knew it I was thrown into the teaching gauntlet. I have had so many highs and lows teaching this class. There were days when I wanted to just walk out and cry; cry for the system that had failed these kids, and at time is feels as if it is almost designed for them to be unsuccessful. Yet, in small ways my students encouraged me, everyday. I could see them growing mentally, becoming curious, asking questions, and demonstrating concepts. Even when I felt beat down, I tried to enter the classroom with the same enthusiasm, and patience, I had the first day. My students brought their energy, and curiosity. Some days they brought their attitudes, hormones, and general teenage behavior, and I brought my frustrations, and exasperation, yet someone we preserved together.

The midterms are the last exam results I will see, in two weeks my class eight will seat for the national exams; the results won’t be released until January, after I have left the school. So as the teachers posted the results for the exams I anxiously waited until classes begun and the children left. I watched each minute pass with a vigilant stare. Finally when all the children ran to class, I approached the bulletin board and traced the lines of subjects with my finger. Social studies; all of my students had improved, tremendously. If I look at the results from when I first began teaching this class they began with a failing average; to this exam, in which they now have a C+ average as a class—with none of them failing. My heart busted into a million little pieces, I was so overwhelmed with unadulterated joy! Later, I met my class; told them how proud I was of them, their eyes swelled with pride, and their smiles were so genuine. I signed “ I told you if you work hard, you will improve” they responded “yes teacher, thank you”. We have a few weeks until they seat for the national exam, and there is something different in all of them, a passion, a confidence, a new life breathed in them. We are not missing a beat, continuing until the national exam, where I will be a wreck, hoping, wishing, crossing my fingers for them!

I thought as a nice reward would be a field trip to Embu, as part of our life skills class. Our main event was getting a tour of the Post Office ( pictured above), which they all enjoyed, especially when they were able to stamp some of the letters. They were so excited, to see a new and different place, to understand something new, I was proud.

I think about the two years I have spent in the classroom, I think of everything I will take away, and leave behind. Even though I am beyond proud of my classes because of the improvements they have made academically, I hope I taught them more. I hope I taught them how to be curious, to ask questions, to know their rights, to challenge themselves, to see a person for who he or she is not what they look like, to be more human. When I think of everything that I will take away—well that list could consist of a whole book—I’ll put it this way, a phrase I hear often from people at home is that I am changing the world, but the way I really see it, the world has changed me.

Every year the jacaranda blooms in October. All year it sits in silence- amongst the trees, just waiting for its time to shine, patient. Then like a red headed stepchild, it blooms- and there it is exposed to the world, all the green leaves fall, all thats left is a smear of electric purple, that rains on all of Embu. I love jacaranda season.

I recently finished my COS ( close of service) conference at a nice hotel not so far from me. Its hard to describe what I am feeling these days--part nostalgia, fear, excitement, curiosity, happiness, and a longing. There are million things I love about living in Kenya, I have become so accustomed to life here, I actually find it hard to remember a different life.

I love the excitement I feel every morning, the quite cups of tea, the line of children who run to help me carry me books, the greeting from the other teachers, the time spent alone. I get so much joy from the smallest gestures of kindness, the small hands signing- big ideas, the time, time to read, to think, make the world go silent--and to just be.

For all the these months, time has slowed me down to a snails pace, like a donkey dragging its feet, now it taunts me with its change of pace! These next few weeks will include helping with the new groups training, finishing up some projects, taking the GRE, applying to grad school, finalizing my travel planes, tying up lose ends here, finishing strong with my class 8 who are seating for national exams next month, saying goodbye to fellow volunteers, friends, and my students.

I feel almost the same way I did 2 years ago! Everything I have known for 2 years will be turned upside down, I'll be thrown into a different culture( well is it different, or am I?), but I am strangely excited by the next adventure. This experience has taught me so much-- equivalent to my 4-years at university. My teachers Emerson, Hemingway, Eggars, and the hundred of other authors I have read--along with all my co-workers, community members, and my students- who teach me something new everyday.

I'll finish up these next few months, trying to soak everything up, trying to absorb all the happiness here, so I can use it for a rainy day when things may not be so bright in the future.

Whatever the next adventure brings--I am ready to jump, without hesitation.

100 day ( give or take) until I am done with Peace Corps service. I have taken stock on a lot of past memories and things I have written, it feels like a whole life wrapped up in 21 months. I feel as if I left for Kenya 10 years ago, so much has changed.

Behind the purple prose of this blog, are my experiences here, which literally full of dramatic highs and desperate lows. I sit here with a mere 100 days left its hard to encompass, the magnitude of it all that has happened and everything that will come.

I have started my third and last term at St. Luke's. I try to count how many pots of water I warmed for my bucket baths, how many bowls of oatmeal I've eaten, how many times I have seen the morning parade performed by class 4, how many books I've read at my desk, how many lesson plans I have prepared, how many children I have taught, how many letters I've received and written, how many chickens I've chased from my house, how many times I laughed so hard I cried, or how many times I cried so hard I had to laugh, how many times my students thanked me for teaching, how many times they've understood concepts, how many conversations I had with my neighbors,how many lessons I've learned in the silence of the evenings on my stoop, how many times I've just appreciated life. Its an eternity.

For now I'll let Christine sit on my lap, Caroline play with my hair, Patrick carry my books, Jackline practice finger spelling my name, Consolata hold my hand. 100 more times.

I sway back and fourth in the frigid, restless, Atlantic Ocean, as the rain preserves, I hold my breath, ready. I am not safely nestled in front of my TV, for shark week; in fact I am not even on the boat, I am in the water, surrounded by great white sharks. I calmly grab the bars of my cage, and think how did I end up here? As shark bait none the less? The waves crash and the captain orders, the boat back- we only have 20 minutes. The squall has snuck upon us, and the white-capped waves are growing stronger by the minute. This is the most dangerous part of the trip; impending capsized boat. Yet here I am, in the unforgiving Ocean where the Indian Ocean meets the Atlantic, and battle it out, where seals migrate every year, and where Great Whites come to feast on their blubber, in South Africa; this is shark alley. This is one of my last days in South Africa; a trip that proved to be as magical as it was memorable. Since landing in Jo’burg, South Africa has left me something to think about. After traveling to West Africa and living in East, I never thought a place like this existed. Paved roads, stop lights, Mcdonalds? Where was I? Huge cities, even bigger townships, and history as torn as a Shakespearean tale. South Africa was quite the anomaly. I swallowed everything Capetown had to offer—diversity, charm, edge, history, beauty, a Big Mac. The mysterious table mountain frames the whole city, and striking cliffs the hug the coastline. Everyone is still alive from the buzz of the World Cup, proud of their accomplishments, and rightfully so. I wander the streets wide-eyed taking it all in with awe. People singing on the street, gives me the chills, the hum of the curio market, and the solemn moments inside a church turned museum, telling the tales of apartheid’s cruel conjecture. Capetown; it is what I needed. Any trip is only as good as the company you keep; and I was in luck. Two of my fellow Volunteers, were my partners in crime, confidants, lenders, moms, sisters, photographers, co-pilots, captains, interpreters, wine tasters, and more than anything friends; the best one could ask for. We left Kenya together and clung to each other in heat of Cape Point and the chills of an Atlantic squall. We rented a car; the smallest, little white car you could think of, but it was a nice break from the oversized matatu’s filled to the brim with chickens, people, and goats. We headed out south, the Cape of Good Hope where the Portuguese stumbled in hundreds of years ago, and somehow was they were not enamored by the juxtaposed landscape, and continued on. The three of us were much more captivated. The fold mountains that pushed their way out of plates shifting; raised above the wild Atlantic waves, so pristinely blue; and windswept vegetation, fight to survive, the gentle greenery that beckons. We hiked to the Cape Point lighthouse, taking in views of cliffs and waves, and a kind sun above. Then to the most South Western point on the Continent—the Cape of Good Hope. I sat watching the waves crashing, and said a prayer of Good Hope to my baby nephew whom I have never met, my hope-- that he sees this with his own eyes one day, I hope he is always curious. We leave as the sun chases us down. Off to wine country—Stellenbosch, where some of the best wine in the world is created. In Stellenbosch we walked the white washed streets and old buildings tucked in the valleys of rolling hills. The next morning we began a tour of 5 local wineries—after interpreting up a storm for my friend, I was rewarded with …several glasses of wine. We pooled our money together and splurged on a cheese sampler, perhaps the best purchase of my life. We took in the warm sun, the smells of good wine, and peaceful valleys dotted with vineyards. That night feasted on load of cheese, good bread, apples, and of coarse another bottle of Stellenbosch’s finest, with plenty of laughs, and signing until our hands ached. The next day we headed out to Hermanus—the best place for land based whale watching; home to the enormous Southern Right Whale. Every year they make there way here to bask in the bay, for the month, before they’re off again. We walked the edge of cliffs spotting a few out on the distance; we watched random fins slap the water, puff from blowholes. As we moved further down the shore I spotted two whales not 100 meters from where we were. I ran for a better look on top of a cliff, found myself a comfortable rock, and just sat, feeling hopelessly small to this gentle giant. We consumed the ocean air, the setting sun, and the peacefulness of the moment; quite the contrast to the next day. Back in the cage the water crashes, the skipper nervously watching the cage as we sway with Atlantic. The sky is gray and the rain is vindictive, the white seagulls swarm, attracted to the chum churning at the back of the boat, the air is thick with its stench, mixed with the salty sea. My feet dangle within the cage and I look to my right, and smile bright to my friend, my hands to cold to sign, we both read each others faces; excitement! When I hear the call—“ DOWN DOWN DOWN” I clench the metal in my fists, push myself down into the ocean, and assess my surroundings. I am in a green world, astonishingly calm compared to the scene above, holding my breath, waiting for what feels like an eternity, and then I see it—in a flash, the flip of a tail darting side to side, and in an instant, gone. I hold myself down looking in each direction for the shark, in awe of how fast it can move, but this is not my world, I am a foreigner and must come up for air. I look to my friend, we give eachother toothy grins as I push my bangs out of my goggles view, I grab her hand- how awesome is this?! We sit in the cage scanning the water for another movement, yet from this point of view I am helpless, I am at the will of the ocean. The waves crash and the cage raises for a moment then clings once again to the boat. I calm myself , and wait for the call “ DOWN DOWN DOWN” again I quickly duck in the water, only to come nose to nose with a great white shark. It swims inches from my face with a precision unknown to me, it black eye passing my brown, and just like that its gone, into the depths of the sea. I go up for air and I can’t contain myself I sign “cool” to my friend, “ I know” she signs. Then once again DOWN DOWN DOWN, we sink once again and she comes in dodging the cage, I can count the scars on her skin, she turns with such care, so powerful in her domain. I watch as she effortlessly glided into the green depths.

This is not the killer from Jaws, I knew; she is beautiful, graceful, and powerful. Never once did I think the shark was “after” me, in fact inside the cage, I doubt she even knew anything but a boat was in front of her. This is not a bloodthirsty animal, but rather an animal that should be protected, and revered the same as other great predators, lions, leopard, bears, etc. Sharks especially the Great White are just misunderstood. The last shark gave quite a show to those on the boat, getting out of the water, and showing her teeth. From bellow the water I could just see the flashes of fin in the water, zooming like lighting in a zig zag motion, towards the boat and in an instant away again. Then we were called in, the swells were growing rapidly, and because the weather is prone to change on the drop of hat, we were safer going back to shore. The waves crashed, and water was flying everywhere, I was still high off my shark sighting I welcomed each wave, the crashing of water in my face, my lips soaked in salt, the jump of the boat, I was alive. We stopped briefly next to an island full of seals, they covered the island like a fur coat, feasting on fish and trying to avoid the great whites. Then quickly headed back to violent waves, and eventually to land. I thought I would never be warm again. I shook uncontrollably in the horrid claws of hypothermia, and made my way to the car, where the three of us huddle in the small white car clinging to the heater. My shark experience was over, but the moments I spend among the great whites, I will take with me for the rest of my life. We took an afternoon drive amongst the farms and rolling hills, to the jutting cliffs of Cape Algunas the Southern most point of the African continent; where many wayward ships rest among the Indian and Atlantic ocean malicious meeting point, and a light house shines like a beacon of hope, or like a tricky siren. I am struck my the wind and cold outside our car, and I take off in a sprint down the boardwalk, to the southern most tip of Africa, I run to the ends of the continent, alive.

Time for a vacation again! This is my last vacation as a Peace Corps Volunteer! The rules state you cannot take vacation in the last three months of your service and this is the last month off of school before it is time to close, so here it goes!

Right now I am in Mombasa, the second largest city in Kenya, visiting my good friend for a week.

