It’s 5:00 a.m. and I’m sitting here writing this blog entry out on scrap paper by the light of my kerosene lantern (I later typed it up at the cyber cafe). The power has been out in my village for 3 weeks thanks to some thieves taking the transformer and the Kenya Power Company not being able to find a replacement. I’m thinking to myself “This is what I expected my life in the Peace Corps to be like for the entire 2 years of my service”. Luckily, I’ve been pretty blessed when it comes to water and electricity. My water comes from a bore-hole on the school compound so I don’t have to go too far to fetch it, and usually my kids are more than willing to fetch it for me. This saves me from soaking myself on the walk from the well to my house as I don’t have the inherent balancing skills that these Kenyan kids are born with. The school’s bore-hole works most of the time but it does have the occasional break which means we have to go over to the secondary school to fetch water. When you’re carrying 20 liters of water on top of your head that walk seems so much farther than it really is. My electricity has been fairly consistent over the past 18 months here in Mundika, and by consistent I mean that the power goes out 2-3 times a day, but I can pretty much rest assured that it will come back within an hour or two or at the very longest I will go to sleep without power but wake up being able to turn on the lights again. There have been only two occasions where the power was out for over 4 days, both times because the school hadn’t paid the electricity bill in a couple of months and the power company finally had to shut it off to get the school to cough up what they owed. Well, May 12th I woke up and when I went to flip the light switch nothing happened. I didn’t think much of it. I figured it would come back at some point that day. So I went on with my normal routine. But the darkness came again that night and the power didn’t accompany it. I began to light my candles and kerosene lantern to allow me to see enough to finish up some of my work before heading to bed. I was certain it would come back at some point that night. But even if it didn’t, I was enjoying the simplicity that came with no power. My computer and phone were both dead at this point, not realizing earlier in the day that I should have tried to conserve some battery in case it took some time for the power to reappear. Not having these gadgets charged up gave me an opportunity to read a little bit more, study for the GRE, journal a little more than usual, and not be glued to my computer checking Facebook, G-mail, watching movies, etc. But May 13th passed and so did May 14th. I finally found out about the transformer being stolen and questioned the whole situation. “Who would have stolen a transformer?” “How did someone steal it? It’s a pretty involved process, I would think- I sure wouldn’t know how to do it.” “How the heck did no one hear or see it al happen?” As a friend said when I told him about it “Oh Kenya, always outdoing itself”. True statement if I’ve ever heard one! The novelty of the situation was beginning to wear off. I’d caught up on sleep since I was able to start heading to bed around 7 and sleep for a good solid 10 hours a night. Usually if I lay down and try to read before falling asleep I can only get a couple of pages read before I fade but I was so caught up on sleep after a few long nights that I was able to read several hours before falling asleep. Not being able to text friends, call my parents, or check e-mail was making me feel closed off and, in a way, imprisoned. I need to be able to connect with people and not having that ability was getting under my skin. I also have a lot of secondary projects that rely on my access to internet so feeling like I wasn’t able to work was stressing me out. Another thing that became harder for me was boiling water. I have an electric water heater that I can easily turn on and boil a couple of liters of water very quickly for bathing and drinking. Without that I have to boil it on my kerosene stove. Not only has this proven to be very expensive as I have to frequently buy more fuel, but it is also very time consuming. I know you’ve heard “a watched pot never boils”....well, it’s true! I’m almost to the point that I just want to drink my water straight from the bore-hole instead of boiling it and letting it cool. But I’ve had Giardia (aka gastrointestinal hell) enough times that I’m still boiling it. It’s so hot here and training for the marathon leads me to drink a lot of water..a lot of water I have to boil and cool on a daily basis. I would also switch over to un-boiled water for my bath but have been medically instructed to boil all of my water because of the problem I have with the boils on my skin. I would be okay with the cold bucket baths...but now I just bathe way less often because it’s such a production. My visits to town have become even more frequent. Trying to find a gap in my schedule long enough to make the 5 mile walk to town and then sit for a couple of hours to charge all my electronics has been difficult. To add to it, the dust and heat that my computer and other gadgets have endured this past year and a half have really damaged the battery life and they don’t retain the juice like they once did making that trip to town necessary every couple of days. But, after three weeks, I’ve gotten somewhat adjusted. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll be cheering right alongside my students when the “stima” (power) does come back! I feel for them especially, as they aren’t able to communicate with one another once the sun goes down. Unlike hearing children who are able to continue chit-chatting deep into the night, my children are doomed to the darkness of the night. As I sit here remembering what it was like at home to lose power I have to laugh. Even the thought of an approaching storm sent people to the grocery stores to stock up on non-perishable foods so that they didn’t starve if the power went out for 24 hours. Come on, people! There is enough food in your pantries to last a good, solid week with all those trips you’ve taken to Costco and Sam’s Club. You may be eating chips and PBJs for a maximum of two days but you will not die! Also, I think about the frustration that was caused even when the power flickered and we had to reset our clocks all over the house or turn the computer back on. Oh, the troubles we Americans endure! But even when I think I have it bad, I walk by village shops where the owner makes money off of charging people’s phones (since not everyone has electricity at their homes, people stop by shops to do this) and I realize that with the absence of electricity comes absence of income for these already struggling families. The tailors who have sewing machines that use electricity, or the kinyozis where people go to get their hair shaved off....all these people’s incomes, as little as they were before, are nothing these days. But, as I said, I’ve been adjusting...it’s not easy. To live for so long with something and then have it taken from you is difficult. Whether it be electricity, constant interaction with or at least the ability to connect with friends and family, health, a nutritious diet with lots of variety...all of these things I took for granted for 23 years. When you are so used to them being there and then they are not...well, it takes adjusting. And although it is difficult it is possible, as I’ve seen in my life many times during this Peace Corps experience. But when you do get these things reintroduced into your life you appreciate them even more and don’t take them for granted for a single second. I’m looking forward to getting all these things and many more things back that I’d grown so accustomed to during my life but had to give up or have taken away for this short time here in Kenya. That re-adjustment will be much easier!

This week I started working at a nursery school just to help the children get used to interacting with a white person. I get so tired of being yelled at, mocked, and stared at by other children (and adults) in the village so I figured the best way to combat this was to start working with the youngest group of the community so they know how to appropriately approach a foreigner. Plus, their 3 year old kids....they are soooo funny! Some things that happened during my first week with them... ~I walked into a classroom and one child started screaming and hid behind his hands for the full 30 minutes I was sitting in there. Come to find out his mother told him that if he ever misbehaved, a white person would take him to Europe as punishment.... AWESOME! For two days, he didn’t come back to school for fear of seeing me. Thanks, mom!!! ~On the other hand, I had a girl come straight to me as soon as I arrived at the school and ask me to carry her. So for the rest of the day she was attached to my hip. Every time I tried to set her down she would start crying. When I had to leave she mourned my departure. It made me feel better after the first situation...although I hate making kids cry no matter what the reason. ~Two days later, the same little girl threw a rock at my face. It barely missed my eye and caused a huge knot to form at my eyebrow. Really??? ~A little boy told the teacher that he wanted to invite me to his house where he would kill a chicken for me and cook for me ugali....even though I don’t eat either of these things I would totally suck it up for this cutie! ~I brought a book to read to them and I’ve never in my life heard kids soooo excited to talk about colors! I’m used to working with loud deaf children, but hearing kids are definitely much louder ~I have a new name....Auntie Annie. ~Every time I do something good they sing the standard little jingle sung in hearing schools here in Kenya that makes no sense to me but whatever...I get to shake my hips back and forth with a bunch of three year olds! The lyrics are “Well done, well done, try again another day, a very good girl”. So...you get praised but then they tell you to try again like you didn’t do it well....confused! So yea....I’m loving this new volunteer position at the nursery school and I’m pretty sure it will provide me with a lot of great stories! Kids say the darndest things...no matter what country you’re in!

I realized lately that I’ve been waiting for something big to happen...something worth sitting down and hashing out on the keyboard to tell you all. During my first year of being here, everything was new and strange and so different from anything I ever experienced in America that I never struggled finding something to blog about. Now, my life here is just normal. But normal is a very relative term. I realized that the daily routines that just a short 18 months ago were so strange and hard to get used to are now second nature. So many sights that once made me laugh out of complete shock or things that brought tears to my eyes now pass before my eyes and don’t even get a second glance. As I thought about all these things this week I found a new appreciation for the life I’m living right this second and will soon have to say Kwaheri (bye) to. I just want to share with you some of the things that I saw or did or thought about that are normal to me these days but as I reflect on them are not so normal to my average reader... “There’s no need for an alarm clock here. It’s 4:30 and I can already here the house mama in the next room over shuffling across the floor to get things ready for when the girls wake up at 5:00. The funeral celebrations, which are held at night to keep the spirits away from the body before it is buried, are just wrapping up. The drumming comes to a close and the ululating women let out their final cries. I wake up every couple of hours throughout the night when things at the site of celebration get emotional and the sound level rises. Some nights I curse the funeral rituals here because sleep is the absolute only thing I want, but other nights I want to leave my house and go and join in on the celebration of the life of whoever it is that is now being guarded by their loved ones from the evil that lurks at night waiting to take the soul of the newly fallen man or woman. But the sun slowly turns the blackest of skies into a grey one, the sounds from the drum and the cries turns into the sounds of splashing water coming through my window as the girls wash themselves and their clothes. Amani (my cat) climbs up the mosquito net that has become more and more like a security blanket I can’t live without than the stupid annoyance that made me feel like I was a caged animal that it used to be. Amani slides down it landing on my back with a thud which wakes me up a tad more than I was awake. The screams and laughs of the little children who don’t realize how loud their screams and laughs are (remember, my students are deaf)...well, all these things act as my alarm clock here. I sit up and untuck the netting that protects me from the mosquitos, lizards, spiders, mice, and any other unwanted night visitors. I get out of bed and immediately start boiling some water for my morning cup of coffee or chai. No coffee maker here....just boiling water and a strainer. After the caffeine kicks in I put on my tennis shoes, throw up my hair, and hit the trail for my morning run. I step outside. It’s 6:15 and like clockwork the sky is just light enough for me to safely navigate the bumpy dirt roads and paths crossed with tree roots. People are already up and walking to school or work. The children are all dressed in uniform and are staring at me as one might stare at a camel walking through downtown Asheville. I try to ignore it and stay focused on my run, but the nasally, high pitched “howayus” and jeering laughs that continue despite this being the 527th I’ve been here are hard to tune out. I pass by farmers already out in the fields slashing away with their jembes and pangas, cows being led to a green area to graze on, women bent over at the waist washing their family’s clothes, little chicks following behind their mama, naked babies dancing around after their bath, and, if I’m lucky, a baby piglet snorting as he looks for some food. I have to pay close attention to the path as it is full of ditches, piles of animal feces, and mud slip-n-slides (during the rainy season). At 6:50 the sun is coming over the horizon and never fails to make me smile. It’s always exquisite in color and unique from day to day. Oranges, pinks, yellows, and reds all rise with the big, bright ball of fire that make the village come to life. I turn around and on my way back to the school I see more and more people making their way to work. There are men riding bicycles with ten squawking chickens tied to the back, women with a bundle of market goods strategically balanced on their heads, children with their grocery bag (they call these “paper bags” despite them being “plastic bags”...still can’t figure that one out) full of schoolbooks in one hand and a recycled bottle originally filled with vegetable oil now full of water in the other. I get back to my compound and my students are there to greet me as they walk to the kitchen to get their uji, porridge made from maize flour. Now it’s time for a bath....maybe... First I let myself cool down for a few minutes. Then it’s time for a few quick tests. One, do I feel dirty? The answer is probably yes, but I will feel dirty as soon as I finish my bath so what’s the point in wasting precious water? Two, do I look dirty? Probably, but I have a long skirt that can cover up my legs and I can wash my hands and face to get the most visible parts of me seemingly clean. Three, do I smell bad? Now this, for me, is the most important of the three questions. I have a very sensitive nose so if I can smell myself starting to let off a ripe stench I have to give in and take a bucket bath. If I just smell a little sweaty or it’s nothing my sunscreen scent can’t cover up I enjoy a little bit of downtime freed up by the absence of the bath. If the smell is absolutely putrid (which, if I’m being completely honest is probably more often than I admit to myself) I’ll go ahead and boil enough water to make my bucket bath lukewarm. I set my bucket on top of the western toilet (which doesn’t have access to running water) and dip my head into it like it’s a mop, which it is becoming as my hair grows to Rapunzel-esque lengths like it was in back in high school. I wring it out and lather it up with some shampoo and let it sit as I scoop handfuls of water over my body, soap up, and again, throw more water over my body. I dip my head in the bucket again to rinse out my hair and then as I towel off my body I stand in the bucket to allow my feet, the dirtiest part of me due to the dirt roads, to soak. Once I’m all bathed I use the leftover water to wash down whatever has been sitting in the toilet since the last time I bathed. Sometimes, the reason I bathe is more contingent on what’s in the toilet and how long it’s been sitting there than on how dirty I actually am (just being honest!). Time for classes to begin. I step outside of my house and see the children picking up the trash from around the compound. They have started a fire in the burn pit to get rid of all of it. No garbage man around these parts! I go over to where the teachers are gathered and greet everyone with a “Habari ya asubuhi” (good morning). They all comment on my kiswahili...again. I’ve been saying this since day one but my attempts always lead to them reacting like I’ve just told a joke. It’s 8:20 and I head to my nursery class...on time. I know it will be at least 20 more minutes until the others dawdle to teach their classes. We have three classes going on in each classroom so until another teacher shows up for class I pretty much have 60 students tuning in to my class. I’m helping the nursery class with basic Kenyan Sign Language vocabulary. The older kids are helping the babies form their hands correctly. There’s an occasional smack that I hear and turn abruptly towards with glaring eyes. The child who has committed the crime doesn’t know how I figured out so quickly that it was him...he hasn’t quite figured out the idea of sound and that there are things that I hear that he cannot. Finally a teacher comes in and interrupts class because she hasn’t greeted me yet and has to do it before she can continue on with her own duties. It still irritates me because it allows my students to get side tracked while I go through the customary greeting but I do appreciate the importance the Kenyans put on acknowledging everyone daily and seeing what the news of the morning is (“Habari ya asubuhi” literally means “What’s the morning’s news?”). It is fantastic to watch the nursery students’ vocabulary expand as time goes on, especially the newest students who have come in with little to no sign language. I have a stack of flashcards that I hold up one at a time and have the kids imitate the sign I’m making. The older ones throw up the sign quickly while the younger ones look around to those who already have the sign formed. They look at their own hand and try to manipulate it to resemble what the other students and I have formed our hands to make. Often times they have to take their other hand to push down certain fingers or pull other fingers up. It’s really neat to see them go from this level to being up there with the other kids that throw it up as soon as they see the picture on the flashcard. Some of my favorite signs to see the kids make are “elephant”, where you hold your nose with one hand and thread the other one threw the space in the elbow of the other arm and swing it around like a trunk would sway, then there’s “dirty” which resembles the sign made on the Little Rascals when the little boys enter into the “he-man woman hater’s club” where they wiggle their fingers with their hand under their chin (and of course you have to scrunch up your nose like you are disgusted), and then “pineapple” which is tapping your open hand on top of your head with the wrist so that it looks like the top of a pineapple. After going through the flashcards we go through everybody’s sign names so that they can greet each other and practice names. Sign names are really cool. When I came here, my hair was short so I clipped it up all the time. A deaf woman (you have to receive your name from a deaf person) then took her two fingers and thumb and made a “clipping” gesture on top of her head and gave that to me as my identity in the deaf community. Sign names here in Kenya usually have something to do with something distinct to your face like facial hair, scars, glasses, moles, earrings, etc but can also include the first letter of your name to identify more specifically. When I wrap up my class with the nursery kids they always sign to me “thank you” for whatever it is that I’ve done with them that day. They know I like good manners so they never miss thanking me knowing that I will respond with a smile and a “you’re welcome”. The classes after that are with older students: Social Studies and Maths (yes, here in Kenya there is an -s at the end of Math). I don’t particularly enjoy teaching these subjects since there is such a rigid syllabus that we are enforced to follow and get through by the end of the year whether the child is understanding everything or not. It is frustrating because we only have 35 minute classes and sometimes it just takes a little bit longer to get through a topic than I expect. Usually it’s because I fail to explain it clearly versus the students not understanding the concept or topic (although most teachers blame it on the kids, not their own poor language skills). I know my students are smarter than they get credit for. If they aren’t understanding it’s my responsibility to figure out another way of teaching it, not to just move on and allow them to continue to add new confusing topics on top. Most of my days wrap up at lunch time so that I can use the afternoons for my secondary projects, leading athletics, or personal errands. Lunch is as follows: Monday- rice and beans, Tuesday- githeri (maize and bean mixture), Wednesday- ugali (maize porridge paste) and sukuma wiki (kale) and beef which I always go without, Thursday- rice and beans, Friday- ugali and sukuma wiki. I’ve been passing over the ugali and the meat for the entire time I’ve been here now but still can’t get through a meal without them telling me to “just try it”, that I “will be stronger if just (you) eat it”, that I will “just like it”. I’ve learned to deal with it, get through the meal, and wait for trips to Nairobi to relish in the flavorful foods. Afternoons are always different but I try to walk to town at least two days a week to get a little extra exercise. Here lately it has been scorching but I still try to walk the hour and a half (5 mile) walk to town where I then indulge in a refrigerated bottle of water! The walk to town is often not the “meditation” I wish it could be. I love just walking to town, passing by the shops and taking in my surroundings. But, there are many children that chant “howayu, mzungu” over and over and over until the cuteness wears off, the motorcycle drivers yelling at me in a high pitched nasally voice to let them take me to town with the hopes of getting 5 times the normal amount of money from me, and the mamas telling their children to look at me and ask me for sweets or money. By the end of the hour and a half walk I’m ready to crawl in a shell and never come out, but then the adventures of town start. I go to the posta to collect mail or buy stamps to send a letter home and am forced to stand in a crowd pushing my way to the front. There’s no such thing as a line here. As an American I get very frustrated with the pushing and shoving to get to the front of the mass, the sweaty bodies standing so close to one another, the person that comes in 30 minutes after me weaseling his way in front of me. I appreciate lines, no matter how far back in one I might be. Lines are organized and I like organization! But thank goodness the post office has come to know me and treat me well once I make it to the front. They now tell me when packages have come (after a very frustrating experience where I had to pay several weeks worth of my living stipend on fees for not picking up a package for 6 weeks because the “parcel reminder” didn’t ever get to me...I’m not proud of the bahavior I displayed that day). It’s a great day when there’s a package full of gum, granola, and other goodies from home waiting for me at the posta. Next is the market which is open air and is packed with mamas laid out on their blankets and tarps selling their tomatoes, garlic, onions, kale or whatever foods they’ve brought in from their “shambas”. At first they try to gouge me by asking me for 50 bob (Kenyan shillings (money)) for a piece of fruit. When I bring out the kiswahili that I know, though, they really bring the prices down and I’m able to get away with that same piece of fruit for 10 bob! Success! After about a half hour of being asked to “just visit” and being told “looking is free” I’m done with the market having my bag filled with a few days worth of fruits and veggies and only spending about a dollar! I’m going to miss that! Not much else goes on in town. Busia is not a place to spend time. It is dirty and there are a lot of truckers that are crossing over to Uganda since it’s a border town. No real entertainment, especially during the day hours when I visit. I’ve only been in Busia town two times after 6 p.m. It’s just not the kind of place that your mom wants you to be when the stars are the only lights shining. If I haven’t gone to town I am working on projects (grant writing, sending e-mails out, developing new ideas for how to teach a class better) followed by leading sports practice. Sometimes 3 p.m. comes too soon and the 10 laps that I have my students run are just too much. I try to keep up with them but I don’t think I will ever get used to the equatorial sun that beats down on me and turns my white skin bright red no matter how much sunscreen I put on. The kids never fail to be intrigued by my ability to change skin colors like a chameleon and then have it peel off like snakeskin. What a weird creature I am with hairy arms and legs, skin that burns and peels, the softest of soft hair that can’t be braided in tight cornrows, eyes that can’t see once the sun goes down (and also require pieces of plastic be inserted to see even during the day time), and teeth that have clear molds to hold them all in place (my retainers). I guess I am, in fact, quite a sight to see around these parts! After sports practice I collapse into my couch (with minimal cushioning) and read for a while. I’ve been able to read books I never thought I’d end up getting to or books I’d never intended on reading. I’ve never been intrigued by the “classics” before, but such titles as “To Kill a Mockingbird” and “Anna Karenina” are now some of my favorites along with Mandela’s “Long Walk to Freedom”, Dambisa Moyo’s “Dead Aid” and Richard Dowden’s “Africa: Altered States, Ordinary Miracles”. Most of these books are intimidating to pull off of a shelf due to their size. 400-800 pages is quite a task to take on but here I have the time to take on such challenges that I wouldn’t have back at home where life is always go-go-go and opening up a book of such magnitude seems nearly impossible when you think it might be a few months until you have time to open it back up and by that time you will have forgotten what you read and have to reread it all. I’m not saying I’m not busy here but when your friends are at least 50 kilometers away, the school television is of the same quality as I remember my grandparents’ tv being when I was a little girl (rabbit ears, static, warped lines, and all), reading a book just seems like the best way to spend down time. I hope that even when I get back I will make time to read like I have here. 6 p.m. comes and my nightly serving of sukuma wiki (kale) arrives. Sukuma wiki means “to push the week”. It is a cheap vegetable that when times are tight they continue to push the leftovers to last and last and last throughout the week until they can get more wages to buy the other essential foods. I actually love kale and don’t mind the heaping serving I get every night. If the power is out I sit by a kerosene lamp and eat while my cat eats a little ball of ugali that one of the kids has brought him alongside a few omenna (sardine-like) fish that I add to his bowl. After dinner I may sit outside and “story” with some of the children or just sit up and look at the sky that seems to be on steroids with all the stars shining brighter and there being at least a million more than what there is in the American sky. The constellations are easy to spot, the milky way is much more evident. I could stay up all night looking at the sky here in Kenya. 8p.m. comes and it’s about bedtime. I usually spend a few minutes journaling about the day. I’ve filled up close to 10 journals by this point and have several blank ones waiting to be filled with stories that will inevitably come during my last 7 months of my time here. I hope to one day make them into some kind of book- not to make money or with any intention of finding fame, but just to share my story of how I got to this point in my life, why I decided to jump in to this strange, oftentimes inexplicable life and what all has happened in the two years I’ve spent in a small village in Kenya with 115 deaf children that I would have never fallen in love with had I not followed the many signs that were placed along the way these past 7 years since I took that first step and came to Kenya in 2005. None of what I’ve described as being normal in my life these days would have even crossed my mind. I’m so blessed to have this new “normal”, even if for a short time in my life."

This blog entry is by a close friend and fellow PCV here in Kenya, Jenny Wooley. Enjoy the read.

Upendo: Interconnected: I've spent the last month crafting this blog post. It's a lot more work than I usually put into my journal-style entries. It was important f...

Yea, that’s what I am these days....a dermatologist’s dream. Well, of course, typically I’m every guy’s dream girl but I’m pretty sure right now no one that is not in the field of skin science would come near me. As I’ve said many a time, living on the school compound has its pros and cons. Here lately my skin is facing the consequences of living in such close proximity of the children. I know this is really gross but I get lots of questions about my health from people back at home and this seems to be the main health concern I deal with. When I first started here last year, one of the children came to school with jiggers crawling out from the areas around his toe nails and finger nails. One of the house mamas held him down as another picked out the little mites that had set up house on this poor screaming boy. I thought to myself that this was possibly the grossest thing I’d ever witnessed (ha....what this past year has brought in the area of gross sights!). Apparently this was quite normal for kids that walk around without shoes in areas where animals defecate. I’ve seen kids with jiggers so many times now that I think that a foot without jiggers is abnormal. While I’ve never gotten the little mites on my own feet or hands (thanks to the shoes I have and wear religiously despite my love of being barefooted) I have gotten quite a few things that I never thought I’d have. I bathe with the best soap I can find here in Kenya, I put an antibacterial wash in my water, I constantly use hand sanitizer, I wash my clothes after one wear in the same antibacterial wash I put in my bath, I try to take as many precautions as I can....but I’ve still managed to get ringworm on my back, poisonous insect bites that burned my skin to the point of scarification, and the worst boils in the history of mankind. I’ve been getting these since April of last year and although more painful things have happened to me (my teeth taking the impact of a field hockey stick and then a steering wheel) these have made some days equivalent to what I can only imagine hell is like. They are these abscesses that show up looking like pimples and then grow so furiously and cause a pain that 4 tylenols at a time only make slightly bearable. I’ve had them on the nape of my neck, my armpits, and now my face. They make it impossible to sleep, as every position you shift to is somehow putting pressure on them, they make it impossible to think because of the headache’s they cause, they make it impossible to run or sit. Pretty much life sucks when you have a boil. So a few days ago when one showed up on my forehead causing migraine-like headaches and another inside my nose (while I was getting over a cold I must add), I just wanted to take a lifetime supply of Lysol and spray down every square inch of the school compound as well as the children and put on a space suit. It’s not like the space suit would draw any more attention than my white skin already does so I don’t see the problem there. My kids kept asking me what that big red blob was on my forehead and why my nose was sooooo red. They get the boils too (obviously, because they are the one’s giving them to me) but their dark skin makes them way less visible. To treat the boils the doctor will put the patient on some kind of antibiotic...unfortunately the boils I keep getting don’t respond to any of these meds which is why they keep coming back to haunt me (I’ve had several rounds of blood, urine and puss tests run after thinking what I had might be MRSA--just look it up if you don’t know about it!). So I continue to do the village regimen....put hot towels on them til they are close to exploding and then have one of the not-so-gentle Kenyan mamas squeeze them open or cut them open without any kind of numbing cream. Let’s just say I’m not the quietest patient when it comes to this type of pain. So beyond the normal gastrointestinal problems that every person experiences when they travel somewhere so different I’ve taken on a host of skin peculiarities that I hope stay behind here when I depart. I never thought that these would be issues I’d have to deal with over here, but then again, what was I expecting???