Next week I will head to SOUTH AFRICA!!!

Then I will head back to Mombasa for some more training.

Then it will be time for school again!

I am sure my next post will be full of adventure stories but for now enjoy some pictures from this last term.

I’ve wanted to say this for quite some time now, but never felt like I really could. I try to write about things that have shaped me, the positive moments that enlighten, but I am realizing, some time the shades of grey lead to a more, real experience, so here is it the moment of truth… Peace Corps is hard. Peace Corps is the hardest thing I have ever done. Being isolated from people from my culture, and thrown into another, which some cases have views that are poles apart from my core beliefs, like the treatment of women, or children with special needs, and trying to navigate through both these world, while staying healthy and more importantly…sane…it is hard! So why do it? I have been asking myself this question for the past few months when the difficulties seemed too much, and I think I found the answer; those few fleeting moments of grace. I experience a mess of emotions tangled within each other; loneliness, independence, anger, joy, disillusion, satisfaction but within all of this are the moments of absolute calmness and clarity, and near benediction, and that makes everything ok again. The other day I had the one of roughest night of my life; dysentery, once again( I’ll spare you the detail I am sure you don’t want to know). I woke up unable to do anything for myself. One call to my mama, and she was by my side the whole day. She cleaned my house from top to bottom; scouring the floors as if the fiercer she cleaned the faster I’d get better. The whole day people flooded my house, helping cook, or to just say, “pole” (sorry). It was genuine humanity. I also find moments like these with my students all the time. After finishing interpreting the constitution (which is being voted on August 4th in Kenya) to my class eight students, we finally had our election day. We had been learning about the how elections work in Kenya, the constitution and about the government. It all culminated in our mock election; I told them that it was going to be a secret ballot that not even I would know what they voted for, but that I wanted them to think for themselves. I made them pretend ID’s, had their names on lists, and had a voting box ready. All of them voted and I announced the winner. They were all very excited, and I could see them actually making connections to the material, current events, and their lives in the future. It was one of those rare moments teachers always hope for. After I was done with my lesson, my students thanked me for teaching them, asked me to stay, to continue teaching, which was a huge compliment. While these moments are rare; they are very powerful, and are able to reenergize against insurmountable odds, ( culture, religion, gender, poverty) and are able to enlighten. My Peace Corps service is coming to an end in the next few months; next term will be my last at Saint Luke’s. I will remember those moments with burning precision.

A small photo update. We just finished mid-term exams, so half of this term left! Things are moving along, I feel very confident with my teaching now, and its great to see all the progress we've made in the past year and a half. It is "winter" now and since I live in the highland it is actually cold! I have to wear a jacket, and socks! Everyone is really excited about the World Cup, the school only uses the T.V. on the weekends so that is the only time I am able to watch the games, but its still exciting! I make the kids cheer for all my favorite teams ( Ghana,U.S., and Agentina), but I think they enjoy it!

My clothes line and Mount Kenya in the back ground.

My babies practicing their dances.

Cristine and Jackline, they come to my house to read books in the afternoon.

The crowd anxiously sits, shifting in their chairs, as a local politician speaks about the Kenyan holiday—yet their eyes are focused on one thing; boxes. Now these boxes sit at the front of the stage, as an ever present reminder of their importance and everyone knows what is inside—the constitution. The proposed constitution is a document that has been in the works for quite some time, and upon its completion is being distributed to Kenyans who will vote in August a simple choice—yes or no. Kenya has had a constitutions, which began with a Majimbo Constitution, constructed at the time of independence in 1964, with help of the British (former colonizers), and another revision was made, yet their was need to create a constitution independent from British influence. The process began years ago and the first draft ultimately received a no vote. They began drafting a new constitution and finally completed it in May. The speeches finally ends as people, pounce the boxes, each hastily trying to grab a constitution. A police officer has to step in the control the crowd but eventually everyone gets one. I make a bee line for the boxes—yet back off when I see the crowd grow, a friend of my snags me two, one for my teachers, the other for my students. The idea of a government being so malleable is exhilarating too me. As a student and lover of history, you always imagine what it took to form a nation; I wished to be a fly on the wall James Madison (father of the U.S. constitution, nerd alert) when he was carefully crafting the constitution. Everything has a feeling of being “set in stone”, stories of our forefathers feel unreasonably foreign, from a different time, almost given folklore status. Yet here I am in Kenya witnessing history- and everything feels so obtainable, so tangible. Everyday the break room at the school is filled with the buzz constitution talk. We engage in all sorts of political debates about the nature of a Constitution and I am asked many questions about my own. Which somewhere from the dark spaces in my mind I recall—I still somehow remember the whole preamble ( thanks Mr. Skeen). It seems all of Kenya is filled with the excitement, or opposition. I plan on interpreting the whole constitution to my students in class 8. I teach social studies, and I feel it is imperative for them to know. Most of my students are left in the dark—in fact ¾ of my class had no idea what a constitution even was, yet I remain determined to finish all 500 plus pages. One teacher suggested I was wasting my time trying to explain the constitution to them, at times I feel like many people believe the Deaf should remain in this other world, outside of the hearing—this attitude of “why should they be bothered”. At times I admit it is difficult to press on; because they have very little understanding of the world outside their school and their village; and are denied access to the buzz I so enjoy; they are lost amongst the movement of lips that reveal so little. Regardless I want them to feel included, to feel apart of this country that bore them, I want them to know that this is their Kenya.

“We will be lost.” Nelson, an HIV counselor, recounts about the recent news that funding for antiretroviral drugs or ARVs for HIV positive patients-may slow or stop, from the United States. In the early 2000’s the Bush administration began the PEPFAR program, ( President's Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief ) which provides relief in many different ways ranging from funding projects, paying directly for medicine, and even funding individual Peace Corps Volunteers. Yet with the world feeling the pinch from the recession, the PEPFAR and other aid organization may not have the resources to continue. Nelson sits in his office within a testing clinic, which provides testing services to Kenyans for free. He has managed the office for 4 years now, and has counseled HIV positive patients who have survived from the life-saving ARV’s. The afternoon light trickles in as a group of teenagers come waltzing in- for a prevention drama they are preparing. “It seems the trend of helping people with AIDS has passed,” he says eyeing as the teens walk by. Grants that provide 200,000 people with the ARV’s will expire soon, and Nelson and the rest of his staff wait for the news on whether or not the program will continue. He stares at the palm of his hand, when asked about the future of the patients who may be refused medicine due to cut backs “we could change this,” he says still staring into his answerless hand. “ We rely too heavily on aid, we thought that the funding would never end, so we never planned for how to help these people ourselves, and now what will happen?” The power and influence of aid is undeniable, when former President Bush established PEPFAR, he chose to fund mostly faith based organizations, in particular ones that stressed abstinence above all else. The press also regarded the establishment of PEPFAR as a response to an approval rating gone sour, whether or not that was the case, the influence of aid is undeniable. “ In Kenya we have some money, we could of set-aside money for funding, and make our own policies.” With the world reeling from a recession HIV/AIDS is becoming an expensive disease, comparatively to water sanitation, or malaria. The future of HIV/AIDS is yet to be seen, but for Nelson has one request for the future “ I want Kenyans to start thinking of Kenyans.” *** One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned in my many months here is just how complicated aid can be. As a volunteer it is something I come across daily; many people believe because I am a mzungu that I am a walking ATM; whether it be in the form of trying to charge me triple the price that they would charge a Kenyan, or demanding that I give them money, it stems from the belief about aid. It’s easy to get irritated with the constant demands for money; especially since I make the same wages as a Kenyans teacher, it easy to say to people that they should help themselves; but my time as a teacher has taught me, never assume anything—everything is learned, in one way or another. I have read several books about the topic (if you are especially interested read Dead Aid by Dambisa Moyo a Zambian economist believes that the thought of aid working is a myth), and yet I have this resounding feeling that aid must continue. HIV/AIDS continues to ravage this continent; and the alternative (ceasing aid); well it is just too grim to imagine. I am always reminded of the parable about the man throwing star fish into the ocean, when one man suggests that he could never save them all, he replies how the one thrown back in feels. I do feel aid should continue, but it needs to be responsible; and more then anything—sustainable! I believe more then anything that education is sustainable; by helping one person you can help a whole population, small change does not make the news; but it is the most powerful. I see many projects with donors wanting to see computer labs, or libraries, they want to see tangible results instantly; but I’ve seen libraries that are never touched, computers that are locked away, deemed too nice to be used, or lack of personnel who know how to use or maintain equipment. Yet the one who gives; is the ones that decide what happens—regardless of the results. Aid is complicated; quite like most things in life, and I was quite naïve to think otherwise; yet I still think aid is respectable. I choose to help one of my students to go to secondary school; but after careful thought and reflection. I believed in him, in his ability, and ultimately I believe his education would be a make sustainable impact on Deaf Kenyan community; one child at a time. He is now number two in his class, and I have faith that he will continue to succeed. I know I will not build any buildings, or have any statues erected in my honor, but I do believe I have had an impact on some of these students. Besides, growing up I don’t remember the computers I used, or the libraries I was in, I remember the people who believed in me. And sometimes I can go to bed with smile.

Once again life at Saint Lukes begins again—term 2, here we are! I had a very interesting month off which included a visit from my parents, a girls empowerment camp, diversity and peer support training, and a Behavior Change Communication workshop/Deaf NGO Fair. When I sit back and think about April, it feels like a weird dream where my parents showed up, and I cannot tell the difference from one day to another, but predominant theme is a feeling of accomplishment. Many of these projects I was a part of from start to finish. I remember multiple times this month sitting back, proud of all the work and ideas going around. So no crazy rafting, or avoiding baboons, or matatu doors falling off, but a quite pride—that is perpetual. Today was the first day of school; everyday I prepare for this day the same as I did as a kid, but with a bit more excitement rather than dread. Every term I am up and ready at 8 only to find no one; every term. I always seem to forget that no one else really looks forward to the first day of school, and therefore doesn’t show up until 10 or not at all. So when the teachers show up we always wait for the kids to trickle in which takes days, weeks, even for a few; months. No real work actually happens so I normally wander around the school—trying to avoid just going to my house to read, in order to get in precious “face time” ( in my experience if people can’t see you they always believe you are sleeping), yet I really have nothing to do, and I wonder if I look more weird just wandering aimlessly yet today I have found my niche! Ginnie Seger: BABY HOLDER OF KENYA, I just gave myself that title, but it doesn’t make it less real. We have very small children coming to this school, which is a boarding school. As you can probably imagine separating a 3-year-old from their home, and their mothers is not very pleasant. Some are more buoyant than others, but some try to run away, kick, scream, and even bite. It’s all very dramatic and my heart breaks every time I see this happen. Yet my school has found a solution to all the distress—me! Instead of wandering around trying to look busy, I do this with a crying toddler. Most of the kids here are familiar with me from last term or last year so they allow me to hold them. When their mother leaves the baby is given to me—as I try to smile them into submission—but it works. These babies just cry until they are tried and I rock them back and fourth, until we can move onto just holding hands, then standing side by side, and by the end of the day they are free as a bird! Once in awhile there are the stranglers who don’t want to let go and instead follow me to my house crying at my door, which makes me want to adopt them right then and there, but I encourage them to play with the other kids, who will be their family in no time. I look forward to holding more babies tomorrow, and seeing some of my older students. This is my second to last term and I feel an impending sense to hold on to them for a little longer, to write just a little more about my experience, and be fully present in these moments—perhaps it will make the time go just a bit more slowly. Yet I know my attempts to control time is fertile, I can still hold on—literally.

In Nairobi for my Behavior Change Communication Workshop today so I am taking advantage of the awesome internet here!

This is a video my mom took of my students and myself.

“If you look deeply into the palm of your hand, you will see your parents and all generations of your ancestors. All of them are alive in this moment. Each is present in your body. You are the continuation of each of these people.”Thich Nhat Hanh

In a hurry because so much is going on this month,( off to help run a girl's empowerment camp then BCC NGO fair) but here are some photos of my parents visit to Kenya, hopefully more to come later!

In other news Silas was number 2 in his class!!! I am so proud of him and of everyone who has helped by donating. If you're interested in donating please see previous post for details!

Term one has come to end! I have the month off where I will spend a week with my parents, and the rest of the month I will be working. I am very excited about both projects so I don't mind having a working holiday! Here are pictures of my lovely students, can't wait until they return!