We all want to help out those less fortunate in any way that we can. For most people, it’s pretty natural to want to help others instead of hurting others. But in the midst of our attempts to help people sometimes, we end up hurting them instead. I’ll be the first one to say that I’ve been a part of many projects, initiatives, mission trips, charity drives, etc., etc., etc., that looking back I can say weren’t well thought out and didn’t do any lasting good for the recipients of the service and may have, in fact, set them back. Even as a Peace Corps Volunteer I have to say that there are days where I wonder if what I’m doing is actually benefitting the people I’m serving or simply reinforcing the idea that white people have enough money to just leave their comfortable lives and families back in the land of milk and honey to come and stay a while in the village to make themselves feel better about who they are as people. I mean, as simply as I live compared to my life in America, I still have a computer with constant internet access (cheap as far as I’m concerned, but a ridiculous expense for my neighbors), a mattress that is more than an inch thick and made of a denser foam, so many clothes I could go without doing laundry for well over a week (unlike the suitcase my kids have with 1 uniform and 1 outfit of play clothes), spices to cook with, more books than the school’s library, and a constant flow of care packages and letters bursting with the obvious fact that I have plenty of support back at home...support that has loaded wallets. Where I’m getting at is that even though I often feel that I’m not helping as much as I wish, I do realize that I make a conscious effort to think through every project that I initiate, every outfit I put on, every gift I contribute towards community fundraisers, and, in most attempts, every move I make. I could go out wearing the clothes I wore in America, like so many people do when they come for short visits, but I would not get taken nearly as seriously and would be talked about by the mamas for how I disrespect their culture. I could put 1000 shillings (about $10) in the plate on Sundays but that would reconfirm the stereotype that all white people come with tons of money and are able to fix all financial problems. I could give sweets out to every child that asks me for one. But, it is so important for me that the people I live amongst don’t see me as the person they see on t.v. or the other white person that came in for the day and brought a bunch of quick fixes.Today a doctor came in to our school and got ear-molds of every single student’s ears in order to make hearing aids for them. Now, this sounds great....someone who is benevolent enough to donate expensive hearing aids to a school of deaf children...how sweet of them. But that’s where the planning stopped. They were taking ear molds of EVERY child, despite the fact that some students will simply not benefit from hearing aids because they are completely deaf, some even with ears sealed off by skin meaning that a surgery would have to take place to cut an opening for a hearing aid to possibly work. And, although I do work at a school for the deaf, there are some hearing students that are they have learning disabilities and there is no other school in the area that will accept them, or for some, no other students that accept them for being different. But, EVERYONE GETS FREE HEARING AIDS! We wouldn’t want to leave someone out and make them feel out of place!!!Next brain fart----batteries. Hearing aid batteries do not last very long. My dad is now using hearing aids and I’ve heard him complain about how long they last, or rather, don’t last. Most of you know from reading the blog that my students are the last to be sent to school because their hearing brothers and sisters are sent first and if there happens to be money left, well then oh, happy day(!), the deaf child gets to go to school for at least a term! Now, who in the world thinks that once those batteries die the parents will dole out money every couple of weeks for a new set when they struggle to prepare a wholesome meal, or any meal, for their family, or a communal toothbrush, or coal to cook with? Once that set of donated batteries dies those expensive hearing aids die, too.How to Care for Hearing Aids 101....not included. If you are like me, then if someone were to hand over the newest model of the iPad you would stare at it for a minute, turn it on and fiddle with it, pushing every button (or whatever you call the touchscreen buttony things...see what I’m saying...I have no idea what I’m even talking about with these gadgets) until you did something to break the darn thing. Well, that’s my kiddos when they get these hearing aids...especially the young ones. They will squeeze them between their fingers, play with them in the dirt, put them in their mouths, and whatever else they can think of to do with them. They won’t know how to clean them, keep them safe, change the batteries or anything else that needs to be done with maintaining hearing aids. If the batteries don’t die first...the kids will kill them.And let’s not forget about the fact that most of them have never heard before or if they have, they lost their hearing at such a young age that they barely developed any oral language skills. My teachers were stoked at the idea of hearing aid donations. They could talk more and sign less and the kids would FINALLY get everything they’ve been trying to explain in their classes... oh wait a second....nope, no they won’t magically understand English or Kiswahili or mother tongue. The teachers argued with me when I said this telling me that the students know English since all their lessons were written on the boards in this language. I guess the constant “letter by letter” approach to copying that the students have taken on didn’t tip off the teachers that they don’t know what the heck it is that they are writing down. They are simply copying because it’s a task that they get a check mark for, not so that they can go back and study the notes before exams. The majority of them have no idea what they are writing down. For them to understand it, the lesson needs to be done in sign language. For them to suddenly get their hearing back doesn’t mean they will be able to comprehend what it is they are hearing. Intense speech therapy would be needed (by the handful of speech therapists that the entire country of Kenya shares...). Time to develop words and their meaning, English sentence structure vs. KSL sentence structure, intonation, I could go on and on...But here’s where I’ll wind everything up. Please, please for the sake of the people you are trying to help, think about as many details as possible before putting a project into effect. There is no perfect project...all of them have their glitches but with careful attention, followup, and flexibility the projects can become better....or put aside, whichever is a more ideal option. You must think about the people you are serving. If there are additional costs beyond the initial gift you must be prepared to provide those, otherwise the project will not be sustainable. Giving wheelchairs, for example, is a great way to help the physically impaired but you have to be prepared to assist with flat tires, broken chains and gears, and normal wear and tear. Otherwise it will end up as the clothing rack in someone’s house or a toy for the village children to play on (I know this from personal observation). Also, do your best to not reinforce stereotypes that groups have been tagged with. On the coast of Kenya, many tourists come in and while they are here they hand out bags of sweets and give generous amounts of money to beggars which allows the native people to believe that we all come with our pockets full and ready to hand out things that will not make a long term difference, just a short lived fix. Find out what’s already available where you want to help out. There might already be a local initiative in place that just needs a little more help to get going but is able to implement the project with an understanding that only a native would have. If you do want to be a part of the process work alongside that existing initiative and learn and observe before doing what you think is best. There are many ways to help and many people to help but please don’t act hastily in your attempts to do so. Think through what you’re doing....so you don’t drive another Peace Corps Volunteer into pure madness. Like I said, I’m no where near being the perfect humanitarian, but I’m in a position to see what kinda works versus what absolutely doesn’t work.

1) Because after wearing a collared, button up shirt tucked into my skirt, all the little boys decided that tucking in their sweaters and jackets into their shorts looked equally as “smart” (even though they wear their collared, button up shirts tucked into their shorts every day).2) Because they have no idea how much noise they are making at 4 a.m. by tapping on the pictures posted on my window, or laughing out loud as Amani (my cat) goes behind the curtains to see where the tapping is coming from, or screaming to try to get their friend’s attention.3) Because, when something is bothering them or someone has wronged them, they come to my house to talk, to get advice, or simply get away.4) Because when something is bothering me or someone has wronged me, they know and they have a sense of what it feels like to be the “odd one out” and they always make me feel a million times better.5) Because they know I don’t like ugali and don’t try to make me eat it every time it’s served (ahem, teachers...)6) Because they tell me I have a stain on my shirt when they have porridge all over their face, dirt covering their legs, rips in their clothes, nasty breath and snot bubbles in their noses.7) Because no matter where I am, they are there, too.8) Because when I kiss a child on the cheek and give them my hand to kiss they stick out their tongue and lick it.9) Because after a meal of ugali and sukumu their tummies turn into big drums that I get to play.10) Because no matter how awful of a teacher I think I am, they come to me hours before my lesson to start asking why I’m not in their class yet.There’s alot more where this came from...just felt like sharing a few today...

I realize that my second year is not necessarily a second chance since I’m staying in the same community, at the same school with essentially the same group of students, going through, ultimately, the same day-to-day agenda. First impressions only happen once, so I’ll have to live with the one I left this time last year as I was getting settled into this temporary life of mine. However, with all this said, after coming back from my break from Kenya I feel as if I do have this second year to do a better job, be a nicer person, judge my community members less harshly, try a few more new things, accomplish some more tasks, put a little bit more effort into teaching and learning, visit more people in my village...in essence, take advantage of the fact that I do have a second year and a bit of a second chance. I did not realize just how much I needed to get away from Kenya. It was good for me to totally escape the incessant “mzungu, howayu”s and fishbowl effect I live in. Being in Europe allowed me to look at two new cultures, the Spanish and the French, that are also very different from the American culture I grew up in and the Kenyan culture I’m attempting to learn. Being able to reflect on the year I had just completed while in an altogether new culture was better, for me, than reflecting on it while here in Kenya or if I were to have gone home. I think one of the best things about the trip in regards to my reflection was spending time in France with my close friend Netta. Netta is amazing. She is a graduate of Winston Salem State University and attended the same study abroad program in Ghana and Benin that I did in the summer of 2007. Destiny truly brought us together and we were roommates for that experience. I was the only white American with the group of African Americans who were studying at a HBC (historically black college) and traveling to a part of the African continent where the African Americans have deep history and roots. Ghana and Benin are two of the countries where the transatlantic slave trade were the starting point for the journey of Africans going over to the Americas hundreds of years ago. While studying there we toured many slave castles and other historical sites that evoked a lot of emotion for all of us, but I think especially for them as they saw a specific part of their heritage. For me, being able to room with Netta gave me several course credits worth of information that I would never be able to learn in a book or from a lecturing professor. She taught me so much about being a strong African American woman, what this part of the world (West Africa) meant to her, her frustrations with stereotypes, her passion for traveling and exploring new cultures, the struggles she’s endured in going for her education, among so many more things. She was so patient with me as I asked questions, told her what I’d grown up knowing and hearing, and the opinions I’d formed over time. Since 2007, we’ve remained good friends always making time to see each other. I’d always try to stop in Winston Salem on my drive from Raleigh to Asheville, and she would come visit me in Raleigh from time to time. As you may guess from me visiting Netta in France is that she has come to love this country and many aspects of that culture over time. She took French in high school and has lived and studies there as many times, if not more than, the times I’ve been in Africa. She’s become fluent in the language, she’s become friends with the locals of many areas of France; if you were to plop yourself in France and see her walking on the streets you would think she’s a native. The last time I saw her was 2 years ago in her hometown of Henderson, NC with her entire family where she’d invited me to celebrate her moving back to France (it was a family reunion like I’d never experienced before!). Talking to Netta during my time with her in Paris I realized that even though France is a lot more diverse than Kenya in many regards she still struggles with being the odd one out, like I do in Kenya. Being black, being a woman, being from America, and living in France poses a lot of questions people ask of her. I guess I never thought that people there would have such questions. I figured they accepted the diversity more so than I seem to be accepted here in Mundika. As I shared my frustrations that I’ve dealt with over the year Netta gave me comfort and good advice. She let me know that even though our situations aren’t the same they do have elements of similarity and I just need to have more patience with people and be more willing to teach than just assume that they should know. I know as a Peace Corps Volunteer one of the goals is to teach my community members about American culture. I do that MOST of the time...but there are too many times I where I grow too frustrated and just don’t take the opportunity to teach and take offense to whatever someone has done or said to me instead. Like the whole “mzungu” thing. Many times I ignore it, instead of taking the opportunity to tell the children (or adult) who are screaming it that although they might think I like to be called that, I take offense at being called “the rich one” and would prefer for them to ask me my name and call me Anna instead. After being here a year, all I want is to get rid of the “VISITOR” sign that is plastered all over my body. I want to be treated as someone who lives here. I don’t want people to treat me special, cook more expensive dishes for me, go out of their way to do something that they would do for a visitor. But looking back on my year I just need to be more patient, more accepting, and more friendly to those just hungry to learn about this person that has come from half way across the world from a “land of milk and honey” to a place where people often struggle to find their next meal. Already this year, I have found myself with a better attitude towards the people, my job, my fellow teachers, and my life. I’m not saying that I was completely bitter abd cynical but there were too many good teaching opportunities I passed up, too many times when excited children yelling “mzungu, howayu” got under my skin and I ignored them instead of smiling at their thrill and telling them my name that I preferred, too many times I sat in my house watching a t.v. show or movie, instead of walking to a friend’s house for chai or sitting out on my “porch” and telling stories with my children. In the less than 2 weeks that I’ve been back at site I’ve had more basic Kiswahili conversations with the village children on my runs, more conversations with my older students, more times I’ve completely let go in order to be silly with the young ones, more hugs, and more smiles from the people I pass on my walk to town because instead of just walking by I waved or greeted as many of them as I could. So, thanks Netta, for reminding me that I’m not just here to experience a different culture but to take every single moment as a teaching opportunity. Frustration can consume you if you let it....I’m gonna to make more of an effort to let happiness and satisfaction consume me this year.

The month of December was nothing short of amazing. Almost every single day I was busy with something different. After the World AIDS marathon from my previous post I headed straight to Nairobi for some Peace Corps meetings, mid service medical appointments (which doubled as time to catch up with fellow Peace Corps Volunteers), training the new class of volunteers and getting to join them for their swearing in ceremony at the country director’s house (where brownies, cheetos and doritos made a welcome appearance), followed by the grand finale of 2011- a visit to Paris, France and Madrid, Spain. My roommate, Netta, from my time in West Africa lives in France now so she met me there for the week before Christmas to show me around Paris. I didn’t even have to get to Paris though to feel the “reverse culture shock” that I’d been warned about. As soon as I got to the Amsterdam airport I caught myself laughing out loud as I stared at all the white people, for being okay with spending 3 bucks on a cup of coffee (instead of the typical 10 cents it would cost in the village), for stepping foot into a Ralph Lauren store (while still wearing my village-chic attire), and for the first time in two years being able to legitimately say “it’s cold”. When I got to Paris, I paid about the same thing it costs me to get all the way from the village to Nairobi (12 hour drive) to get from the airport to downtown. I was so relieved to see Netta and have her be my personal interpreter/ tour guide for the week. She apologized for the room she found us, saying that it was small and that we’d have to share a bed. I quickly assured her that it was probably better than anything I’d seen in a while. And I was right! Tile floors in the bathroom along with a real shower that I was able to set the temperature of, water that I could drink straight from the tap and not worry about getting sick, a bed without roaches or other creepy crawlies and sheets that had been cleaned since the last occupant.... and that was just the hotel! Paris is a beautiful city. We took a day to visit the Louvre and only managed to see a small portion of the art that it holds. We spent a day at Versailles which was absolutely gorgeous. We saw the Notre Dame and Sacre-Couer Cathedrals among others that are not as well known but equally impressive. We ate galletes, crepes, fondue, and other French foods that were so flavorful and filled with ingredients I hadn’t had in a while, or ever had. We drank lots of coffees, teas, and hot chocolates with bakery pastries. And of course, we visited the Eiffel Tower. It was bigger than I expected towering above the skyline of Paris. At night the lights on the tower could be seen from just about anywhere. It was so nice to spend time with Netta after going 2 years without seeing her. She’s one of those friends that even though we are always in a different part of the world from one another we manage to get together and pick up where we dropped off last, whether it be in Benin, West Africa, Raleigh, NC, Henderson, NC or Paris, France (Netta- next meet up will be in Nairobi... and hopefully before another 2 years has gone by!) Well, after a week of taking on Paris it was time to fly to Madrid, Spain where my family would be waiting on me! On the 2 hour flight from Paris to Madrid I would only have to think about the reunion ahead of me for tears to start welling up in my eyes. I touched down in Madrid, made my way to the metro station where I was able to find my way to Gran Via, the main road in Madrid and the location of the hotel where I would be staying. I asked the policemen which way the hotel was and they pointed me to the left. So I walked all the way down the road as far left as it would take me with all my luggage in tow, never seeing the hotel. I turned around and went back to the point where I’d met the police earlier. I looked around and right where I stood was the hotel. I know my Spanish isn’t perfect but I’m pretty sure I asked them where the hotel was in the correct way! My shirt was drenched through with sweat despite the temperature being the coldest I’d experienced in 2 years! I walked up two flights of stairs to the lobby where I was going to ask which room my family was in, but that was not necessary. My parents were waiting there for me! At that moment I thought I was going to be strong and not cry...but mom hugged me and squeezed the tears out of me as she also began to cry. 14 months is way too long to be without a hug from your mom and dad. We went upstairs to the room where my brother, Clint, was. Life was good at this moment. I was with my favorite people in the world! Madrid was another incredible city. My uncle David, Aunt Julie, and Nora (Julie’s sister) joined us on our trip. We went to El Prado art museum as well as a visiting a couple of other collections with famous works of art, we visited a tapestry gallery, castles, churches, markets, amazing restaurants and cafes, saw flamenco dancing, and did a little shopping (I’d almost forgotten how much I love to shop, get dressed up, and look like a girl!) The food mainly consisted of tapas, paella, delicious desserts, and amazing wines and sangria. I also loved being able to speak in Spanish again. It was shocking how fast it all came back to me, however, I did slip a few Kiswahili words in here and there that would totally confuse the person on the other side of the conversation. “Pole” does not get the point of “I’m sorry” across in Spain! Also, I was told I used my hands a lot when I talked....sometimes it’s easier just to sign what I’m thinking! As the week came to a close I really dreaded saying goodbye to my family. The last night I was with them I just laid down with my mom and she held me as I cried. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to return to Kenya. I know that this year will be amazing and I have so much that I want to accomplish and that I love every minute of being with my kids, but saying goodbye all over again to the people I love most is something I will never get accustomed to no matter how many times I do it. Between my mom being my best friend, being a daddy’s girl, and really enjoying hanging out with my brother (to all those that knew us when we were growing up- yes, you read it right, I do enjoy spending time with him these days!) having to say goodbye again for another 12 months was heart breaking. I’m so thankful for those 7 days with my family in Spain. I’m glad to have had a break from Kenya and although I would have loved to be home it would have made the goodbyes that much harder. Coming back to Kenya from this vacation and looking forward to this year I know that December will come much faster than I can even fathom. I don’t want to wish away the days, especially the ones I spend with my students, but I also can’t wait until the next holiday season!

This year has been filled with plenty of stories. Many of them heart warming and some heart breaking. As Christmas approaches I have one of the most heart warming stories to share with you and give you a feeling of joy and hope that this season is all about. Since coming to Kenya last year I’ve been told countless times about, and even witnessed on numerous occasions, the attitudes of parents who have children with special needs. The general consensus is that kids born with special needs, whether they be physical impairments, deafness, albinism, blindness, or intellectual disabilities, they are to be neglected, hidden, ignored, and forgotten. Many parents leave the children as orphans, or worse, to die. Some keep the children hidden from sight for years and years preventing any development that could happen if allowed to live outside the walls of the home. The parents are told that they have done an evil thing in the past and now God is punishing them with this child. The things I’ve seen and heard break my heart time and time again. But, there’s always hope. Yesterday, as I was coming back to the village from Nairobi, my heart was healed by one such story of hope. I was sitting next to a man in his 40s who was traveling with his son who was in his mid-teens. The boy’s legs were thin and limp and he was confined to a wheelchair. The father asked me what I did and as soon as I let him know of the work I’m doing in Kenya he began to open up to me about him and his son. His son was crippled from birth. The mother had left them as soon as she saw signs of a bleak future. Now, I hate making the statement that most Kenyan fathers would flee the scene that we are talking about, but from my observations of my students it is the case that if the child is born with any sort of disability it is the father who leaves the child. But in this case, the father is the hero. He told me things that I have tried over and over to tell the teachers at my school and the parents of the children and the members of my community. He told me that he put his son first before anything else- before his work, before himself, before everything. He said that he was doing all that he could to help his son lead as normal of a life as he deserved to live. He had taught him to cook for himself, bathe and dress himself, read, attend school as regularly as he could, and see his family and friends often. Tears filled my eyes as he shared his story. A lump jumped into my throat and I wanted to cry as he talked but I had to remain strong. He told me about the 13 operations his son had undergone and all the fundraising he’d had to do to make them happen without getting into debt. He proudly showed me brochures of the work he did in interior house renovations to help them keep food on the table. On this very trip he was heading to work on a house that was near to his family so he’d brought his son to stay with his grandparents. The whole time he was on the phone making sure the supplies were paid for and at the site, setting up new business endeavors with other clients, and finishing up final details from projects he’d completed. I could tell he was doing it all for his son. As he talked of his boy I could see how proud he was. His son laid his head on his father’s shoulder and slept as he told me how special his son was to him and how much he would give up to see his boy live life fully. Many times he’d been asked by family members and friends why he didn’t just let the boy die or leave him to be on his own. He took those times as opportunities to share his story. He is the first man that I’ve seen with this outlook on people living with special needs. As we were ending our journey he told me that if I ever had a meeting with parents of children with special needs he would love to be invited to share his story and advocate for all these children. I’m sure that many people’s attitudes will shift once they hear his story and the love he has for his son. When people do listen to what he has to say, more and more will stand up for their own children and Kenya will be on their way to a time when people living with special needs will be given the life they deserve.

AIDS has been around for my life. I’ve grown up seeing images on the TV of the debilitating effect it has on people, read journal articles about efforts being made to take care of the increasing number or orphans it is leaving behind, and watched documentaries about the history, although short, of the disease that has wreaked havoc all over Africa, America and across the world in just the past few decades. But to see these things in the flesh??? Now that has been like receiving several blows to the head! Seeing someone lying lifeless because of this monster that has taken over their body with sunken in eyes and cheekbones that are much too defined, with not even enough energy to raise their head. Watching a student stick around the school grounds long after the term is over because their parents have died from AIDS and aren’t coming to pick them up for the break. Worrying to death that the little girl in your 2nd grade class may have contracted AIDS from the older boy that just raped her. Preaching over and over again about the importance of using a condom and using it correctly (you’d be surprised at how people try use them!). Being the only one standing in line to get tested to know your status and having no one else there with you for fear that they might test positive and just don’t want to know their status.AIDS is here. It’s in America, too, for sure. Actually my first real experience with AIDS came while I was volunteering in Philadelphia where I met a young pregnant woman who had just found out her status was positive. This is one instance the word “positive” is the last word you want to hear (Side note: people often get confused by the “positive” and “negative” statuses. When they see the “positive” sign they often think that they are in the clear...especially in the Deaf community). But here it is in your face all the time. I live in a border town where a lot of truckers cross over to Uganda. Truckers are known for wanting a little entertainment to make the long cross-country drives a little more bearable so there is a lot of prostitution going on. With that comes a higher rate of HIV/AIDS. Even some of my own students are, tragically, involved for weeks and months at a time.This year I signed up to run the World AIDS half marathon in order to raise funds and awareness for those living with HIV/AIDS. I contacted Richard Brodsky, a brain cancer survivor and man living with AIDS from New York, about the race. After e-mailing back and forth a few times about race logistics we discussed the other things he would be doing in Kenya while he was visiting here in the Kisumu area. He was sponsoring some dinners and dances for local orphanages that cater to kids who’ve lost their parents to the disease and some that even live with the disease themselves, either due to “mother to child” transmission or contracting it at some point in their young childhood. I asked Richard if I could join in on the festivities and he welcomed me to help out with the medical check-ups, serving the kids a meal full of protein and nutrients they normally don’t get, and celebrating with dancing and singing. The day came to head to the orphanages. We set up a makeshift health clinic with basic medicines and dove in to something none of us could completely expect. Even the doctor was unfamiliar with many of the things the kids were coming in with as they were tropical diseases and things that you just don’t see in suburbia America. Close to all of the patients came in with malaria. The malaria wasn’t treated for weeks and months and therefore the bodies became weaker and weaker making them susceptible to other illnesses. Most were anaemic due to the poor diet mostly consisting of ugali (flour and water) and a little fish. Hardly any vegetables were included in their diet and trace amounts of meat. The parents complained of their kids eating dirt. Their bodies were just craving the iron that their diets weren’t providing their growing bodies. There were many cases of diarrhea and vomiting due to worms from the water they drink and dirt they were eating. Although most kids lungs seemed fairly healthy there were cases of upper respiratory tract infections most likely from the unclean air they so often breathe in from the burning trash piles. After seeing so many kiddos we served them dinner with lots of meat, vegetables, and other foods that they rarely, if ever, get to eat. I got stuck serving matumbo, a local dish made from the intestines of the animal slaughtered for the occasion. It smelled of the $#!+ that had been cleaned out of the organ and I could barely serve it for the overwhelming desire to vomit. Needless to say I had no appetite for anything that night. We did essentially the same things the next day at a different orphanage, checking the health of more kids and feeding them a big meal but also had time to dance and sing with them. Those kids could move and had the most expressive faces as they moved their bodies with the music. Even the sickest of kids that we saw at the clinic managed to dance with an intensity that you wouldn’t have known was there during their checkups. December 1st is World AIDS Day around the world and the day came with many ways to acknowledge the importance of knowing the facts, knowing the importance of one’s status, and celebrating life. I took part in the half marathon running alongside many Kenyans and other people living and serving here in Kenya. There were over 600 runners, a record number for this particular race. They ended up making race bibs out of torn sheets because they ran out of official bibs made up before the race. The run was a fun one for myself. The course was great...never a dull moment with mud puddles to run through, ravines to jump over, cows and goats to stop for as they passed by, motorcycles drivers to offer rides to the next check point (don’t worry, I didn’t take one!), and kids to run alongside. And I know you all suspect I was the last one to cross the finish line....well, I wasn’t! It was a great race with people of all skill levels, but all with the common goal of raising support for people living with HIV/AIDS. After I finished I looked at the various tents they had set up to educate people about proper diet, getting tested, getting circumcised, and making smart decisions. There were thousands of people gathered to learn, advocate, and teach. AIDS is something that has become so real to me this year. AIDS is not just this thing that the homosexual community lives with or this plague that is killing off communities in Africa. It is affecting individual lives every single day in every country in the world. I am now able to put faces with stories. Whether it be people living with HIV/AIDS, children who are orphans because of it, friends of those too scared to be tested but can’t convince them to do what’s right for them, teachers doing their best to help their students understand what it is and how it is spread, parents watching their children die of this debilitating monster, or people just struggling to understand what it is, we are all affected by AIDS. It is events like this that will help us to squelch the fire that AIDS is.