"We make a living by what we get, we make a life by what we give" -Winston ChurchillSometimes I feel like life is a movie, and I am introduced to different characters, sets, even special effects along the way. The set is even more idyllic lately since the rains have begun. It rains at night and sometimes in the mornings, breathing life into the dry red cracks and sprouting life. The rain usually ends by mid-morning and the sky stretches out its blue expanse, dotted with friendly white clouds. This does not last very long, because the sun becomes harsh, bearing down and drinking most of the water left. Its taps our shoulder as we run, bears down on our heads, seeking the sweat from our brows- then finally ceases. This is my favorite time of the day. The sun starts to set and Mount Kenya is visible- the air is clean and fresh—I wish out of all the things here I could take a bottle and bring the air back with me. There is a gentle breeze and you forget the agony of the sun. The sky morphs until it finds it’s color—black. When there is no electricity the sky has millions of holes poked into it and the stars dance in the night. I have never seen so many stars. There are plenty of characters in my life; and I am lucky to have found them. I love to travel, I love back packing whizzing through countries, in fact; my passport has only 1 page left. Yet I always wanted more. I sat or trains, planes, vans, donkeys, motorbikes, watching everything pass by, I always wondered what lay around the corners- the lives from behind the glass. Now when I sit waiting for transport outside my school—I smile at the uncommon Mzungu riding by in their private car, I know what’s beyond that corner J. One of the main characters is my Kenyan mother, I am her namesake; Mumbi, one who attracts or creates. She lives next door to me, and has 3 other children. It took a few months to us to “feel” each other out, but now we are family. She loves to feed me! If I even mention anything about food, 2 hours later I hear a knock at my door and its her with a plate of food; normally too much for me to finish. If I am sick, she wants to wash all of my clothes, clean my whole house, make me food, and give me various “home remedies”. The only thing I accept is the liter of uji (porridge) she makes me drink and the occasional meal. She calls me her daughter, and I think she actually believes it, at the assembly one morning I came in and greeted all the teachers, she noticed something on my face (probably tooth paste), she began rubbing my face, just when I thought it had stopped, she then pulled out her handkerchief and started all over again—just like I am sure my American mother would do. Another thing I love about my Kenyan mama is she loves to read! Literacy is not huge here, and I read A LOT, most people ask we why, how I had the focus to just sit and read; but my Mama understands. I finish a book and give it to her; then we talk about our favorite parts, and if we liked the ending, and compare it to others. I can’t really explain how happy this makes me; she is just someone who understands! The other character is my best friend the watchman Kariuki, pronounced just like karaoke, I laughed so hard when I first heard this name, ( and no one has ever heard of karaoke so trying to explain why I was laughing probably made me sound crazy “it’s like singing in Japan with your friends“ )but now I realize it is every other males name, the effect has worn off. He is the schools watchman, and works nights. He is loves UK club football (or soccer), and I think is disappointed every time I tell him I still know nothing about it. Nevertheless we are friends, we go on hikes, go on bike rides, which are always an adventure ( as I have recounted on previous blog entries). Kariuki guards the school with a bow and poison arrows, and was shocked that I didn’t believe him, until he showed me all his tools—bow and arrow, some poison arrows, a sling shot, a machete, and rocks. He really carries all of these around when guarding the school. When the school is closed sometimes we practice bow and arrow and shoot the choo ( the pit latrine) don’t worry we don’t use the poison ones! Kariuki loves to “teach” me Kiembu which consists of him speaking Kiembu then saying “ What, you don’t know what I am saying”. He is a very patient man, and puts up with my foul moods after our “2 hour walk” turns in to a 7 hour adventure. He is always dressed in a suit regardless of how hot it can get, and seems to know everyone in the area. Kariuki also tries to convince me to go to his “karate class”, how he knows karate, he will not disclose, but I have hunch its from Bruce Lee movies (which people LOVE here). One day I walked in on this “class” in the cafeteria when the school was closed, and the class consisted of 2 wazee (old people) and one small child about 3, I’d guess, I walked right out. Kariuki makes life here, fun and funny; I always end up laughing around him and for that I am very grateful. There are a few other characters, but the major characters are 91 kids who fill my life with everything! These days I hardly leave the school ground, why would I? I have my own little community here. There is no way I could even start to describe all these little characters, all their stories, all their extraordinary strengths, all their smiles, or giggles, or grunts. So I won’t even try, I kind of like the thought of a million secret stories in my head (of coarse I will probably reveal some if asked once I am back). I love them something fierce, and feel rapt happiness, seeing them grow, learn, and develop—nothing is more honest than that. My parents are traveling to Kenya in the coming weeks. I am very excited to introduce them to all the characters Kenya has to offer, and to show them the continent with has kept me from them for so long (first 6 months in West Africa and now in East). It will be nearly 17 months since I have seen them or anyone from home, which should be interesting; I have imagined them and other family and friends in Kenya many times. Always thinking, “I wish my Mom could see this” or “ I wonder what my friend would think about this”, I am really happy I’ll be able to share this with them.

Faith and Cristine pretending to be old people.Faith and her bab,y this is the style that mothers carry around their children, interesting to see young minds socialization

Silas and I ( with the Kenyan serious face)

Silas' first day of secondary school!

A small photo update on like here at St. Lukes school for the Deaf! I've had an interesting past few weeks at the school and beyond. Recently at the school we gave mid-term exams, I was asked to administer the exams for class 1, normally I teach the upper primary class 4-8 but they needed someone to fill in. The exam here are written on the board and each child is given a sheet of paper, they must copy the exam and then complete it. The exams were sometimes less the 10 questions and consisted of mostly "circle the correct answer" type question. I thought how easy this would be and that I would be done in no time--I was wrong. Most of the students didn't know how to copy and others could copy but couldn't read or understand what was happening. It was marathon day for me trying to explain each part of the exam for other I had to copy the exam for them. I admire those who teach early education because near the end of the week I was exhausted. Near the end of the last day one student decided he had enough, I saw him walk out of the classroom with his test and then ate it, I understood the feeling. Although stressful I am glad I got to spend more time with them, the cuteness factor is off the charts, but I was happy to return to my students in upper primary.

Oh what a difference a year can make! I feel like I've hit my stride this year with teaching and with the students. Last year was filled with confusion, loneliness, and adapting, this year I am able to fine tune my techniques and adjust accordingly. Not that there are not days that I am not confused and I am constantly adapting, I guess I am used to be being alone now, but Peace Corps is the best 2 year roller coaster out there, and this year the highs are more intense. I teach classes 4-8 on HIV/AIDS and this year the kids are more receptive, instead of just nodding their heads we engage in very open discussions and HIV/AIDS, pregnancy and gender issues. Recently I have started using another volunteer's educational software program the kids love it, even a few teacher are interested in learning the programs, and teaching them as well. I am in charge of the whole sports program now, which is sometimes daunting, but also a lot of fun. These days I hardly step off the school grounds, nearly everything I do is for the school.

I was able to break away to Nairobi recently because a few Volunteers and myself are currently organizing a behavior change communication (BCC) "create-a thon" for Deaf organizations and Volunteers to meet and discuss gaps in behavior change materials, and figure out where we can help, whether it be creating posters, changing current ones to be more Deaf friendly, or making educational videos. I am really excited about the event, and what projects will come up after the workshop.

After the workshop another Volunteer who is Deaf came to visit my school. My school has no Deaf employees so the children barely interact with other Deaf adults, and I wanted my friend to come to discuss her background and how she completed her education, I wanted them to understand the possibility that lies ahead of them. It was also good for the teachers to see a Deaf woman who has completed her masters, and has a good job, because despite working with the Deaf many of them have never interacted with Deaf adults. The results were a bit shocking, many of the employees didn't believe that she was truly Deaf, others just stared opened- jawed at her, but the kids loved her. The teachers asked questions about Deaf culture and I think everyone learned from her visit. I also enjoyed "storying" (slang for signing together) with her into the late hours of the night. Hopefully we can continue these exchanged in the future.

I am still raising funds for Silas' education so if you are interested in donating please see the post below! I hear Silas is doing very well in school!

The sun was breaking through the gnarled trees, and everyone was waking to the steady drum of their morning routines. Silas was preparing himself for his goodbye; and new beginning. The night before he was welcomed back to school that had become his home; and all too soon he was off to the next big step. I rushed to finish paperwork, worried about transport fare, and checked everything off my ever-growing list of “ to do's”. My head was spinning with worries; the past 2 days a whirlwind of tribulation, edginess, and optimism. I felt overwhelmed with the unfamiliar stress, which has been largely absent in my past year here in Kenya. I remember one last thing –my toothpaste—I was giving it to Silas! I ran out of my house as children greeted me with good mornings; I could barely sign back as I rushed to find Silas hoping he was up and ready. I passed children completing their morning chores and in the distance I could see a boy standing tall, with a slight smile; Silas. I was ready to ask questions like a doting mother, when I was silenced by the calm air Silas radiated; he is ready I told myself. Silas spotted me and confidently walked toward me; and signed good morning. I smiled, and handed him the toothpaste he signed thank you. I stood silent, taken aback by everything that had occurred in the past month to get him here, and here he was self-assured, happy, unhesitating. I shook my head back to reality and called him over to go over the last few details. This morning Silas was leaving to secondary school. When I wrote about my experience with Silas one month ago I was not expecting a reaction; I just felt I needed to say something, and for me writing can be cathartic and freeing, and I just wanted people to know—I thought his story should be told. I was shocked by the outpouring of support, and interest people showed. I have received emails, comments, and other messages all encouraging, all optimistic. I cannot even begin to express how this has impacted and motivated me, and all I could say is thank you. I drilled Silas once again on which papers he was to give to the administration, which matatu to take, and to study hard. Other teachers began to arrive at the school and they all greeted him warmly, they singed to him “ you go where” he signed “secondary school” with a shy smile and serious stare “ very good” they signed back. I gathered his belongings, and we began walking toward to the tarmac road, where he was to catch a matatu into town, and then to school. We walked up the red dirt path as children from each class came out to see Silas leave. Every class was outside now; staring at their hero, their success story, their friend. Silas stood straight as an arrow, as if he was preparing for this march his whole life, he waved to his friends and walked down the path with an commanding air; this was not the boy I encountered a few weeks before; not a trace of fear or reluctances could be detected. We stood at the compounds edge, while all the students watched, we were on the cusp of the old and new, Silas looked me in the eye, and signed “ thank you”. I bit my lip, trying to hold in the tears, nodded my head, and watched him go. The journey for the both of us has just begun. Seeing Silas leave for school; is one of the most gratifying experiences of my service, if not my life, but an even more rewarding experience will be to see him graduate. The total cost over the next 4 years equal to 2000 dollars; this is no small amount and I know we are all facing tough financial times, but I do believe generosity, hope, and the benevolence are recession proof. I have received word from people who are interested in donating to continue Silas’ education and I am happy to report Silas was accepted to the Kenya Education Fund. The Kenya Education Fund sponsors secondary students throughout Kenya and was started by a former Peace Corps Volunteer. I have been able to see the inner workings of the KEF and can assure that all the money is well-managed, and that the students are truly benefiting. A teacher at my school is in charge of visiting students in the area, and would be able to ensure Silas’ progress, along with the KEF Staff. The total cost of Silas’ 4 years of education is 2000 dollars. If you are interested you can write a check,or donate online NOTE: you must write referred by Virginia “Ginnie” Seger; if you are donating online please write the same under the designation field, please DO NOT write Silas’ name. This is to ensure the money is placed in account for the correct Silas. Even if you are not able to donate money, encouraging messages, ideas, or passing along his story is a contribution itself. I'll never have enough words to express everything about my experiences here, and in particular my experience with Silas, it is a quite fire that can hopefully serve as a catalyst for change. Thank yous fail to encompass it all-- but I will say it a thousand times over thank you!

It’s an interesting thing when your heart breaks—you feel as if it should be something everyone could witness and say “aww” or “do you need help”. Or perhaps that it should make a sound--cracking or slow buzz of sadness, running through your veins, pumping throughout your body. That is the thing about the heart it has its own prerogative; maybe that is why matters of the heart feel so unresolved in our lives; the palpitations of sadness have to be felt—perhaps never quite understood. Living in Africa has its share of heartbreaks. It demands honesty with the world, which from a far could seem impossible. I see a reality that I could imagine but never really felt. Sometimes you look the world in the face and you enfold yourself in the brilliance that it can possess, and other times you want to look away. The difficulties can truly overwhelm. How can one person even consider change when the world is full of such unanswerable and unreasonable situations? He is bright beyond his meager 16 years; though you would never guess from this reticent, unassuming boy, who is often times found wandering alone. Once you get his attention he’ll inform you with a shy smile he is “thinking” signed as the pointer finger touching the temple. Silas is often found thinking, which is evident from his test scores—he is a curious by nature. He always knows the answers to questions in class yet is hesitant to “show off” often times he waits until everyone else has tried before he answers (the correct answer he knew all along) and you can bet when he explains his answers it is clear and with confidence, when you praise him, a huge smile grows on his face but he always tries to cover it by turning into his shoulder. While he is not the most athletic, or outgoing, Silas really comes into his own at school; he is well liked amongst all teachers and pupils a like. In a school for the Deaf he is able to socialize, debate, joke, be understood and even appreciated. Life hasn’t always been easy for Silas, he lost his hearing when he was 7-years-old, when asked how he reenacts a slam on the head—when I inquire who? He looks at his feet for a moment and signs teacher in class 4; he is told to say it was illness, but he was beaten so badly for “misbehaving” that he became Deaf. Since then everything has changed: he is an outsider to his own family, and was moved to a boarding school, has learned a new language KSL, and has found a new family at school. Despite the fact that Silas is at the top of the class (and has been for his total duration at school) he has never arrived on the day school has opened. Sometimes weeks, sometimes months of phone calls asking about the boy until finally he arrives at school. He never misses a step in class despite his absence, but is often times recovering from some wound or another. Last term he returned with a two inch open wound on the back of his head, he was embarrassed when questioned and stared at his feet. I tilt his chin up and sign “ problem nothing, better soon” he stares at me for a moment I can see the tears building in his eyes. “OK?” I sign, he shyly signs “ok” I sign jokingly with a grin “don’t smile, please don’t” “ I see the sides of his grin turning upward and he covers his mouth. “ I said no” I sign with a smile, and then we are both laughing, I pat him on the back; sign “you good, you know right, you good”. I leave with the uneasy sense there are no limits to the times I could sign that to him and no limit to the times he needs to see it. He has just finished class 8 and sat for the national exam the K.C.P.E., the test is given in November and pupils report to schools to receive their scores in January, yet no one has arrived. I remember the last day class 8 was at the school—I chatted to them about the future—and Silas looked me in the eye and signed, “I want to go to secondary school” then looked away. I know he belongs in school- and deserves an education. He left that day and I had a heavy heart, the chances of him coming back were slim. We have received the results for the K.C.P.E. and Silas has been accepted to secondary school ( In Kenya secondary school is not mandatory and pupils are accepted on a competitive basis, it is also not paid for by the government). He is the only one of our class 8 to achieve this. This is a huge accomplishment; the whole school is proud of him; yet Silas has not been seen. For the past 3 weeks we have been trying to find Silas. We have called his family, asked neighbors, asked students yet it is to no avail. I cannot explain the utter despondency I feel; to see this young, bright mind go missing. Theories have arisen and concerns voiced but what action is to be taken? My work, everyday, is to give these children the best I have—every time. Sometimes I struggle with what my role is, or what affect I am having here, because what I am doing has no tangible signs, no buildings, or computer labs, or businesses, if I left you would hardly know I was ever here. What I have done is not that easy to define. Teaching a child to read, and write it does not provide a lot of glory, but I know education is the most sustainable and powerful way to change the world—but on days when a smart, creative, warm, student is just lost—what is left? I wasn’t settled with the idea of Silas not being in school, everything about it just felt—wrong. I asked my teachers again what could be done, and they said “ find him”, with a laugh, I knew instantly, this is what I have to do. The teachers told me of the closest school to Silas, I could travel there and find out where he stays from the school. I was told his home was very “interior” meaning far from the tarmac, in a village; my only hesitation was the language barrier because I do not speak enough Kiembu to explain why I was around. Luckily another teacher offered to take me there and help interpret. I woke up 5:30 a.m. to prepare for the journey, I was nervous, questions ran through my head, “how will we find this boy?”, “what will happen once we do?”, I somehow managed to make it out of the door. I met the teacher in town and we headed out, stuffed into a matatu, we passed the thick shambas filled with mangos, and people became sparser. We walked about 6 km into a small village, where a man nearly fell off his bike at the sight of a mzungu. We finally reached Kasafari Primary School where we were greeted and told Silas' brother attended this school and could lead us to his home. We were taken down a small path and lead to a small homestead; the home is quite traditional made of earth with a tin roof. We were introduced to the his father, mother, and grandmother, who shrieked when they saw me. They questioned in Kiembu “ how did you get here?” “ I walked,” I said. “ but why?” “ Because Silas is a very bright boy and he should go to school,” They shrieked again. Soon Silas appeared and was shocked to see us, but greeted us warmly. The Silas I found here was very different then the one I knew in school; frightened and shy, he would shoot glances at his father, with everything he signed. I asked him to show me around his compound, and he opened up explaining what each plant in the shamba was; yet the moment he was in front of his parents, he closed down. We asked the parents if they knew he was accepted to secondary school, they were shocked and said “ but he is deaf, he cannot do well” the teacher with me assured them that Silas was very capable and would undoubtedly excel in secondary school. They told us they could not afford to take him to pay for secondary school, because they have five other children. Silas sits quietly, observing, yet unaware of what is being said, in his own world. He is surrounded by a world of misunderstood solitude, at Saint Luke’s he is a hero; a success, but here what is he? I ask him again what he wants to do with his future. He looks me in the eye then to his father, then rapidly back at me and signs, “ I want to go to school”. My heart breaks, a million times over. I am not a big fan of throwing money around, because often times it is not sustainable or creates a false expectation; and the truth is all the children at my school have similar stories; all heartbreaking and tragic in their own right, but this child deserves an education. I must try to do everything in my power to see that Silas gets an education. The truth is there are hundreds of Silas’, Deaf children brushed aside, oppressed, misunderstood, and when I think of that I am overwhelmed. Silas is just one of many. One child— although small and to some insignificant, this child can represent a whole population of change. I can recognize my smallness, and the fact that could never give enough, do enough, change enough, but I sign to Silas “you will go to school” and I mean it; somehow it is enough. If you think you can help me in anyway (ideas, support,magic, forwarding this post to others) please contact segeryo(at)gmail.com

Pheewwww this past month has been hectic! I've seen and done so much I am going to need to break these posts up into several editions. As for now I am back and ready for my second year at St. Luke's! I love to travel but it feels great to be right where I belong. Karibuni Ginnie's Safari!

With the school closed it was time to head out on my adventure. My friend and myself planned to go to Western Kenya and Uganda, to get a sense of the other side of the country and visit a country I have been interested in for some time. Driving through the Rift Valley I am always amazed, not only is it the birthplace of humanity—its beautiful, and now that the rains have begun, it felt alive. As we continued west the farms that lay on top of one another became infrequent, the land turned greener and greener; trees, forests, rivers, small mud huts and grass roofs passed by. Kericho was filled with tea fields wet with rain and people gently picking each leaf all along rolling hills and forests set the backdrop. Finally we arrived to Kisumu the third largest city in Kenya, beside the great Lake Victoria. The streets were filled with “boda bodas” or bikes fixed with cushions for passengers to sit on and the streets were clean and unlike Nairobi or Mombasa not filled with honking horns and traffic. We enjoyed some of the best fish I have ever had, and caught the tail end of the sunset on the lake. The next morning we walked down to the lake which was covered with lily pad type plant that extended out into the lake for at least a kilometer, I was told this was an invasive species and millions of shillings were spend on removing it. The lake is massive, and borders three countries. We headed out towards to Siaya the home of Barrak’s father and where much of his family still lives. We met another Volunteer in the area who showed us around. Since the election she has become a local celebrity, and accepts visitors everyday. I could see from the sign in sheet filled with thousands of visitors from Kenya and all over the world. We passed the primary and secondary schools that Barrak opened. Her house was as big as mine in Embu and we sat under an expansive tree and waited. Finally Barraks stepsister, informed us that Mama Sarah had malaria and was resting. We chatted for a few minutes with her and wished Mama Sarah a quick recovery and headed out for another delicious meal of fish! The next day we headed out to Kakamega, the last little circle of what used to be the Guineo-Congolian forest ecosystem stretching to central Africa. Today it looks like a small island within a sea of farms and towns. Within the park you feel closed off from the encroachment ( although during one hike we could hear the consistent hum of a chainsaw in the forest). The rainforest is cool and bursting at the seams with life! Everywhere you look there is life, trees killing each other for the suns gaze, termites eating the left over’s, ants underground tunnels, and of coarse the monkeys! Colobus monkeys are black and white have long white tails, walking into the forest , you see a shake in the tree and you can guarantee it is monkey gathering, they jump from limb to limb with acrobatic ease. The main source for anxiety and sense of “ were not at home anymore” was the baboons. These guys are everywhere, and they are big! The first day we decided to hike up to the “ viewpoint” to get a view of the rainforest, the hike was simple enough and we situated ourselves on a rock for a moment only to discover baboons surrounded us. We were reassured that these baboons were afraid of humans, and did not attack but seeing these guys up-close bulging muscles, and 2 inch fangs, I didn’t want to take any chances. We had planned to climb higher to a wooden perch but each path we took we were greeted by baboons, who didn’t look as if they were going to move! So we made our way back down to trail only to be greeted by more baboons! My friend’s theory was that my singing could scare anything away and it work a rousing version of “ hakuna matata” did the trick! The baboons walk into the thick bush and literally disappear. We stayed in bandas which were identical to those used by people in the area, mud and thatched roofs, we were beat and fixed some PB &J and slept to chorus of forest night. The next day we took a long hike to a small waterfall and trail along a river. Miles through the rainforest I just gazed at the hugeness of these trees and life within this ecosystem. The trail wasn’t marked very well, and at times I was sure we were doomed to walk the rainforest for years, but we jumped, climbed, and crawled our way through the forest. We had yet another meal of PB&J a quick gaze at the stars, and dreams of Kisumu fish. The next day we headed out of the forest and our intended destination was Kampala the capital city of Uganda. This is were the beauty of traveling in Africa comes in; and this is a really abstract beauty, like those paintings where you pretend to see the meaning, but in your head you’re saying this makes absolutely no sense! We headed into the Kakamega town and enquired about how to get to Uganda, we were told three different routes to take and thanks to our masterful planning neither of us had a map, a guide book, or any idea geographically about which direction to go! I somehow remembered that Busia was closer to Uganda then Webuye, but were told that there was no direct route to the town we would have to board a matatu to Mumias and board another matatu there. Matatus were just as the always were—cramped and crowded. Due to the fact that I had a huge bag I had to take the first row of seats, not so bad but the engine is underneath you and on your shins which can melt your shoes. Of coarse in true Kenyan style I resembled Garfield stuck to the side of window as six people occupied the row! The matatu also broke down half way through and we had to wait for another one to switch into. I was stuffed into the front row again, but was disturbed when the door had some trouble closing. When another passenger got off I was moved to the front seat, luckily, because as we took off; so did the door. We waited as the driver and other villagers tried their best to reattach it, which worked! Finally we reached Busia the border town where we bought our Visas and reached Uganda! Once again we had no idea where we were in Uganda and which direction Kampala was, or how to get there, or Ugandan currency. We remedied our money woes at the bank and were lead to matatu going to Kampala full of hay literally! I had to hold my big bag on my lap for the 4 hour trip, I could barely feel my leg. We laughed at the differences in Uganda and Kenya, while stuck in traffic, we actually sat in the traffic and waited, in Kenya this would never happen, the side paths become roads and you can always get ahead! In general people of Uganda were more relaxed, and very friendly. We eventually headed out to Jinga to raft the mighty Nile River. Jinga is where the river take root from Lake Victoria, this place is the renowned by explorers for “the source” of the great north running Nile. We stayed at a camp on the banks of the river, which was beautiful. We enjoyed watching the sunset over the river and monkeys jumping from tree to tree. The next day we prepared ourselves for rafting. The rafting is regarded as some of the best in the world, having class 5 rapids, and pools of calmness. I am not one for really worrying but when I saw some videos of rapids before our trip I was a bit nervous. We teamed up with two other travelers, and had the craziest guide, who ended up being rather entertaining through out the trip. We were told to jump into the water to see if we could swim, handle the temperature, and basically not freak out. Then we were taught how to forward paddle, back paddle, and other commands on how to turn left and right. We hit the first class one rapids and we glided through, we continued through a few class 3, then finally to a class 5. My strategy was to stay focused on paddling to try not to notice the rapids flowing all over and jagged rocks. The first class 5 we were told forward paddle and I used all my might until a huge rapid like a wave was flying towards my face, a rush of water I could see the boat and my shipmates flip. In the water water I held on to my paddle with a death grip, the river pulled my down, and I could see greens, blues, black, then finally white, I wanted up, I wanted air! I popped up for a moment I sucked in the air, but was dragged down once again, I was washed pulled left and right until I was up again, AIR AIR AIR, I love air. I spotted the “rescue boat” and was pulled aboard. I tried to spot my friend and saw her on a “rescue kayak” we was on the other side of the river and I could only imagine the journey she was on!