The Al-Shabaab is a militant group from Somalia that is really wreaking havoc over the country I am currently calling home. After several kidnappings along the Kenyan coast a number or weeks ago, several of our volunteers in that area were pulled out of their sites without any warning and without enough time to say goodbye to all of those that they had begun to call their family over this past year. The Al-Shabaab have continued to ruin the lives of many Kenyans and cause anxiety and worry to overcome the minds of all of us that are living and serving here in this country. This past weekend the American embassy issued a warning to all Americans in Kenya to take caution and be very vigilant about where we go, avoiding the normal “wazungu” hangouts. The Al-Shabaab have threatened to retaliate against Kenya for pushing into Somalia. Us Peace Corps Volunteers have had to at least dabble with the thought that a 2-year service is never guaranteed. Just because we are committed to stay here and complete two years of teaching or serving in whatever capacity we were brought here for, does not mean that we will get to serve it in full. It’s unlikely that we will be evacuated but is always a possibility. Just the thought of having to leave early has left me with a heartache this week. On Monday morning, I looked out at my kids lined up for their weekly assembly and tears filled my eyes. If I had to leave today or tomorrow or anytime before December 2012 I would not be ready. I won’t be ready then either, but at least I will be able to approach that date knowing that “the final goodbye” was part of the package deal. Having to be ripped away from my kids, my fellow PCVs, and all the work that I’m doing outside of teaching, without any sort of warning would be heartbreaking. The day I left my parents, family and friend October 12, 2010 was horrific, without a doubt one of the hardest days I’ve ever experienced. But I chose to say goodbye that day and had all the hopes in the world to see everyone that I said farewell to two years later. But to have to say goodbye unexpectedly to a group of people that I might not ever see again...well, that would definitely be hell on earth for me. As you all know, I’ve fallen head over heels for my kiddos. Even if they wake me up at 4 in the morning, it’s their laughter and screams that also wake up the passion inside of me each new day. Even if their fighting makes me want to absolutely throw up my hands in exasperation, their fighting is also what makes me want to keep fighting for what I believe is right and good over here. Even if their disregard for my privacy annoys the living daylights out of me and makes me want to crawl into a deep, dark hole, it’s that same disregard for my privacy that makes me to be the best person I should be at all moments of the day...because I know someone is ALWAYS watching. On days like today after reading the news that the Al-Shabaab have bombed a nightclub and injured 14 and thrown a grenade at a bus stage injuring 8 more and killing 1, it is all I can do to keep thoughts from entering my head about the possibility of going home. I know I am safe in the village, I have no concern with that...it’s the idea of Peace Corps Kenya, in general, being safe enough to keep doing what we do. If the safety of the volunteers throughout the country and the administration watching over us all from Nairobi are in question than what might tomorrow bring? I pray that it doesn’t bring a plane ticket back to the States. I sure hope it brings another day teaching of my class 8 students, playing with my 5 year old nursery kiddos, helping the girls at my school know how to be a strong woman in their community, advocating for those that need their voice to be heard, and encouraging positive change throughout the community. Not ready to go....

A lot less tears were shed this birthday than last year. I’m thankful that the lump that had situated itself in my throat for so long finally decided to vacate. For the first few months of being here that lump induced tears unexpectedly and let the floodgates open on days like Thanksgiving, Christmas and my birthday. This year, the lump still visits from time to time, but not like it’s used to. I guess he’s moved on to some of the new trainees that arrived a few weeks ago. This year was yet another uneventful birthday although I did have some wonderful moments throughout the course of the days before and after. I was attending and speaking at a conference with other educators from around Africa during the few days leading up to my birthday so I was surrounded by wonderful teachers and administrators whom I connected with very quickly and learned so much from. As I was leading a session on “Teaching Students with Special Needs” I felt this overwhelming gratitude from the attendees. Although it was quite obvious that I was much younger than most of them there, they were so willing to listen to my experiences and accept the knowledge I was putting out there. Often times I’m disregarded in the classroom back in Mundika due to my inexperience and young age, but these educators had so many questions and were so interested in learning more so that they could better the classroom experience for their students with special needs back in their schools. It was neat to have these more experienced men and women ask to take pictures with me, ask me to send them more information after the conference, and to keep in touch so that we could continue to share with each other. It made me feel a lot older than 24. I was also lucky enough to have a gala dinner at one of the nicest restaurants in Nairobi in celebration of the conference. The Carnivore is famous for serving game meats and traditional Kenyan food. I’d been there 6 years ago but due to a sickness I’d wish to forget about I didn’t take part in much of that dining experience. This year my stomach was much more equipped although I’ve given up eating meat. So, I didn’t really enjoy “The Carnivore” like you are supposed to, but it was still a great celebration with many wonderful people. The actual day of my birthday I spent on the matatu as I headed back to the village. My cab driver in Nairobi knew it was my birthday and had bought me a card reading “Ennah” on the front along with a banana fiber jewelry box and a beautiful bone bracelet. He was so proud of himself and it was wonderful to start off the day with feeling special. Unfortunately where my cab driver left me was the last place I wanted to be on my birthday...the Busia matatu stage, meaning the beginning of a day long journey back to the village. I hopped into the front seat of the van, paid my 900 shillings (about 9 dollars), and waited for the van to fill up before we were off. Nothing to speak of happened during those long hours except for sleeping, reading, and thinking. But when I got off and walked through the gate of my school I was welcomed by the familiar faces that I love. Of course, they thought I was coming home from a trip home (any trip over 1 km is worthy of them asking if I went home...I could only wish I was home for 5 days). I went inside my house and after reading countless “Happy Birthday’ e-mails and Facebook messages I crashed. Again, I felt years older than 24...8 p.m. is my village bedtime most nights. Friday morning I woke up and went over to the Catholic convent where there is an oven that the sisters welcomed me to use. I made 4 funfetti cakes with homemade frosting for my kids. I indulged in the batter, enough so that I had no appetite once the cakes were ready but that was good because there was just enough cake to give each student a small piece. They were ecstatic and although I don’t think they fully understood the occasion (why would you spend money on an occasion that everyone has???) they enjoyed the “tamu sana” (very sweet) cake. So, October 20th has come and gone once again...another year older. Not sure I’m another year wiser but I’ve definitely experienced some things in this past year that I have never had the chance to before. Truly looking forward to #25 and what I’ll be able to say I accomplished leading up to that day of celebration! Honestly, though, I’m just looking forward to another excuse to make funfetti cake!

A year in Kenya. I always knew I’d get here but didn’t know what the year would truly look like. One of the reasons I liked the sound of Peace Corps was for the length of service being two years; a chance to compare two different years, an opportunity to try things for one year and do them better the second year, a possibility to first observe the similarities and differences that exist between the United States and Kenya and then “slowly by slowly” assimilate and make them more a part of my life and allow them to become more second nature and less “the way the Kenyans do it”. So, as the year-mark has now passed me by much quicker than I ever expected it to, I’ve had the “525,600 minutes/Seasons of Love” song from Rent in my head on repeat, but with slightly different lyrics. Every time I sing it the lyrics change as I remember more things that I measure this past year in. So the following are things that are included in my response to the question the song asks me, “How do you measure, measure a year?” In meals of sukuma wiki (kale) and ugali (thick porridge (play-dough consistency) made from maize flour), the staple meal here in Kenya.In matatu rides (public transportation that consists of a 14-passenger vehicle being stuffed with a minimum of 25 people but often exceeding 30, meaning you sit with an old woman or child in your lap, with your legs flailing out the window, a chicken pecking at your feet, and the stench of omenna fish overwhelming your nose...not to mention a close call with death every few rides as the driver is often drunk or high.In “Howayu, mzungu?” chanted over and over and over by little chidren or obnoxioulsly said by ignorant 30 year old men while holding their nose and saying it in an abnormally higher pitch than they would normally speak in. This phrase translates to “How are you, white person with a lot of money?” and is usually proceeded by “Give me sweet”, “Assist me with some shillings”, “You will just support me”, or “You will marry me”. In cups of chai- I’ve certainly had more than one cup of chai per day spent in Kenya, and that is by choice. Kenyan chai is delicious, made with milk and sugar, often with ginger or other spices in it as well. It is always “accompanied” with something: mandazi (like triangular donuts without the sugar), chapati (flatbread, similar-ish to tortillas), samosas (fried snacks filled with lentils or ground beef), or a half-loaf of bread with margarine. In trips to Nakumatt, the haven place for people who are accustomed to a land overflowing with Targets, Wal-Marts, and super-sized supermarkets. Sometimes I just go to stare at things like cheese, Heinz ketchup, and bags of Twix bars. Other times, I actually indulge.In journals I’ve filled: I think the count is at 7 at the current moment.In times I’ve returned to school and been overwhelmed by the welcome my children give me: carrying my bags, handshakes all around, children running up to me like I’ve finally returned after years of being away even if it was a simple 2 hour trip to town which reminds me of the following...Times I’ve been asked by the kids “Are you going home now?” when I leave the compound for town carrying only my purse. And how many times I’ve responded with “I’m here for 2 years, my home is right there (pointing at my room next to the dormitory). In tears. Sometimes, like now, they come out of absolutely nowhere and don’t stop until there are absolutely none left. Tears because I miss people at home so much. Tears because there is a ton that I want to do here and two years is simply not enough time to do it all in. Tears because so many kids grow up too quickly and their innocence is lost far earlier than I would ever fathom a child to lose it. Tears because my kids are absolutely beautiful and filled with this hope that I wonder how they muster from day to day. Tears for the children who have absolutely nothing but the tattered clothes they are wearing on their backs. More tears for more things than a person should ever cry for.In smiles. Smiles from my students when they do something well. Smiles from kids as they swing on the playground. Smiles from the older boys and girls when we’ve just shared a joke that is only between us. Smiles from the village children as they see this freak-show walk by, or better yet, run by! Smiles from the teachers who’ve become my true friends slowly by slowly as they’ve allowed walls to come down between us. The smiles that have swept across my own face as I think back and reflect on all that this past year has brought me.Photos. Thousands of photos. The kids, and adults, love to have their picture taken over and over and over. I post them on my windows of my house so everyone can see (and to block people from seeing in my house!) and the kids will stand there for hours looking for every detail in each picture. I even catch the adults standing there for long stretches of time looking at the images that have been captured over the year.In books read. I’ve read more books in the past year than I did when I was participating in a “reading contest” back in the first grade (which I won by the way!). In times I’ve been sick. From recurring boils to countless sprints to the bathroom, from the onset of asthma due to the constant burning of trash to inexplicable days where you just can’t move from pains striking all your body parts. In Peace Corps they say you are not a true volunteer until you’ve pooped in your pants....I’m proud to say “I’m a true United States Peace Corps Volunteer!” Thanks to all the worms and germs for making life so truly miserable some days.And do continue on that note, the endless visits that people unexpectedly make to my house, especially on my sick days. I’m typically looking like death, wearing shorts (completely innappropriate!), confined to the bed and not at all feeling like visitors when 5 people show up expecting me to make them chai and something to eat, to have a long conversation about absolutely nothing, and then watch me drink liters of milk (The Kenyan Cure-All!) which 5 minutes later leads to a sprint to the “choo”. Episodes of Glee, How I Met Your Mother, and Big Bang Theory along with countless movies that I never in my life thought I’d let myself sit through. Bugs unintentionally ingested with food or chai or on the walk to town.Meetings that never begin on time (typical delay is 3 hours) and never end.In sunrises, sunsets, and starry skies (you’ve not lived until you’ve seen these in Africa)!In moments to ponder just how blessed I am to have been born into my family, grown up in beautiful Asheville, attended wonderful schools along the way, mentored by amazing adults throughout the years, been a member of an incredible church, had the most amazing friends, and experienced all that I have been able to in the past 24 years of my life.One year. There’s a lot of ways to measure one year here in Kenya. As Rent concludes in the song, we should “measure in love”. I can say with certainty that I am able to measure this past year with love, both received and given. Looking forward to how I measure the next 525,600 minutes.