I board a matatu first scoping out my favorite seat- it is taken this time, so I settle for a window seat. As I sit a crowd of grown men gather and start tapping at the window. Tap Tap "Hello Sister" Tap Tap " Mzungu" Tap Tap " Promote me today". At this point I realize I will never own a fish again. The tapping reminds me of playing with my Beta fish Fred, trying desperately to get a reaction from him ( sorry Fred, R.I.P). After living (close too) this town for one year, I imagined this would stop; it has not. The town is just too big, and mzungus too few ( I've counted 12 in the past year, most just going to the supermarket) I am a main attraction. I have learned to take these reaction with a grain of humility and humor, but it is still difficult ( I have had my first gray hair to prove it)!

As we begin the journey multiple people are literally breathing down my neck, I become a contortionist, as I twist a turn, fitting more and more people into the vehicle. Arms tucked in, neck turned to one side, balancing my bananas on my leg, matatus are never full; there is always room. I look out the window to the rolling mountains and changing sky. My mind runs through a labyrinth of thoughts, my eyes traces the shambas, the mountains, the jacaranda trees, the maize stalks, the clouds, I am in my own world, fully present but magically gone. The driver stops in front of the sign St. Luke's Special School and again somehow weave myself out.

Here it is among the watchful eye of Mount Kenya looming in the West tucked in between the hills in the distance, my own personal slice of happiness. The students perched on top of a termite hill point and sign my name, the race begins. Three young boys race to help me with my bag, Ken the fastest little kid always wins out, but I always find something for Paul and Martin to carry. I always pass Bernard sweeping the dirt, his smile would melt even the hardest heart.When we reach my house the crowd has formed- asking me to play frisbee or catch or color or read. I tell them in a bit , and hurriedly unpack my things and head out.

Jackline and Faith spot me in the distance and they come running towards me with arms open hugging my legs as I approach. Rebecca and Stella now spot me and each grab an arm, I twirl them in circles until the giggle with dizziness. Others join we play, we dance, we climb trees, we practice sign language, we practice spelling, we throw balls, we chase, we fall, we are happy. The wind whips through the grass and it tickles are feet. The evening is approaching and we watch the sky change colors.

My one year in Kenya has been a tapestry of thoughts, stories, feelings, awareness, but the common thread of happiness has been my students. They define every moment, this school has given me, a place to be.

Sarah: The kids have no pencils.

Me: I just gave the whole school pencils a few weeks ago!

Sarah: They probably ate them, these children eat everything.

Me: A whole pencil...they would eat it.

Sarah: Yes.

This was not a signed conversation but I thought it was amusing; in fact I have many of these conversations through out the day which are always funny!

So the rains have begun, finally after nearly a year of living in Kenya I have yet to experience the full rains...until now! Everyone is very happy, and are even thankful for the tons of mud stuck to their feet! I told my students how in America we sing song for the rain to go away! A few of my students were curious to know the song, but others refused to sign the song because rain means that food grows, without the rains there is no food, its interesting the lesson you are taught by a 10-year-old.

Since everyone in my area is busy planting and tending to their farms I decided I should do the same. I am currently attempting to grow tomatoes (Nyanya), green pepper (Ho Ho) and cilantro (daniya). So far the chickens have learned to scale the gate I built in August, although I did not see the chicken myself the children reported back to me; Ginnie: 0 Chicken:39,876. I love eating chicken now but merely for vengeance! We will see how or if I get any food from this shamba but working with the kids with it has been fun at least.

Another result of the rains is having no dry clothes! I have been attempting to dry my jeans for 3 days. Today I just got greedy, the sun was shining and the birds were singing, they were basically dry except for a few inches, I thought " hey why not", torrential down pour...that is why not! So I guess it is getting another rinse, along with all my other clothes!

The rains also bring bugs, so many bugs, good thing my bug tolerance is at an all time high, now I days I casually pick the beetles off instead of flailing to get them off. Of coarse at first when I jumped from a beetle attack the kids laughed and then ate the beetle, go figure. Catching flying termites is the new past-time at my school. The termites come from the ground and normally the kids just find the hole and pop one in, just like a candy, right? There is also a method of hitting your sweater against the ground which somehow gets the termite? I have to be explained this again, I think. I will fully admit I have eaten termites myself (this somehow reminds me of the 2nd grade when people use to tease "Ginnie eats bug" now I can say yes I do) they are not bad, kind of taste like fried eggs.

The term is wrapping up as we prepare for the KCPE, the final exams, essentially. I am busy with reviewing, and also trying to pull things together for the new group of Volunteers coming in tomorrow! We are planning an HIV/AIDS camp and 4 of my students are going! I am very excited to meet the new group, and have my kids participate in the camp!

“And in the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years.”

Abraham Lincoln

Once a year a day rolls around—some dread it, other relish in it, but to me birthdays are meant to be celebration of another year lived. This month has not been the easiest for me, I’ve spent more time in the hospital then I care to mention, and outside of the hospital in bed, sick. So this week when I finally felt better, (after nearly 3 weeks of being sick) I decided I wanted to celebrate and appreciate my health on my birthday. Birthdays aren’t really celebrated here, in fact most of my students don’t know on which day, or even which month they were born! Naturally I didn’t expect much when I told my neighbor my birthday was coming up; yet while I was at the hospital I received warm text messages that I should have “a quick recovery, that my birthday celebration was being planned”.

I finally returned to school I knew what I wanted to do for my birthday; climb a mountain. Behind my house there is a mountain in direct view, I love watching the sun travel around the mountain; changing the colors of the sky and the mountain itself, blue in morning, sweltering red in the evening, and finally a deep purple, before darkness covers the land like old familiar blanket. I stare and admire this mountain constantly, so naturally this would be my birthday gift to myself! My friend and bike partner (the school’s watchman) agreed to climb it with me. To my surprise he arrived right on time to hike, I was on Kenyan time and had not yet eaten. I made my favorite dish quesadillas (I even sprung for cheese in town) with mango salsa! The watchman had never had cheese before, and I tried to explain it was not butter! So we enjoyed our meal and headed out.

We hiked past the river—full from the rains, which have begun. Walking through shambas greeting children, and nearly everyone who crossed our paths. I could tell a few minutes into our journey that I had made a rookie-hiking mistake: wore the wrong shoes. I had never wore these shoes before, but I felt my hiking boots would be to heavy especially since I had been assured that this hike would be an hour ( of coarse all of our trips are always supposed to be an hour, but normally last 5, I should of known). I continued on with the discomfort, but aware of a possible problem ahead. We climbed up gently sloping hills; green from the recent rain, admired valleys dotted with farms, all while under the watchful protection of Kirinyga ( or more commonly known as Mount Kenya). The sun seemed closer, an intimate friend tapping on our backs trying figure out where we were going. A gentle breeze whipped through and provided much needed relief. The sky was the most vivid blue, speckled with puffy white, endearing, clouds. We hiked on dirt roads that I assumed would lead us straight to the top. We stopped at a farm to confirm the route. My friend spoke in Kiembu but I could make out the family pointing into the bush, yes, technically I could see a path, but I could also see how one could not even walk standing up through this path because a canopy of thorny bushes was arched together. I decided we should try a less menacing route. We walked up the road until we found a more open path and continued upward. From this height I could see the town of Embu; protected by a circle of purple (Jacaranda trees are in full bloom this month). Behind the town the expansiveness of Mount Kenya was overwhelming. To the East I could see my school; which was just dot amongst the rolling green hills. At this point my feet were throbbing with pain, I check and confirmed that my toes were raw-- blisters popped. We continued upward but the path we followed just disappeared! We would scout path, after path only to find it leading straight into thorns. We tried several different paths finally deciding to descend, to avoid going further and further into the bush. On our way down we encountered the same problem trails leading to oblivion of thorns. I began evoking my “ Man Vs. Wild” skills which I soon realized were few ( its been too long since I’ve seen it!). To make things worse descending only made my toes beg for mercy, the pain was overwhelming I had to remove my shoes—because of this my feet were exposed to thorns and other things on the forest ground, but I preferred that to excruciating pain of wearing my shoes. We continued through the bush, pole pole

(slowly slowly) until we were surrounded by bush, but we could tell the road was close—we finally decided we would have to crawl through an archway of thorns to get out. Ginnie Vs Wild, I seriously looked like I got into a fight with a tree, twigs poking out of my hair, dirt on my face, and scratched on my arms and legs, but we were free! We reached the main road again and I walked barefoot through the village, my feet pounding on the red crack dirt. Most people in my village cannot afford shoes and most walk around barefoot anyway, although seeing a “mzungu” without shoes was truly a shock! Losing the path had taken a lot of time, now the sun was setting I could see it transforming the area to a peaceful purple, yet the sun itself was a perfect ball of orange adjacent to the mountain. Finally we arrived to familiar land by nightfall, taking each step into complete darkness, I made it home.

I quickly examined my poor feet—luckily due to nearly a year of solely wearing open toed shoes the bottom of my feet are like steal, if only that could be said about my toes, I’ll spare you the details but it was gross! My neighbor’s children came to inform me that I should come over in one hour’s time for my “party”. I showered, and prepared myself and headed over. I could see a table with cake with pink frosting with the words “ happy birthday” written on top! I smiled with excitement and joined my neighbor’s family and a few staff members at the table. I was meant to cut the cake with my “best friend” I choose my neighbor’s small daughter. We cut the cake and was informed I was to be feed—this 9-year-old with fork in hand choose the biggest piece that I was eat in one bite! I did my best and then was informed she had to serve me a drink, this cup being pushed towards my face I feared I would choke, but ended up fine! I was sung happy birthday many times and given a nice card, and of coarse as with every Kenyan celebration we ate….goat.

My first African birthday was a success! I am truly grateful to be healthy once again, to have so many wonderful people who care about me, and of coarse indebted to my parents for raising me (I think we should celebrate “mothers day” on our birthdays whew 9 months of pregnancy)! Getting older for some people is difficult, and yes getting older brings a variety of emotions about life, but when I think of what a crazy, beautiful, hilarious adventure my life has been thus far, well I say bring it on!

“I long, as does every human being, to be at home wherever I find myself.”

Maya Angelou

(pictures of pencils that my friend sent from the states, which my children loved!)

This is the last term of the year, but it has been the most unusual term for me thus far due to series of illness. I'll spare you the details, but it included being the potential 1st volunteer ever to have swine flu; which then to come find out I don't have, but rather just the normal flu.

Being sick and far away from home is an interesting experience, and something that has happened often. In Ghana stuck in my dorm with malaria scare,in Bolvia with dysyntery, and now in Kenya with everything under the sun! Health care varies place to place, but I think the most telling thing about being sick is where you long to be instead of the hospital. I spent two days in Nairobi hospital; and every minute I wanted to be back at my school.

I've spend nearly one year here in Kenya and everyday I forget any other way of life. Bucket baths, purifing water, everything starting hours late; all seem normal to me! Being stuck in the hospital really made me appreciate how much I love my job and how I long to be back "home". This term I teach nearly double what I have before, and it has been a challenge. Most of my students cannot read, or write. I handed them a blank map of Africa and only one knew where Kenya was. I feel so disappointed in the system that had failed these children, but more then that I feel a great challenge in myself.

Somedays I want to cry for these students but I know by just expecting more from them they are growing. One of my students always comes from home with a frigthened look on her face. She seems very uncomfortable with human interaction-- but she lights up with excitment if you ever praise her, and to me moments like that make all the difference. I have seen real progress in a few of my classes-- my KSL class is now, number two for languages in the whole district. I have seen their confidence and curiousity expand and it makes me so proud! Now all I have to do is get healthy so I can return to teaching.

In the past month I had some friends visit from the U.K., I met them in Ghana when I studied there almost 3 years ago. I was very happy to see them after so long and surprised how I felt as if nothing changed. Ghana was an experience that really shaped my life, and it felt "full circle" to showing them around my home in Africa. We exchanged stories from the years gone by and it I showed them my glamous life style! They were blown away by my ability to sleep on a matatu. They said they were saying their prayers and I was dreaming! They tend to be over crowded and therefore stuffed and with all the potholes its like being rocked in a crib, alternatively people has described it as "near death", but I guess its all up to interpretation!

So far less interesting stories here in Nairobi! I have been eating very well and enjoying the company of other Peace Corps volunteers, and the awesome medical staff here, but I hope to be back home soon!