Since returning to school for this final term of the year, things have been nothing close to normal (but really my life has been nothing close to normal since coming here to Kenya). The days leading up to the beginning day of school were filled with threats from the teachers’ union saying they would go on strike if the Ministry of Education did not pay them what they had earned over the past few months. The government had been putting that money into the military instead of the teachers’ paychecks. The strike lasted a few days and then the teachers took a few extra days to get back to school, oh just ‘cuz! The students slowly trickled in, the first few days with only about 5 children and then a gradual increase over the next two weeks. We are three weeks into school now and almost, but not everyone, is back! As you know I was working on a project to raise money in order to go out into the village and get the children that were being hidden away. I wanted to get them into school around other deaf students who they could communicate with and learn alongside. I had an overwhelming amount of support from friends and family, raising over $2,300 dollars and my dad tells me that checks are still coming in! Way more than I ever expected! Well, as soon as I got back from my time away from site I went out with the deputy teacher, Werimo, to look for the kids that we’d been informed about that were either no longer coming to school or had never come in the first place. We walked and walked and walked around this village and neighboring villages. I think I walked more that week than I’ve walked in my whole life! I want to share with you some of the stories of the kids that we found. First, is an 18 year old Otieno. He’d come to school at Mundika School for the Deaf for a number of years, progressing to Class 4 and then was turned away for not having the 30 dollars for the 3 months to stay at school. And commuting for him was out of the question as he was confined to a wheelchair due to a condition I believe was a result of polio. His legs are permanently folded making it close to impossible for him to get around. Werimo told me that for a while Otieno tried to make the daily commute back and forth between home and school but eventually gave up because his wheelchair would get run off of the side of the road by the trucks and other vehicles and he would have to wait until the next good samaritan to come by to help him back onto his wheelchair. He would get to school several hours late exhausted from the long ride. When I showed up to his house (a room with a bed and couch that he shared with his older sister and several siblings- his parents missing from the picture) he was doing his best to keep up with the other children playing around. Werimo and I asked him if he would like to come back to school but he signed to us that money was a problem and there was no way he could come up with the money to get there much less stay for the entirety of the term. I told him I wanted to help and a smile emerged on his face that was just beautiful. I wish I could’ve taken a picture of that moment. My eyes literally filled up with tears when I saw that happiness come over his face! A few days later he showed up at the gates of the school in his beat up wheelchair. I later found out that he was so anxious to return to school that he told his neighbors to pack up his things on the back of his wheelchair and send him off down the road towards Mundika. He was not even willing to wait for his sister to come with him! When he got to school all the older guys that hadn’t seen him in a few years were so excited to catch up with him. They all sat around signing to each other with huge smiles on their faces. I asked him if I could take his wheelchair to get repaired so that he wasn’t riding around on flat tires (He’d come the whole 6 kms on flat tires!). When it came back from the shop with the nicest tires I’ve seen during the time I’ve been here, he was ecstatic and came to my door thanking me over and over again. Then there is Linet. We walked into her family compound hoping to come across a family member that we could talk to in order to let them know we wanted to help her out. No one was there. We almost walked away with the hopes of trying again later in the week when we heard someone shuffling to the door. We looked down and saw Linet coming towards us on her hands and knees. Another victim of Polio. Her signing vocabulary was limited but high enough for her to understand that we wanted her to come back to school. She sat on her knees behind a wicker chair, hiding her face as she beamed with excitement. We asked where her family was and she said they were all gone. We asked if they’d left her any food or water for the day and sheepishly she told us no. It was midday and she hadn’t eaten anything yet. I went to a nearby shop and got her some food and water and told her that we’d talk to her family and figure out a way to get her back to school. We happened to run into her brother on the way out of there and he ensured they would bring what they could with her. On Monday she showed up to school crawling on her hands and knees across the school yard. Her mother had brought her uniform and one change of clothes...that was it! I’d told them that I would buy the essentials: soap, toothbrush, and a couple other things but simply couldn’t do everything. She was not the only child that came to school with nothing but the clothes on her back... unfortunately she is part of the majority. Werimo explained to the mother that she would have to buy some of the things so she went into town and got the bare minimum, the smallest size of everything she could. I understand that money is hard to find around here often times, but it’s frustrating to see a parent spend money on their other “normal” children or on things such as cell phones and getting their hair done and not buy a few simple things for their own child who just happens to have a disability. To top it all off, the mom asked me to pay for the debt she had left at the school from a few years ago. On one hand I wanted to tell the head teacher to forgive the debt as it was from a long time ago and certainly wasn’t an amount significant enough to do any good for the school but on the other hand I wanted to tell the mama to step up and take care of her own debts and not get into these kind of situations. At the end of the day, before the mother left I asked if Linet had a wheelchair. She told me she did but it was broken. I gave her enough money to get it fixed and the next day it came back “as is”. No new tires, no repairs done, none of the money I’d given to her spent on what I’d given it to her for. So while, Otieno’s new wheels rode in to the compound with nice new tires, hers came straggling in and Linet asked me why he got new tires and she didn’t. How could I tell her to ask her mom where the money went?And then there’s the story of Murciana, yet another girl confined to a wheelchair due to polio (we seeing a pattern?) but with parents a little more concerned about their little girl. She, too, had been at the school a few years ago but was turned away due to unpaid fees. They’d told the headmaster they would find the money but he humiliated them and turned them away. After that, and a bout with one of the house mothers who had stolen the little girl’s underwear and then beat her for “losing them”, the parents were done sending their girl to school when they could at least protect her at home. We talked to her parents and after a while they finally relented and said they would send their daughter back. There were more cases that we found. There was a beautiful little girl being kept at home and having her fee money used on witchcraft for her instead of schooling. There was a little girl from my nursery class being kept at home to be treated for malaria (if you are sick here, everyone assumes it’s malaria no matter what it is) using the money for her school fees. What she really needed was to be tested at the hospital. After seeing the doctor they found out it was TB so all that money for fees had been wasted on medicating her for a totally different illness and now left her to stay at home for the term. A little boy was being kept at home with a broken collarbone from falling out a tree. The little money they had went towards an herbal remedy put on the collarbone area instead of a hospital where they had outstanding dues. Also, the father didn’t see the point in putting the deaf child in school. There was a young teenage girl who’d just lost her mother in a car accident (the father had passed years ago). And unfortunately there were quite a number of other boys and girls without parents who simply would not be able to go to school if it weren’t for some outside help. It’s cases like these and many more that I have seen and I’m sure will continue to come across that make me believe in my work here. Being able to go and convince a parent that it is more than possible for their deaf child to go on even past primary school and secondary school and to obtain a degree from a university is incredible when you get to see their face light up with this look that says “That’s actually possible? I had no idea.” It may just be a few families at a time but gradually we are shifting the attitudes of parents of children with special needs. Advocating for these kids and telling them that they are good enough for school is HUGE. Now, I know I am not going to save the world and things and there will still be some disappointments but seeing these new or returned kids at school every day and watching them play together, eat together, learn together, and just be together is worth every glitch along the way.

Well, not quite quadrilingual but I’m getting there! Never in my life did I think I would be able to at least hold a basic conversation in four different languages but here I am! English is almost perfected...although I continue to slip up on that, especially as I spend more time here in Kenya. Ask any Peace Corps Volunteer and they will tell you that you forget how to speak over here! Words just don’t come out like they used to. Especially knowing Sign Language...sometimes it is just easier to sign what you’re thinking than think of the darn word! Spanish has been a language I’ve been learning since high school and, although I still have a long way to go to perfect it, I can get by (at some point I will make it a point to live in a Spanish speaking country so that I can get closer to fluency). Kenyan Sign Language is my first of non-spoken languages and let me tell you, there’s a huge difference between the two types! It’s been difficult to cut the words off in my brain and communicate in images portrayed by my hands, but that is coming along as well as I teach my kids and communicate with other deaf people in Kenya. Finally, this past week 3 other Peace Corps Volunteers and I spent 5 days in an intense language immersion training. We crammed Kiswahili into our brains, practicing the different tenses, vocabulary words, verbs and other language essentials. I am by no means fluent or even conversational at this point, but what I gained from those 5 days will give me what I need to take off running with this language that I’ve been wanting to learn since my first trip to Kenya. In the markets, in the staff room, upon traveling to different villages, I will be able to use my Kiswahili and allow it to grow as well. During the training my friend Jenny and I were talking about the languages we know and are currently learning and were even discussing the languages we are interested in learning in the future. I never thought I’d make it to four (even if they are rudimentary at this time) but why stop here. I definitely want to learn American Sign Language when I get home and also some Arabic. Plus, as many of you know, it’s always fun to get my mom to try and say phrases in other language...just ask her to say hello in Spanish!

April, August, and December are precious months for us Peace Corps Volunteers in the education sector. The months that we are at school are go-go-go with absolutely no quiet pauses or chances to catch our breaths until the last exam is completed and graded. I’m used to growing up in a school system where there are teacher workdays, holidays, or unnecessary snow days every two weeks or so. I have had one such day like that here, Independence Day. Other than that it is school Monday through Friday and even weekends are spent at the school since that is where my home is. I’m not necessarily teaching classes but I’m with the kids doing something. But even the months off from school are filled with secondary projects and Peace Corps sponsored events that keep us volunteers from completely allowing us to shut off our brains. Although they are fun and allow us to shift our focus to different things we are rarely given the chance to completely RELAX! This month began with Camp GLOW (Girls Leading Our World), a camp split up into four mini camps (two for hearing girls and two for deaf girls) where us Peace Corps Volunteers taught the girls about issues including How to Say “No”, male and female anatomy, abortion, female circumcision, self defense, HIV/AIDS, goal setting, and other topics that are so crucial to girls at this time in their lives (ages 15-22) but are simply not discussed in school or at home because they are often topics that the adults here are uncomfortable talking about. The girls that attended the camp were nominated by Peace Corps Volunteers. They are seen as good leaders within their school and communities and as young women that will take back what they learned and share it with their peers rather than keeping it in like the adults often do. At the camp the girls were in an environment where they felt comfortable to ask questions they’ve never been able to ask before. It was neat to see them open up more and more as the camp days went on. The girls gained so much from the camp. It was not easy for us Peace Corps Volunteers to talk about some of these issues, especially in Kenyan Sign Language. For me, it is still so new to me, and having discussions about the issues I just listed was difficult being that many of the words were new to me or simply don’t have signs and you have to explain the words rather than just spell the word out because many of the girls struggle so much with spelling. By the end of the week I was exhausted from staying up and lesson planning. Although it was tough, it was nice to be able to teach in a different, more laid back teaching environment than I’m used to at school. As soon as camp was over in Kisumu (the Western Region of Kenya) it was time to cross the expanse of the country to Mombasa (at Kenya’s coast) where Peace Corps and PEPFAR (President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief) sponsored a week of workshops and session for us Peace Corps Volunteers and some of our counterparts and teachers that we work with in our community. This was so that once returning to the village the knowledge wasn’t just coming from us but the counterparts were being given the same responsibility to work beside us in getting the information that is so important to Kenyans. Again, it was a great week where we were put up in an incredible hotel with air conditioning, mattresses more like clouds than the hard boards we’re so used to sleeping on these days, seven pools scattered through the grounds, and rooms overlooking the Indian Ocean. We were served obscene amounts of food that I’d forgotten existed on this Earth having been away from such foods for so long now. We had broccoli, salads, fruits, pasta, yogurt, fresh juices, granola, stir fries, steamed veggies----all simply out of this world! But when we weren’t in this heaven that I’ve just described we were in sessions that required us to think, question, and discuss issues such as rape, HIV/AIDS, drug abuse, gender roles, and sex. Now, in the past us Peace Corps Volunteers have had these type of discussions and it has been fairly mundane. As we discussed these issues we took into account the different views that people have but we simply touched on them and moved on. In this setting, where other Kenyan counterparts were there, things got a little more heated. For example, one question we were asked was “Is it considered rape if the man and the woman are married?” Some of the men felt as if their woman is their property since they pay a dowry. They have the right to satisfy their desires whether the woman is in agreement to have sex at that time or not. The facilitator to that particular discussion explained what a dowry was historically intended for a token of appreciation to the parents, not a form of payment. She explained that unconsented sex, even within a marriage, is rape. Well, that didn’t fly well with some men but neither did the issue of “Is a woman to blame for her rape if she is wearing revealing clothing, or if she’s out at a late hour, or if she is walking through a sketchy part of town?” Many men said “Yes”. One Peace Corps Volunteer asked “Is a bank at fault for a robbery just because they are holding lots of money?” That got people thinking! The rapist, obviously doesn’t have to have sex with the woman. Yes, she may be attracting attention but the crime belongs to the criminal, not the victim who so often gets the punishment here. During one discussion on gender roles I just happened to be placed into a group with all males (six Kenyans and one Peace Corps Volunteer). The other groups were more mixed but I stood alone as the female in my group. My fellow Peace Corps Volunteer pointed this fact out to me as if I hadn’t already noticed! If it wasn’t blatant enough, the Kenyans really made me know it as the discussion began. As with any group meeting here in Kenya we had to pick a “chairman” and a “secretary”. According to their logic, since the word “man” is in the word “chairman” the position clearly belonged to a man, so I was out of that election. But, as we were picking the secretarial position I was the only choice since a woman is ALWAYS the secretary. I almost lost it! It took so much in me to keep calm as I told them that “I do not accept this position”. It led to a little hissy fit of “but you’re the female, this is your role.” type of comments from each of the men. One man said, in what I think was his attempt to calm me down “Since the chairman is already a male we need to equal things out by having a woman serve. I asked then if I could serve as the chairman and a male serve as a secretary but you know how that question got answered! Anyways, thank goodness for the other Peace Corps Volunteer who stepped in before I lost it and accepted the position of secretary. It’s these kind of things that are hard to discuss, hard to see other’s views and see their logic, but discussion like these need to happen more often. I believe the Kenyans learned a lot as discussions such as this are often taboo to have and they just follow the traditions without thinking about how these issues really play out. I can’t blame them for following traditions but now that they’ve been given the facts and they must decide for themselves what is right rather than easily following what has always been. So again, this week was a week away from the normal environment a Peace Corps Volunteer typically lives but it sure wasn’t an escape from using our brains. After the week at the Coast it was time to head back to Nairobi where my friend, Jenny, and I prepared for the GRE. We were lucky enough to be able to stay with a teacher here from the U.S. that teaches at the international school here in Kenya. She has a nice home with a room for each of us. We were able to continue eating well as we went out for Ethiopian, Pan Asian, pizza, and Indian each night. It just feels so wonderful to be welcomed into a home and to feel at ease for even a moment, even if we were studying for a test that determines the next step in life after Peace Corps. Also during the week that I was in Nairobi for the GRE the new Peace Corps Volunteer Class for Public Health and Small Enterprise Development were swearing in after their two months of Pre Service Training. I got to go to the ambassador’s house where their ceremony took place. It was great meeting the new volunteers and finding the ones that would be near my site. It was also cool to relive my own “swearing in”. It’s always good to hear motivational speeches from people that have themselves gone through Peace Corps Service and quotes from inspiring people such as JFK. And of course, the night of swearing in is a crazy one! Jenny and I made the really great decision of joining them in celebration the night before our GRE! We went out dancing with the newbies and despite the curfew we’d set for ourselves, we ended up getting in way too late for anyone that was trying to take a big exam like the GRE the next day! But, we woke up, made a big pot of coffee and beasted the GRE (well, I guess I won’t really know until November when I get my scores back, but I felt like I did well and the scale that they give you at the end of the test that tells you in what range you fell into told me I did okay!) So, after the GRE was over I felt I could breathe again. I woke up the next morning to head out on the first real vacation I’ve taken while here in Kenya. I got on the 6am bus to Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania en route to Zanzibar. The bus ride was a grueling 17 hours, the seat I had would not recline therefore leaving me to be uncomfortable for the entirety of that 17 hours, and the smell.....oh my god, the smell! Those of you who know me know that I have a very keen sense of smell, often to my disadvantage. That morning as each passenger got on the bus they handed us a plastic bag (although here in Kenya they are called paper bags...not sure where that came from and why it is so difficult to describe the difference between the two types). The plastic bag was filled with a chapati, a samosa, and a hard boiled egg. Again, those of you who know me know how much I hate eggs! That is one thing that I have never in my life liked and despite my changes in taste over the year, my disliking of eggs has not changed. Well, as the morning went on people began to peel open their eggs emitting that gross sulphur stench that makes me dry heave. That along with the stifling heat as we got closer and closer to the coast and the increasing stink of body odor...well, it was enough to drive me stir crazy! Finally, around 11 p.m. I got into Dar es Salaam where I headed straight for the hotel I was staying in and passed out. The next morning I woke up and went downstairs to have breakfast wearing my new red Peace Corps Kenya t-shirt. Katie, a PCV in Tanzania that is from Asheville, was who I was trying to meet up with. Her mom and mine share the same hair dresser and as all hairdressers know everything about their customers she was able to get our moms in touch who then got us in touch with each other. She was there along with several other Peace Corps Tanzania Volunteers and the new PC shirt that I was wearing helped them to identify me really quickly. That day I hung out with Katie and her fellow PCVs at the beach. It was really neat getting to see how Peace Corps works in another country. It was also neat to meet up with someone from home that I’m sure will end up being someone I connect with for the rest of my life. We have a lot in common when it comes to life goals and, of course, the Peace Corps experience is something that, no matter where in the world you serve, gives you a special kind of bond. The next morning I took the ferry to Zanzibar, quite possibly the most fantastic place on Earth. On the ride over I saw two young men conversing in sign language so I began talking with them as well. The Tanzanian Sign Language is different from the Kenyan Sign Language that I know, but we were able to get by with them teaching me their sign for a word and me teaching them the one I knew. I also became the focal point to many of the passengers as I conversed with them for the entirety of the ride. When I first stepped foot on the ferry I thought to myself “Finally a couple of hours where I won’t be the one being gawked at” since everyone in there was a tourist going to the magical island of Zanzibar. That quickly changed when I began conversing with these two men. One man even took out his video camera and started taping our conversations! Anyways, I got to Zanzibar and headed straight to the airport where I met with Lauren Dave, a friend from home who I’ve gone to elementary, middle, high school and university with! She was doing a medical trip in Tanzania and as a last little “rest and relaxation” before heading home she and a couple of her colleagues from the trip headed to Zanzibar to meet me! We had a wonderful time exploring the beautiful beaches, the maze-like alleys of Stone Town, the shops full of souvenirs, and the restaurants with mouth watering foods! We stayed at this little hostel-like place where there were bandas (kind of like huts) with Swahili-style cots, couches strewn out around the place to lounge around on, hammocks to lay in, and a direct path to the beach. The ocean was so incredibly blue. We got to go snorkeling one day and see some really colorful fish and other interesting creatures amidst the various types of coral. We were taken out into the ocean by a traditional boat used by the Swahili people which at first glance doesn’t look like something to trust! But we made it back safely and with intense sun burns from being out in the middle of the ocean (I’m still peeling and I’m typing this 2 weeks after the fact!) After enjoying the beach for a couple of days we headed into the historic Stone Town. It has a very traditional Islamic feel to it: lots of incredible mosques speckling the town calling everyone to prayer every few hours, streets so small cars could barely pass, fish markets at sunset where you could get shark, octopus, and a huge assortment of seafood fresh from the Indian ocean, little shops selling paintings, jewelry, handbags, clothing, and every other souvenir you might possibly be looking to bring home. We also went on a spice tour. We toured a farm that had cinnamon, cardamom, turmeric, vanilla, pepper, cloves, coconuts, and other exotic spices I had never even heard of. It was incredible to see the spices at every stage of their growth. Well, it was hard to leave the place but after a few days it was time to head back to Nairobi. The 17 hour bus ride was out of the question. As soon as I’d gotten off of it in Dar es Salaam I’d booked a flight to Nairobi. It was worth $200 dollars to save my sanity! Back in Nairobi I met with some people I’m working with, enjoyed some time exploring a little bit more, and getting myself ready to head back to site. I’m really looking forward to having a great third term with my kiddos! As you read in the last blog I was making an effort to raise money to get the deaf kids that are being hidden away back into school so that they can learn and grow with other kids like them. I’m so excited to say that I’ve raised close to $2,000 with all the support being sent from home: people from my home church, middle school, high school, and NCSU, people I’ve never met in my life...but all people that have huge hearts to help some very deserving kids here in the little village of Mundika! I can’t wait to update you on what’s to come from this effort. As always, thank you for all your love and continued support. Every sticker, every school supply, every crystal light packet, every note, every little thing that comes to me from home means more than I can even express.

These past few days I’ve been enjoying time in Eldoret again with Dr. Lawrence and his wife, Dale, and all of their wonderful friends doing medical work here for months or years at a time. Instead of coming on the weekend like I usually do, it was nice to get to be here during some work days so that I could see more of what goes on while I’m in the village teaching. On Monday, I went with Dale to the Sally Test Pediatric Center where child patients come during the day to learn, play games, and have a chance to forget for a moment why they are at the hospital. As soon as I walked into the center I was overwhelmed with emotions as I saw the children sitting at the tables, all with different reasons for being there. Some were there because of severe burns they’d suffered at home, others because of brain injuries requiring surgery, and others living with HIV/AIDS and other conditions. Some were even there because they’d simply been dropped off by their families because they didn’t want to take on the responsibility of raising the child. One such child, Lydia, had been dropped off several months ago because her family saw that she was struggling physically. The doctors believe she has muscular dystrophy as she was unable to walk, straighten her fingers and control other muscles in her body. When I walked in, she was able to wobble over to me and fall into my arms. The doctor who has been working with her has helped her to come so far with her ability to use her muscles in ways her family probably never expected her to be able to. She was such a happy child, excited about her own progress, and motivated to do even more. Another child, Peter, is now ten years old but was found in a dumpster several years ago and brought to the hospital to live. He has developmental delays but has overcome many obstacles to get to where he is today. When he first arrived, he was clawing, scratching, and growling like an animal but with time he has become gentle and always wears a smile. He was brought to the center this week after school closed for the term, and was welcomed by just about every single nurse there. He was beaming with all the attention he was getting at his old “home”. During the time that I was there at the center we played many games, and although I could see the pain that these children were living with I also saw their smiles. As cliche as it sounds, it was like when there is a rainy day but the sun breaks through the clouds and you can see a ray of sunlight despite the dreariness of the rest of the sky. The kids were struggling and you could see the sign of pain (burn marks, scars, thinned hair) but those smiles were able to break through. It was certainly a different experience of working with kids than I’ve been doing at school. I also had the chance to visit some homes and schools that provide care for street kids, abandoned and neglected children, and kids living with HIV/AIDS. Each place was different in its own sense but all were filled with lots of happy kids. One home was originally for women living with HIV/AIDS and were allowed to bring their kids along. Walking inside that home you felt the despair of the women but the children were so well behaved and excited to have visitors. There was a little deaf girl that I got to communicate with. She, along with all of the other children, were shocked to see someone come in knowing her language. The school, which also served as the boarding place for children born with HIV/AIDS was full of crazy energy as kids jumped around and ran all over. It was hard to tell any of the kids were even sick at all. I’m assuming that since the school was geared towards kids with HIV/AIDS, ARVs and other medications were available to help keep these children healthy and strong. The third home we went to was quite amazing. A couple from America that had adopted many, many children in the States decided it was time to pack up and head to Kenya to start adopting children here. The house that they built was nice compared to Kenyan standards and was full of rooms and things to keep kids busy. All of the children at this point are under the age of 5 but will remain with this couple until they are able to go out on their own. The children speak the most perfect English, no hint of a Kenyan accent. They were smart, mannerly, and the most well behaved kids I’ve interacted with since being here. It’s amazing what having caring, attentive, loving parents can do for children. These parents are obviously doing something right. All of the children were either found on the streets next to dumpsters, or in the hospital, or anywhere else a parent could discretely leave their child. Several had disabilities such as cerebral palsy, autism, and scoliosis but with proper attention had been able to develop in a way that if this couple hadn’t found them they probably would never gotten to. If my teachers at school saw these kids they would say “Oh, these children aren’t Kenyan....a Kenyan child needs to be caned, a Kenyan child can’t be this smart at such a young age, these disabled children will never make it”. None of these children were fighting each other at all....a clear sign that fighting is not an innate characteristic of Kenyan children like I’ve been told, but, in fact, a learned one...maybe because of caning????? Anyways, seeing this couple and all of their children just inspired me all the more....as if I needed more inspiration to keep on doing what I’m doing here! Well, as I get ready to travel for the next month I probably won’t be able to update much so be prepared for a big old post at the end of August. I would post my itinerary but as I’ve said I’m giving up on planning! The vague agenda includes a Girls’ Leadership Camp for one week, training at the coast for one week, studying for and taking the GRE for a week and then heading to Zanzibar, Tanzania for pure vacation with Lauren Dave, my friend from Claxton Elementary all the way up to NCSU. Also, I’m going to copy and paste the e-mail I have sent out to all my family and friends that I have e-mail addresses for. I want to make sure this gets out to absolutely everybody I know, so if you’ve seen it before via e-mail or Facebook sorry for the repetitiveness but I’m sure you understand the urgency of getting this message out in as many ways as I can. If you are reading this and are not receiving e-mails from me when I send out updates please send me an e-mail so that I can get you on my list! Thanks!Friends and family, As I’m winding up my second term of teaching here in Mundika at the School for the Deaf I’m really starting to feel more secure with the work I’m doing and how I’m going about it. Before leaving for my Peace Corps service back in October of last year many people were asking me what other little projects I would be doing alongside of teaching. These secondary projects are encouraged by Paace Corps and are meant to help our communities as much as we can in the small amount of time we have here. When asked what I was going to be doing outside of teaching I told many of you that I had vague ideas but wanted to feel out the needs of my school and community before diving in to something that I originally thought would work but ended up being irrelevant to what my community needs or would support long term. After a few months of observation and feeling out my community I have witnessed just how many Deaf children are kept at home because their parents don’t have the money to pay their school fees or have a small sum of money but put it towards the education of their “normal” children. I’ve become frustrated with the neglect shown to these children that should be in school where their peers are communicating in a language that they could understand. The Deaf children that are still hidden away and not given the chance to develop their own language skills is a problem that needs to be taken care of desperately. It’s amazing to see the excitement on the students faces when they arrive at school after their month long break just knowing that they will finally be able to communicate with someone that understands them again. With all this being said, at the moment I see the greatest need in my community is getting these children that are being hidden away into school where they can begin to grow in so many ways. What seems like little dollars to you and me can get these children back into school, give them meals that they often don’t get at home because of those same reasons I mentioned above (the child with special needs not getting the attention, food, financial support that the other children receive), and give them a sense of community that they don’t experience anywhere else. At Mundika School for the Deaf each child is to pay 3,000 Kenyan shillings to board at school for the three month term. This equates into just under $30.00 per student. I come to you asking that if you are at all able to send any money to help get these children in school so that they can begin developing their language skills, as well as their social skills and obtain the education that they so deserve, I, along with the teachers, students, and other adults in Mundika that care for these kids would greatly appreciate it. My dad has been taking care of my finances while I’m away and I have asked him to put any donations given into one of my accounts that I have easy access to while I am here. I guarantee you that ever penny you send is going straight to getting these kids back in school. I am not giving the money to my school until the child is there. I know people have grown weary of donating money to Africa after hearing stories of the guys on top keeping a big portion of the donation. This money is purely coming through me to the school so there are no other expenses that this money will go towards. If you are able, please send any amount you feel comfortable with. You can send checks made out to me, Anna Martin, to 12 Mayflower DriveAsheville, NC 28804My dad will deposit the money and when the time comes to start school again I will be going around to the various houses of the children who have been kept at home and tell them that they are able to return to school. I will continue to do this each term for as many kids as I’m able to help. If you are not able to give at this time, please help me out by sending this e-mail to any one you might know that would be able to help these children. If you are a student still, think about ways you might be able to do a small fundraiser. If now is not a good time for you I will be here for several more terms and there will always be a need.I’ve been able to see some small children develop their language skills considerably as soon as they arrive. I’ve also seen some kids arrive at school for their first time at age 15 and see how hard it is to catch up but with the interaction with others they manage to do it. I don’t want to see these children stay at home during these critical learning years. Please, if you can, help these children out. They are incredible and at this time giving them the opportunity to learn with other children like them is the best thing that we all can do for them. If you have any questions please e-mail me back and I will respond as quickly as I can. Thank you for all the support and encouragement you’ve given me all along and for all that you will continue sending this way. I’m thankful for each of you.Anna Martin