A few weeks ago I was asked this question by an official Kenyan enumerator as part of the census which was occurring. I was taken by surprise because I have never been questioned on my “tribe”, I haphazardly replied “American?” and the census taker marked a number. I left feeling a bit overwhelmed, “what tribe was I?” I repeated in my head. I knew just “American” would never fly in the States, but I have never been sure the answer to this in the states either.

Tribe is a loaded word here in Kenya. After the post election violence where many people suddenly saw each others “tribe”, people who lived and as neighbors for years suddenly became enemies. Teachers attacked their students, the line of friendship and humanity was now blurred between my tribe or not.

Tribe is defined as “a social division in a traditional society consisting of families or communities linked by social, economic, religious, or blood ties, with a common culture and dialect, typically having a recognized leader” I am not sure I could say my community is very “traditional” but then again what does that mean, they keep traditions? From what I can see the Embu people have variety of economic, social, and religion within their tribe, and this is one of the least populous tribes in Kenya. What makes us belong and others not?

When I came to Kenya I expected to come across a lot of resentment amongst people from different tribes—but what I have encountered is almost the opposite. My neighbor commented that she did not want to reveal she was a Kikuyu on the census. Living in a Kikuyu dominated area, I ruled out the possibility that she feared discrimination from others. She simply said, “ I am a Kenyan, and I am teaching my children they are Kenyan”. This is a statement heard across the board from people in my area. This proclamation makes me hopeful about the future of Kenya, but also a bit rueful.

While in the Peace Corps office I stumbled upon a book “ Embu historical text”, it was accounts from village elders who described the oral history of the Embu people. The teachers at the school saw me reading the book and told me how I probably knew more about Embu then the Embu themselves. I tried to discuss the practices the book described and was told “ oh I think my grandfather told me about that, but we don’t do that anymore”. They seemed remorseful for not knowing more, but suggested that modernizing meant change. Is losing culture the price for a better, cohesive, society?

In the U.S I have come across so many bubble sheets questioning me on my “tribe”, I mean “race”. I have always felt uncomfortable answering these questions. I read each bubble looking for my place. My father is from the U.S would that make me white? The text next to White ( not of Hispanic origin), but that would be a lie. My mother is from Guatemala. I would fill both out and was reprimanded to “choose one”, but both felt like a betrayal to the other.

Coming to Kenya, has changed the way I think about “ races” and “tribes”. I can easily say to Kenyans “ I am American” without further questioning; which is impossible in the states. In a way its freeing to not explain “I am half this, half that”, and sometimes feel I am proving my “Americaness”. I also feel a pang of loss, I am part Guatemalan, a rich culture that I believe sometimes more closely resembles Kenya then the States. Is cultural ambiguity the answer, or is there a balancing act of holding on and letting go?

In my experience living amongst other cultures, I have also noticed despite the extreme variation in culture, there is a common thread of humanity that transcends all else. Sharing a belly laugh with Chinese friends in Shanghai, being moved by the kindness of a Bolivian postal worker, sharing a gaze and moment of understand with Ghanaian woman out the window of my tro tro, feeling unconditionally loved by my family in Guatemala, there has to be something said about our ability to see each other as one tribe-- of humanity.

Pole sana for the lack of posting. I have been quite busy with training and various meetings and due to power rationing in the country have had a difficult time connecting. Here are some quick updates on my life.

1. I am very happy and proud to be a first time aunt to my beautiful new nephew! It's an interesting experience to be abroad during the time, and of coarse there is a hint of sadness to being so far, but it gives me a reason to go home in 2011.

2. I have restarted my shamba! Few friends and myself built a gate to keep animals out, the process involved climbing tree and cutting off branches to make the posts then buying chicken wire to close it up. This I hope will inspire me to keep it up during the school year). I also (in a fit of boredom) painted all the rocks outside my house bright green, I'll post pictures soon!

3.I have finished an amazing book The Invisible Cure: Africa, the West, and the Fight Against AIDS. I highly recomend this book to anyone working in Africa or anyone interested in HIV/AIDS in Africa.

4.I am very excited to have people visiting me within my service! I cannot wait to make plans and see loved ones and share what has become such a huge part of me.

“Nature often holds up a mirror so we can see more clearly the ongoing processes of growth, renewal, and transformation in our lives.”

It’s been awhile. I think as time flies by—things that may have once felt new and exotic; become normal, which makes it difficult to write often, and I am not able to access the internet as often any more as well. May things have occurred, for one the Deaf Beauty Pageant. The whole was very fun, an exciting celebration of the Deaf. I met many Deaf people from all over the Kenya ,Tanzania, and Uganda. Thanks to some friends who visited, the whole day ran smoothly—but on Kenya time (very late). School is closed for the month of August. I miss my students; the school without the students is lifeless! They completed their exams; I awaited their results anxiously. My class 5 KSL did excellent—they are able to do so much, one student even got 100 percent! Class 7 social studies, was not as successful. I know they have learned a lot but the many challenge is still reading, they may know the answer to the test when I sign it, but when it is on the paper they cannot read well enough to understand the question—I have a lot of work for next term. Next term I requested to teach more, so my classes will double—I am excited because I love being in the classroom. I watch them go home with a heavy heart, knowing they may have no one to talk to in their family, or maybe no one who believes in them. September will come soon! Now that I have had some time off I have finally gone on Safari! I took a trip to the Rift Valley—where all of humanity began! Thousand of years ago from the volcanic valley, modern humans developed, struggled to survive and to my surprise, still do. The area was a contrast to the lush farm land or the central highlands—instead the rain failed, and it is impossibly dry. The area is still beautiful, the valley is deeps with rolling hills, soda lakes, millions of flamingos, and overflowing with animals. I visited Lake Nakuru National Park, which is known for flamingos, and rhinos. Rhinoceros are one of the most endangered species in the world, so I surprised to see so many around the park. I felt unfeasibly small compared to this massive animal, which resembled something from Jurassic park, rather then the world I live in. The park also had many water buffalo—which was also huge- with their large horns and massive weight I was told they actually rule the park. We approached two in our car and I guess we got a bit too close; the water buffalo looked me straight in the eye, and there was no question we knew what he meant; get away. In the park were many baboons, zebra, giraffe, and antelope. The beauty of nature, leaves no question the importance of conservation to ensure the survival of these species. I also went on safari on Lake Navasha; which was quite different the Lake Nakuru. The place is called Hell’s Gate; it is the only animal park you can walk or bike through. It is one thing when you have comfort of a vehicle giving you (maybe false) security—but when you’re biking there is no question who rules the roost. The landscape was captivating; great valleys, cliffs, and towers of rock. Biking with zebras, giraffe and baboons, one of the humbling and unbeatable experiences thus far. At one point my friends and I approached a family of water buffalo very close to the road. We were standing upwind so, they were unaware of us; for the moment. Our guide spotted a baby—so we knew they would not want us hanging around. We were all advised to ride past as fast as we could, we prepared ourselves and began riding, pumping our pedal, slightly glancing at this massive animals; it was now aware of us and stared at us. It was up to them now whether they perceived us as a threat or not. I spotted a young calf at it side as I speed by; practically holding my breath! It continued to stare as we biked but decided to let us pass. We all breathed a sigh of relief, and giggled with anxious tension. After biking for a few hours, we decided to hike in a gorge. The whole area is full of geothermal activity—which is constantly changing the landscape. We hiked into a narrow space and clung to the walls as we weaved our way through the small space. A boulder fell blocking the path and accumulating water, which we hiked through and over and revealed, hot springs. I washed off some of the dirt, I was covered in and continued. The gorge opened up to a huge valley. Our guide took us up Massai grazing trails and we saw manyata ( massai home made of wood and cow dung) and got amazing views or the whole gorge. I was with two great friends so, the whole day was unbeatable.The rest of the month, I am taking it easy. I am trying to arrange a video on HIV/AIDS for the Deaf, and maybe start shooting. I have also begun working with a children's home for HIV positive children, and possibly assisting with income generating activities, and of coarse playing with cute kids! Time is going so fast at times I wish I could just slow it down, but I do my best to just live each moment to the fullest.

This month has been flying! The first picture is from a friends Deaf School, he organized a field day and this was the water ballon toss, I was team purple. Most of these pictures are from my semi-regular bike adventure with the schools watchman. They normally involve a conversation telling me of a cool site 30 minutes away, that envolve into 6 hour epic journeys of pain! I do always enjoy myself though! This latest one involved riding through the rolling green hills, savannah grasslands, helpful watoto (children). The highlight was the view from the top of the exposed rocks. I could see my school, Mount Kenya, hundred of shambas( farms), the sky extending to the ends of the earth. The lowlight was wiping out! The road that could only be described as red dust- which my tire dug into and I flipped over. I have some cuts and scrapes but I kept on going. I have now earned some "cred" with my students for my scars, so its ok!

I have continued teaching with my students and I am seeing polay polay ( slowly slowly) progress. I've been also keeping myself busy with upcoming events with the Deaf community. The main one next weekend is Mr. and Miss Deaf Beauty. The event will be held at the hotel in town, and I hope will be a large event. The main goal in all of this is to promote Deaf pride, in a culutre who often times devaules the Deaf, we want to show that you can be proud to be Deaf! I am also working on a skit or presentation on HIV/AIDS in KSL and English ( for the hearing who will be there) I hope this will be a good opportunity to spread awareness and lessen the stigma surrounding HIV/AIDS.

One of the goals of the Peace Corps is to share American culture with Kenya and Kenyan culture with Americans. I am always talking with my friends here about America and dispelling rumors ( We eat snakes, we leave TV's on the street, everyone is rich) but I feel maybe I should give more detail to life here in Kenya. So here are the most common questions I get about my life in Kenya.

What do I eat? I eat a lot of vegetables. My situation is a bit differentthen most volunteers because I do not eat a lot of Kenyan food because the location of my school. I live in the middle of nowhere-- the closests place to eat is about a 2 hour walk. I can take a matatu into town but its expensive and really not do-able unless I plan to spend some time in town. So I cook my own food. I don't have a refridgerator so I tend to buy food that won't go bad quickly so potatoes and onions! I do eat more then just that, but I do have to plan out my meals for the week based on when I will be able to go to town and when things will go bad. I've made some awesome meals, but I am basically a vegetarian again; no butcher around so I'd have to kill my own food, which takes too long. In fact I am slightly vegan no milk is sold around so, no dairy! Although when I go to Nairobi I eat cheese and bacon like there is no tomorrow so I don't know if that makes me Nairobitarian?

How do I get around? Matatu. Oh Matatus. Imagine a van with 14 seats, now imagine 24 people in this van, many chicken, even more babies, and possibly a goat-- tah dah...matatus! I've gotten used to them for the most part, but there is the ocassional day where the chickens scare me or I am smooshed beyond belief, that I want to kick the chickens and jump off, but I don't.

What is the weather like? I live in what is considered the central highlands. It is technically mountain climate area but I am on the savannah the lowest point on the mountain ( can you tell I am a social studies teacher?) Generally my weather is awesome! Imagine a spring-like weather in the morning and a sunny afternoon. We are now in winter, which means for a few hours in the morning I could technically wear a light sweater, but then it gets sunny again!

How is my farm? Farm is not so good. Lets just say the crops were not chicken proof. The only thing that is surviving is onions! I am not much of farmer, but I am going to build my own fence and try again next rainy season.

What do I do? Most of the time I am a teacher. I don't teach all day like other teachers so I have free time to work on HIV/AIDS projects. I try to spend a lot of time revising my lesson plans and evaluating each student on what work and what didn't. I also read a lot, I actually need to slow down because I won't have much else to read, I can polish off a novel in an afternoon! *shameless plug if you would like to send me books my address is on the side* I also spend a lot of time maintaining my household. Handwashing clothes, planning meals, tending to the shamba, cleaning to keep the ants at bay.

Let me know if you have any other questions about life here and I will do my best to answer.

Signed Conversation:

Me: Electricity finished?

Thomas: Electricity go to Embu, lunch time. (mimics getting into a matatu and eating lunch).

Teaching is strange and wonderful thing. What is it to teach? What is it to learn? I have spent the majority of my life in a classroom—but standing on the other side I imagined would be completely different although I find that its not. As a teacher I also want to be a constant student—always looking for new and different ways to learn. I feel comfortable in front of the classroom; and that is most likely because I know my students. From sweet and shy Silas when he answers a question correctly smiles into his shoulder, class know it all Dennis, to the hilarious Pauline, this is not a mass army staring and judging ( as I imagined it would be) but rather a group of students who want to learn. I am inspired by their curiosity and wit.

My most enjoyable times I’ve had teaching have been showing them a different world outside their own. I show them pictures and books from the far reaches of earth. I can see their eyes—discovering these whole new worlds from the comfort of the classroom. Every Sunday I try to have a “lab” day where we have class, but try to do something that the 35 minutes would not allow. I had a few back issues of National Geographic sent to me, but surprisingly most of the topics I was covering were inside the covers. I can sign about what the ocean is but to children who have never seen an ocean—its the equivalent to signing about dragons or mythical lands, but with these magazines I can show them a four page spread of oceans, icebergs, and deserts! More then anything I encourage their curiosity about the world around them, because it is curiosity that has taken me to 5 different continents and here to Kenya. It is this unexplainable feeling when you can see minds at work, a deep and resounding joy that radiates. When we are done my students all sign “thank you for teaching” and at that very moment everything seems to fit.

Another step I’ve taken as a teacher is devote time to instilling confidence. Many people in Kenya believe Deaf people are dumb, even a common name for the Deaf ‘bu bu’ means dumb in Kiswahili. I know the students internalize some of these cultural thoughts, and I have been trying to change that. I made posters that say “Yes I Can” and had students write their names and draw pictures of their desired future professions. The class normally stands and signs “Hello Teacher” when I enter the room but I have changed the greeting to “Yes I Can” before we start class—and remind them when they approach a difficult task. And it has been difficult! Many of my students cannot read and very few can write. I have spoken to teachers who have alluded to the fact that they have “sort of given up, teaching writing” focusing rather on reading comprehension. I tried to jump into writing short stories and then realized we needed to start from square one, what is a noun, verb, and object? I know I am asking them to try something new, and I realize how difficult it must be, somehow through all of this I have found a patience, I never knew I had. Perhaps it comes from memories of my own struggles in school, until one day something just clicked. I’ve spent the last two months encouraging and explaining, but I do see progress! I am lucky to have such a fulfilling job. Working with children, I am guaranteed a laugh, a hug, and satisfaction in a day of work. Do I need to mention the cuteness factor—look at those faces!

I have also been busy with the Deaf adult community. In the past month I have attended two Deaf leadership seminars and unbeknownst to me was also a speaker at the events! I gave impromptu speeches about being a leader, and peace. Both I sort of rattled off things about Obama (a sure crowd pleaser), the goals of the Peace Corps, and volunteerism. My speeches were very short, but I think enjoyed! The most rewarding part is meeting some very charming and clever people, that I am happy to call friends now.

I have been working closely with the prime organizer in these events. He is a Deaf man from Embu who received a scholarship to study at Gallaudet University, he is back for a few months working on research but also organizing events. It has been a pleasure to work with someone who is enthusiastic about change. Working with him as given me an instant “in” to the community where otherwise I would be pegged as an outsider. Some of the projects include an early assessment center in Embu, where young Deaf children can be evaluated, and a Deaf beauty pageant (the goal is really to instill Deaf pride and expose the Deaf to the hearing community). It is also nice to work with someone who understands American culture, and can sympathize with being far from home.

Being here is often a rollercoaster of emotions. Born from romantic ideas of distant lands and far off places. At times I am alive with curiosity, and wonder, other times alone with just my thoughts. I am realizing there is more too it then just living here. A place or home is not anything until you invest something into it, live it completely; the pain the pleasure, and all the questions. It is bigger then the romantic ideals, or stories, or blogs I can throw together. I am far from everything I have known—but not lost, or maybe just not wanting to be found. This is my home.

I wrote a long entry but left it at home, so I will post more later! For now enjoy some pictures!

Crossing the river by my house.

The kids working on my farm.

Rebecca(whom everyone calls my baby) and Eunice from nursery class.

Nursery and some of class one!

Rebecca and I.

That is the Chruch and Mount Kenya in the background.

Sunset outside my door.

"In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return."

Genesis 3:19

Standing in the Embu mortuary, surrounded by teachers from my school my stomach fell to my feet.

We were all there for a former student; James who attended the school for 10 years and later went on to vocational school near by. Both of his parents had died when he was young and he was working in Embu as a mason to support his younger brothers. I only met him once, at the Deaf church in town, but I remember being moved by his kindness. He was struck by a van in town—despite the many speed bumps they move a dizzying pace. He was only 20-years-old. Although the remaining members of the family loved him, no one could afford to bury him.

At school my friend and fellow teacher Michael, instantly knew what he had to do. “ He is our boy” he would say again and again as he left the school to make arrangements. He worked at day and night visiting the police, insurance office, hospitals, and carpenters to “make it right” he said. All of this was done with out a second thought, or even a complaint. He hired a Deaf preacher form Nairobi to lead the service, paid for Deaf community members to travel, all in the hope to try to share James’ culture with his small village. He encouraged the teachers to chip in and pay for James’ coffin, and attended the funeral ourselves. This is a family.

At the mortuary, I shifted nervously back and forth, unsure of where to stand, what to do. We all viewed the body and I watched the preacher sign the sermon. I felt instantly calm, “ he is our boy” I said in my head, because it is the truth. The students at our school are ours, in most cases all they have for guidance, or role models. Even though James wasn’t my student in a way he was.

We all piled in the car and headed to Ishiria the home of James. We were driving into a place so unfamiliar to our lush farming town, despite only being 40 minutes away. The area was hot and dry, trees were jagged and fought one another other for life. The preacher joked that we took the wrong road and were in Mombassa. There was curious sad beauty to the landscape; deep red soil, patches of cactus, and babaou trees all placed against gently sloping hills—green. The sun was unforgiving, and challenged all those there to exist.

We finally arrived to James’ home. Many villagers watched as we entered, Michael told me that this was probably the first time seeing a mzungu (foreigner). The Deaf preacher gave his sermon and because most did not know English 2 interpreters were needed to change the sermon from KSL to English to Kimberre. Many people hide their Deaf children, ashamed of their Deafness and often times thinking witch craft is involved, many Deaf children are kept hidden their whole lives. Michael gave his eulogy in Kimberre and sign language and expressed the importance in accepting the Deaf, he made a point to introduce all the Deaf people and expound upon their successes.

After a quick introduction of village elders, remaining family members, and church leaders it was time to lay James to rest. Outside of his home, the red dirt, thorny plants sprawled over the land, as a sadness hung—which was all too familiar to this family. The sun was setting and changed the sky to a light purple, as the light highlighted varying parts of the hills, revealing gentle slopes. Burial songs were sung by the eldest villagers, all women. Their colorful head wraps swayed back in forth as red dirt was flew all around at rapid pace. When the burial was finished, three plants were planted on top of his gave and a cross-placed at the top. The sun had now moved beyond his grave illuminating the cross and the arresting land.

We said goodbye to our boy.

“Don't judge each day by the harvest you reap, but by the seeds you plant.”

Robert Louis Stevenson

I have returned to life in my farming community. When I first arrived I nearly let the matatu driver keep driving because I did not recognize it! Gone are the fields of yellow, a product of rains that just refused to come; now green, lush farms cling to the hills. There is an ambiance of hope shared amongst people, and true appreciation of the rains that usher in new possibility. Everything is alive.

With this new sense of life, I have decided to give my shamba (farm) another shot. Last term I planted late and did little more then stick some seedlings in the ground, and to my dismay the many chicken that reside at my school promptly ate them. This time I have sought advise from my lovely neighbor who suggested some plants that (supposedly) chickens don’t eat. I am certain I provided entertainment for the school when I asked for a hoe and began working. The crowds gathered to watch the mzungu farm—luckily the students finished class and they all wanted to help me. They all took turns plowing the soil, dirt flew all over us all and as we picked through the weeds--tilling, ripping and scratching the earth soft. We finally unearthed a soft and quaint shamba! I never really pictured myself the farm type, but with dirt everywhere and a piece of straw hanging from my mouth, it certainly fit the bill. I have to say there is merit to a hard day of physical work, a pride that no one can diminish.

Well I guess I was on what you could call “farming high” because I decided to continue my manual labor. My area is known for snakes, so much so that the Sign for Embu is basically mimicking a snake biting your hand. The grass has grown to at least 4 feet—I am almost unable to see the school! This provides perfect cover for my snake friends. Luckily medical has provided me with a venom sucker that will basically suck the venom from the wound if I am bitten, but like that saying, “ an ounce of prevention is worth a pound in treatment” I decided to take away their cover (at least close to my house). Cutting the grass has a taken on a whole new meaning, as I literally had to cut each blade with a machete. Gone are the days when I have to hear “ back in the day I used a push mower, now that was work” standing bent over thrashing at grass for hours—that is work! My watchman friend helped me after awhile and we got a good portion my “yard” to a reasonable size—lets just hope the snakes get the hint. After detoxing from my farming high came the pain! My hands swollen with blisters, my back rigid, arms shaking uncontrollably, still I was triumphant.

On a completely different note:

I would also like to offer my sincere and deep appreciation to my family and friends Francine and Carly for sending me packages. Already the materials I've received have helped tremendously in teaching, and the students are so appreciative and excited to have colorful and different teaching aides. More then just the items to know the thought and time placed in sending them makes me realize how fortunate I am to have people who love and care about me; which really makes a difference out here. With that said another thanks to everyone who has written; I am one very lucky, ridiculously happy Volunteer.

Scuba Diving close to Kilifi

Thanks to Matt's underwater camera!

One Love Island Sunrise

Mombasa

Fort Jesus by night

Indian Ocean and Fort Jesus

Walk to the Elephant Orphanage, Nairobi

Orphan Elephant

"Always remember that the future comes one day at a time. "

Dean Achenson

My school is out for the month of April, and I have to say I miss my children dearly! I did travel with a few of them for the Deaf Games in Machakos-- where I am proud to say both my girls and boys won..... the power walking competition. We never practiced this and I thought it was a joke when I first heard of the race, but its actually difficult to not just run!Either way I was very proud of my students and I know just the experience of being outside our school was great for them! On the way there we passed an airport and they all questioned me again about the hippo status and if I knew the people on the planes.

After the games I had a few old friends join me at my site you can check out http://superkeen.com/peacecorpsweblog/?p=317 his thoughts on my site. Then I was off for more training in Nairobi.Being in Nairobi-- is something you must truly experience and is hard to explain. I feel as if I spend a lot of time in the states dispelling rumors about Africa, but Nairobi has them all. For example driving down one road where I was in a cab surrounded by BMWs and fast food restaurants, I saw a family of baboons jumping over a fence, and then literally minutes later Kibera ( the largest slum in the world). Africa and it juxtapositions...I could go on for days.

Training is an interesting experience, a mixture of Peace Corps policy, medical training, and sector specific training. I have to say what I am most excited about is starting my behavior change communication work. I was told I was selected mostly on the basis of making Deaf friendly materials to stop the prevention of HIV/AIDS. This involves making movies or posters to distribute through out Kenya hospitals and testing centers. With my past experience in the broadcast field, I am very excited to start working. While I was at the Peace Corps office I picked up a few posters with a few signs, the alphabet, and numbers. These were created by former volunteers. I took a lot because I want to make sure places in my town have them for example the hospital, the police station and the HIV/AIDS testing center ( VCT). I was able to talk to a hostel owner in Nairobi who I normally stay with when she told me she just hired a Deaf man, the brother of an employee. I offered her a poster and she showed all the workers. She later expressed to me how happy the brother was to actually communicate with his brother for the first time in 20 years. Moments like that give me the chills! I am beyond excited to start working on my own ideas.

Right now I am enjoying a much need vacation. I am in Mombasa a sand swept island city- where I spent my first week in Kenya! Coming back nearly six months later really makes everything surreal. Six months ago, everything felt so far, now everything feels my own. Although more familiar I can still gawk at the beauty this country has, and feel so small within its ancient landscape, or humbled by small acts of kindness. The changes do not stop at the way I feel about the country but also myself. I hope to always be able to feel so large and small all at the same time.

“Words convey the mental treasures of one period to the generations that follow; and laden with this, their precious freight, they sail safely across gulfs of time in which empires have suffered shipwreck and the languages of common life have sunk into oblivion.”

Tryon Edwards

An old friend once told me that when you learn a new language you gain another soul. I live this expression everyday. Growing up in bilingual house took away the “foreign” notion of flowing in and out in different languages. I’ve always loved learning languages and how words carry different meaning, and if you learn a different language you are able to express yourself in a whole new sense. More then just translating back into English—thinking in a different language. Understanding there are words that only exist in their own context. Learning Sign Language has opened up a whole different world of thoughts, expression, and feelings. I can hear with my eyes.

Finally grasping KSL was equivalent to turning on a different part of my brain. I see hands moving—but in my head I hear their meaning. Signed Language is such a beautiful way to express yourself. It also carries with it the little details that all languages have making each one peculiar little masterpiece. Facial expressions are periods, question marks, exclamation points. Signing has demanded an honesty that is sometimes refreshing and frightening—it equivalent to something being written on your face. Interacting with my students has allowed me to realize how perceptive they are. They know when I am tired, happy, and some can tell when I am feeling downright confused—even when I don’t know what I am feeling.

When they are signing they make each story come alive. They describe details using their hands, their face, and their whole heart. I love to watch them sign stories and hear them flowing with my eyes. I know when I am signing I am able to animate my thoughts and feelings in a way I could never imagine before—and perhaps gained a whole new soul.

Card for Mrs. Reep's class

I had an opportunity to attend a re-opening ceremony of a nearby Deaf school on Friday and had an amazing time. The school has a foreign sponsor and received all new buildings and funds for activities. Many people attended the event including my Deaf friend who is alum of the school. I had the opportunity to meet other alum from the school and was amazed by their stories. Many of the former students are professionals working for various organization in Nairobi, they even told me of a former student who is in the process of obtaining their P.H.D.! Seeing all these students really reaffirms the confidence I have in my students. I know how capable they are, and I hope some day they will return to St. Luke's with fond memories. With that said I know my school has a long way to go, looking at the staff and the whole atmosphere at this school. I feel a sense of optimism, there are a lot of difficulties, but I can see the opportunity for change in each of them. I also met with the school’s sponsor and tossed out some ideas for Deaf Leadership Camp, to instill pride in Deaf culture and inspire students. He seemed very interested and I will begin to get the ball rolling on that—now!

Most of these pictures are of my students except for the ones dancing (performance at the school reopening) they are Deaf dancers! The very first picture is the view from my house and the second is my neighbor Mt. Kenya. This is the last week of school and then I will be off for the month of April. I will be so sad to leave my students for a whole month I miss them if I leave for one weekend! Although I hope to come back with new and creative ideas for teach the next term.

“Those who dwell among the beauties and mysteries of the earth are never alone or weary of life.”

Rachel Carson

It’s hard to image a place more beautiful then Africa. Routine settles in and my senses numb, but on occasion I am engulfed with the sheer splendor of the land. I fell asleep on a matatu (mini bus of death) once, and awoke to the most vibrant blues, greens, and purples all in one sky; it’s infectious and overcomes you like a teargas.

On the surface Embu can appear as a mixture of noise, people and cars but after time you begin to notice the brilliant blue of the sky- a pastel blue of an Easter egg. Huge white clouds hang over the town, and as time drags on they alter into lavender then eventually to a deep royal purple. Mount Kenya can sometimes look forbidding with its black jagged edges, but the light here in Embu transforms its rigid appearance to an unfathomable shade of purple, you appreciate the power and beauty it demands.

On my bicycle I take to the road, and trace the green hills with my wheels. The golden grass sways to the humming wind, I can feel its authority; helping or hindering my safari. I often feel like I am the only person in the whole world—all this land is my own. There is also a beauty in the rhythm of life here; life is a series of routines to survive. It can, at times seem painstakingly monotonous, until you stop trying to fight it and just realize the happiness you can find in the motions. Day to day life has become simple, and I welcome the questions, the challenge, and the unknown.

"We adapt our voice and phrase to the distance and character of the ear we speak to"

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Signed conversation with my students:

Student: So you flew in a plane from America?

Me: yes

Multiple Students: Were you scared?

Me: No, it’s safe.

Student: But the hippos!

Me: Sign again, did you just sign hippo?

Multiple Students: Yes, yes, hippo!

Me: Why would I be scared of a hippo on a plane?

Student : Because when your sitting on the plane, you look out the window and you fall out and a hippo eats you.

Me: Maybe I should be scared of flying!

This conversation is ten times better in sign form, because Deaf students use so much imagination, and facial expressions, their stories are just better signed!

I was once told that as a volunteer I would experience the highest highs, and the lowest lows. I couldn’t really understand what this meant until now. Some days I feel so engulfed with happiness, I think I even sleep with a smile, other days the challenges here can be overwhelming. There is the constant loneliness, the need for acceptance, and the extreme amount of patience with people. My school is quite isolated, so I do not have a “village” to integrate into. All the teacher speak English but prefer to use “mother tongue”, which is not a written language, leaving me in silence most of the time.

It is not the easiest when people are constantly seeing you as an outsider; although this concept is not a foreign one to me it was never as outwardly spoken. Even my town visits are not without screams of “mzungu” “sister, marry me” “give me money” “buy me sweets” and my favorite “ hey white”. I can feel this constant gnaw of irritation, and when I feel it begin to bubble up, I just can’t help but laugh. I’m sorry, “hey white” that is funny to me, and ultimately I know (most) of these people do not know they are annoying me, in fact they are just amused by my presence. Who knows if my I was born in Embu, Kenya and rarely saw a person with a different skin color, I too may want to yell and try to get their attention--then again maybe not, but I can see where they come from.

I think what I am realizing about my experience is not what I experience here, but rather how I choose to experience it. I could turn inward, and think every Kenyan who talks to me wants something, or I can go out there every time having hope that people are mostly good. I have to say for every time I’ve had someone ask for money, I’ve had someone show me great kindness. I try to hold onto those moments in my head when I feel so much like an outsider that I would like to run and hide! Ultimately I have to choose the person I want to be, and I want to be a person who thinks the best of people and who can laugh (instead of hiding).

This week a girl came to school, she is around 9 –years-old, she recently contracted meningitis and became Deaf. She is far from her family and friends, adapting to a whole new and scary world. She must adjust and find her “new normal”. I know eventually she will make great friends here, they will become like family, and she will be happy. I think somewhere deep inside she knows it too. At sports time, she sat alone against a tree--I walked up slowly and tried to sign how are you, but stopped when I realized she wouldn’t understand me. She looked up at me her eyes deep pools of black, tears welled in her eyes, and for some reason mine did the same, I smiled—she reached up and held my hand. I know we will be ok.

During our life skills class, I made my ( now famous) mango salsa, I think it is an important life skill!

These two are my precious little sisters, doing there favorite Masai jump dance!

One of my class 7 students making our snare!

One of the teachers setting the bait( corn and flour) for our trap.

Closing the sides for our trap!

My home, it extends to the white line, next door is another teachers house. The big tank is for collecting rain so I can have water!

The pigs that live outside my house and the boys dorm in the background!

These are my little sisters running toward me as I return from school!

My first full week of teaching has finished, and I cannot stop smiling, I truly love my job! Nairobi is wonderful, and packages from home are even better. I have started planning a project that I am very excited about, I don't want to speak to soon in case it doesn't work out, but I am obscenely excited.

"No pessimist ever discovered the secret of the stars or sailed an uncharted land, or opened a new doorway for the human spirit."

Helen Keller

The strike has been called off, and classes resumed this week. It has come as a huge relief to myself and all the children—being cooped up with plenty of ideas can sometimes be frustrating, so this week I am putting them into practice. I’ve been trying to use locally available resources to teach such as balloons to represent a globe, drawing maps, and creating journals. Some of these have worked other have not.

I am teaching a stand alone class on HIV/AIDS to class 8(one of my favorite things to teach), the ideas I had was to have a journal where students could express their thoughts, and feelings regarding the topic. I told them they could write questions they had, write poems, or draw—by the end of the class I received all drawings of myself --teaching. So I missed the mark on that one, but I still feel like I want to stick with the idea, because the within 2 years the prevalence rate of HIV/AIDS among Kenyan has rises nearly 2 percentage points. I strongly believe in open communication regarding the subject, and I know the future of HIV/AIDS in Africa really lies in the hands of the youth. A journal also provides an avenue to improve upon writing skill (which is desperately needed, some students struggle just to write a complete sentence in class 8) and the journal is for my eyes only reinforcing open communication.

My other idea was to use balloons as globes to explain the revolution of the earth around the sun! I drew the different continents on the balloon and had one student hold a yellow balloon and act as if they were the sun. I explained what an axis is and demonstrated a revolution. My students eagerly looked at the world as a balloon, but one signed "so in your home( America) it is night, now?" I wanted to hug her, it worked-- they filled out all my questions on the board correctly. I smile every time I think about it!

This week I was also informed that I was to help with the running activities, equivalent to track team. Imagine the irony: myself teaching Kenyans to run—I know! Truth be told, I am excited because I can put those three years on my high school the track team to use, and at least out dole out some challenging drills. For right now “track practice” consists of running in circles around a field, but maybe I can work in some hills or relay races, and then who knows maybe I have New York marathon runner on my hands?

I am trying to explore the idea of using video as a tool for learning. The students love anything visual and video just seems like an invaluable learning tool. I only wish I had the foresight to bring a projector or printer, but I guess I’ll have to make due with what I have. I have been learning from my fellow teachers as well. Today I had the opportunity to make my first snare or animal trap. One teacher intended to make one, to trap a bird to dissect for his science class. I decided to join because I teach the same class social studies; we walked around the school ground with machetes chopping small tree branches. We bent each stick and weaved other sticks through it, then we collected a leaf from a plant scratched it until I became a rope like fiber. We finished weaving tied the structure together and put the bait inside our trap—flour and corn. We will see tomorrow what we catch; I just hope it is not a snake! I promise to try to add pictures (maybe even videos) this weekend when I go to Nairobi; my connection is too slow and inconsistent to try to support that type of upload.

I’m really starting to feel at home here at Saint Luke’s, hard to believe that it has been almost one month since I’ve arrived! Although the strike threw a wrench into many things, but it feels good to interact with the students and staff again. My counterpart helped me choose a bicycle, and another helped me get it “serviced”, so I finally took to the road this evening. Many people know I am very scared of getting hit by a car which kept me from using a bike in college, but who has time to be afraid? The feeling of riding on the dirt paths and exploring new places; that has to be bigger then any fear. I live about 10 kilometers from town and I would like to start riding to town to avoid expensive and cramped matatus (mini buses used as transport here).

Everything feels as if it is falling into place. I have made quite a few Deaf friends in town ( who insist on giving me a mango every time I see them), I enjoy signing and getting to know them better. I want so badly to succeed in teaching these children, and helping my community. With every greeting, game and signed I love you, I am overwhelmed with a sense of responsibility to my students. I believe so much in the potential they possess. My only hope is that my imagination and ambition could create something useful and sustainable here.

" I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of stars makes me dream"- Van Gogh

The teachers in Kenya are striking for better wages, we are on week two, therefore not much has been occurring. My role as a Peace Corps volunteer is to not teach or participate in any protest, so I clean. I know some people know my extreme aversion to anything having to do with cleaning, but for some reason now I find it very rewarding. Besides cleaning, I have been reading, writing, cooking, planning lessons, and just thinking in general. I find it so interesting how when removed from television, internet, and things in general, I am able to get my best thinking done. I can literally sit, writing, thinking, revising--for hours. My mind fumbling through ideas for the school, Africa, my life. I can remember being so busy, not being able to just enjoy my mind.

I really hope the strike does end soon. I teach at a boarding school, so all the students are still here, and they are desperate to learn. Last week I walked by the classroom and saw the older students teaching the younger ones, when I approached their faces lit up, and asked if I would teach, I had to say no and I could see the sadness in their eyes.

After hours of reading textbooks and teacher's manuals I think the biggest challenge is the lack of resources. Deaf children really need a lot of visual stimulation, and it seems the main avenue for this is a chalkboard, but writing on the board means you don’t face the students, and leaves my hands full and unable to sign. I want to try to use resources available locally (therefore sustainable) and able to be used by teachers in the future. Some ideas include paper machete for globes, play dough for mountain on maps, boxes for drawing, and more.

In addition to research, I have also been doing quite a bit of traveling. This weekend I visited two friends north of Embu and enjoyed seeing Kenya. This country it is beautiful, just off the road I could see hills that dive into the ground, waterfalls, and markets. There is something special about taking to the open road, alone. It is a unique way to see the world through your own filter - uninterrupted. I have also visited three different Deaf schools, which has given me some real perspective on improvements I can make here at Saint Luke’s.

I am settling in slowly, trying to cook inventive food and keep it from going bad. It is quite a challenge trying to cook without microwave, oven, or fridge—but it makes things interesting that’s for sure. I have made some great fresh food dishes and some things I would never eat again.

On another note for those interested my new address is:

Saint Lukes special school for the Deaf

P.O. Box 1297-60100 Embu, Kenya.

Just a note that I have to pay duty on all items I receive, (meaning bargain with the mail clerk for the things you send) so when filling out paper work say it is educational materials, even if it is not! Also, I have heard if you write some sort of religious message on the package itself they will charge less or not steal things from the box. Also, ask the post office about the flat rate box, it is much cheaper, and therefore do not give this information readily.

Keep your fingers crossed for me, this strike will end soon!