These past few weeks have been loaded with adventures! My friend from NCSU, Jessie Odom, came to visit me for ten days and we packed in as much as we possibly could into that short time. As much as I’ve learned to “chill out” with the obsessive planning I love to do, I still had my boat rocked a few times as the “Jessie’s Visit” plan got turned upside down several times at the 11th hour of several of our planned adventures. Thank goodness Jessie is a lot more easy going than I am and wasn’t bothered at all by the changes. As soon as she got into the country we headed back to my school where she was able to meet all my students and other teachers. Immediately they took to her giving her a sign name, teaching her some basic KSL and putting on a show for her. The girls did their signature dancing as they felt the beat of the drum through the vibrations in the ground, while some of the boys acted out little skits pertaining to HIV/AIDS and what it can lead to if one is not careful. I had never seen them put on quite a show and was quite impressed my the talents my kids showed. Saturday, we were up early and headed to Kakamega National Forest, a very small rainforest here in Kenya. It reminded me of home- the coolness of a hike through a forest after a rain. What made me realize that I wasn’t at home, but was indeed in Kenya, were all the baboons and other various types of monkeys leaping from tree to tree. We ended up staying in a banda for the night, which is like your traditional African hut but was nicely furnished with two beds and some chairs. We were expecting to camp so had come with our sleeping bags, etc but couldn’t turn down staying in a really cool little hut. There were some other people around from various countries who we had dinner with. After dinner Jessie and I enjoyed roasting marshmallows with a box of matches that I had brought! The next day we enjoyed a few more hours of hiking and then headed back to my school. Jessie was able to enjoy the “welcome committee” that so graciously greets me every time I return from a trip, whether it be to the other side of the country or just down the road to the market. The 130 students raced to the gate to help us with our luggage and to give us handshakes and hugs. I think that was a wonderful moment for Jessie to experience. Monday was a school day but it was examination time so I had no obligations at the school. We went to the Catholic Compound where we were able to see their shamba (farm), enjoy lunch with some of the sisters, visit the nursing home that they run, and see the new convent that they will be moving into very soon. As soon as that was over we went over to one of my teacher’s houses for dinner. He’d prepared quite a feast for us of various Kenyan dishes- chapati, matoke (mashed green bananas), groundnut soup, arrow root, dengu (green lentils), and bananas. It was wonderful for her to see what home life is like for someone here in the village. That night, unfortunately, something didn’t settle well with my stomach and I was up all night. Fortunately, Jessie didn’t have any troubles. On Tuesday, I had to give out my KSL exam to my kids so Jessie watched as I did that but it only took about 30 minutes so there wasn’t too much exciting for her to see there. Later, we went into see Busia town, the border city that I am next to where I go for the supermarket, bank, post office and other errands. I have never been impressed with this city and neither was she. The only thing we really enjoyed was the bakery where we were able to get some semi decent cake and a cookie. That afternoon we just played more with the kids and planned for the remainder of her stay since I received a phone call from Peace Corps saying we couldn’t leave the school compound until school was officially closed on Thursday, even though no teaching was going to happen after that point and none of the other teachers would be coming back either. Instead of leaving on Wednesday and slowly making our way to Nairobi with several stops along the way, we had to take a day trip into Kisumu and come back to my school until Friday morning when we headed to Nakuru en route to Nairobi. It ended up working out just fine (it always does...I just like sticking to plans!). Our day trip to Kisumu was just enough time to take a “three hour tour” of Lake Victoria. We laughed about that with our tour guides but they didn’t quite understand the humor in it as much as we tried to explain “Gilligan’s Island”. It ended up being a beautiful tour of the largest lake in Africa, second largest in the world (Lake Superior being the “superior” one). We saw many types of birds, a herd of hippos, lots of vegetation, fishermen out working hard catching tilapia, omena (tiny little fish), and perch. Afterwards, we went to a little market where she are able to buy lots of handicrafts and African souvenirs. We finished in time to catch a bus back to my school and spend some more time with the kids. Thursday we had no plans since we were originally supposed to be out exploring so we spend the day having a photo shoot with the kids (pics are up on FB). They had so much fun just taking my camera and shooting pictures of everyone else. It was a lot of fun for them and for us. That evening we had one of the house mamas, Millie, who I am really close with, come and teach Jessie how to make chapati. We made enough for all the kids to have some as well. Chapati is a treat for anyone, but especially the students. That night was another rough night for me which made for a long journey on Friday. Friday we headed out before the sun came up to make our way to Nakuru. It took almost the entire day. When we got there we found a hotel, quite possibly the sketchiest hotel I’ve ever stayed in. It was dirty, dark, old, smelly...just awful! We stayed away from the room as long as we could, exploring the town and enjoying a pizza at one of the more decent restaurants. When the sun set, we reluctantly headed back to the room where we just laughed about the situation and talked about how we couldn’t wait to tell our kids about the things we’ve gotten ourselves into on our different trips to various countries. We slept in our clothes on top of the grungy beds and slept with one eye open until it was finally time to head out for our safari at Lake Nakuru National Park. It made up for the night. We were at the park for six hours enjoying the African scenery that Kenya is so famous for, the animals (lions, baboons, giraffes, water buffalo, impala, gazelle, rhinos, flamingoes, storks, pelicans, etc.). It was incredible! For me, even, it has been since my last trip to Kenya six years ago since I saw all of those animals. It’s not like they roam through the villages like so many people assume. Yes, they do romp through some areas from time to time, but not in the way that people have come to believe through books and movies. After the safari, we headed towards Nairobi, where we stayed with my friend Patrick from my last trip to Kenya. We showed Jessie Nairobi, the part of Kenya that is not what people expect at all. Full of coffee shops, malls, movie theaters, and good restaurants, anyone who passes through Nairobi would hardly know they were in an African city. The next morning I said goodbye to Jessie as she flew home and I headed towards Eldoret to stay with Dr. Lawrence and Dale again. I love my kiddos but I also love my vacation time where I get to explore this beautiful country I live in.

(this blog was written 2 weeks before publishing....pole sana (so sorry)!

This week at school went surprisingly well....but of course, there was a glitch in what seemed to be going so smoothly. I started the week off by showing my little ones “The Lion King” and although they couldn’t hear the singing or what the character's were saying you could see each of their faces light up as Simba and Nala danced around and fear come across them every time Scar made an appearance. The movie has been over for a few days and they still come up to me asking to see the lion! I also taught them how to make paper airplanes. Of course one of the older kids came in and showed them a way fancier and much cooler paper airplane, but mine, in the end, was the winner because those little kids just worship everything I do with them. I love walking into that class, on time, might I add, and seeing the other teacher just starting her lesson and the kids just shutting their attention off to her yelling and screaming tangent and looking at me with the biggest, widest smiles you’ve ever seen, anxious to see what I’ve brought for them to do for the day. Not that I enjoy interrupting another teacher’s lesson or one-upping anyone else, I just like to show these other teacher’s that these kids don’t just hate school because it’s inate within them, but it’s because they as teachers show no desire to be there and no creativity in the lessons. I’ve noticed from time to time some of the teacher’s imitating some of my lessons a few days later and the kids become engaged with them, too, and you see the teacher’s enjoying their jobs just a little bit more, as well. This week I also had a lesson about money and what various coins are made of. When I brought out some American coins and bills they went crazy just thinking that what they were holding was so sacred. Who knew a penny could cause such joy? It was really neat to see the sheer fascination they have with these things that I keep in my house because they are of absolute no use to me while I’m here in this country. They were asking me how much things cost in America versus here in Kenya and as I explained they were flabbergasted at the price differences. But as I said...there’s always a hitch. It gets tiresome having to deal with these unnecessary things that could so easily be prevented if someone took a little initiative and showed some genuine concern. On Wednesday morning I walked to class but there was a lot more crying coming from the nursery class than normal. I asked why they were so upset today and they said because there was no porridge for them for breakfast. The firewood had run out and the head teacher had not gotten more. As the teachers began to see that the students were not mentally there but were off in another place thinking about their hunger, we decided it was pointless to torture them with classwork until something was done about the food situation. The teacher’s nominated me to go speak to the head-teacher knowing that I wasn’t worried about getting fired or getting yelled at. I went into his office where the t.v. was blaring and he was enjoying chai with milk (something the student’s don’t get even on special occasions) and toast with butter and jam (again, a delicacy here at the school). How could he be enjoying this feast when outside 130 children were aching with hunger? He told me that the firewood supplier was to be blamed for not showing up. Yes, I guess it’s fair to say you can blame him for not showing up, but can you blame him for not showing up because he didn’t get paid for the firewood???? Nope, can’t really find any reason for blame there! I left him to finish his chai and toast to go back out to the teachers who were trying to figure out what to do. A few of us decided to go into our own pockets to buy bread for the whole school since that didn’t need to be cooked and could easily be served in a hurry. We asked if it were possible to use the new gas cookers that had been bought by sponsors for our school to quickly boil some water to make black tea for the students. That was denied; excused with the claim that we didn’t have the money for the fuel (although the head-teacher’s milk chai from earlier was prepared quickly on the gas cooker). We then decided to collect all of the small water heaters that people had within the compound and use them to boil water as quickly as we could, one bucket at a time. The head teacher was angry that we were using the electricity from the school to do such a thing (remember that t.v. blaring in the office? It’s always on whether someone’s watching it or not...hmmm???). He was also upset with the teachers who’d donated money from their own pockets. To one he even said “Are you trying to make me look like a failure who can’t run his school?” That’s a rhetorical question, right??? Didn’t need to try to hard! Anyways, the children were more than happy to have bread for the first time in a long time and continued on with their day as normal but in each of my classes the kids were telling me how the head teacher loves taking care of his stomach and stuffing his pockets with money more than anything. This position of power he holds has gone up and over his head. How can you feel okay eating in front of 130 children, that you claim as your very own? One teacher said “This is so surprising!” Another teacher questioned “Is it really? We’ve been dealing with smaller issues similar to this for a long time...it’s not surprising that it finally got to this and it won’t surprise me if it gets worse.”

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder.Never has the phrase meant more to me. Being this far away and for this long has really made me miss family and friends in a way I wish I could have avoided. Just today I was watching an episode of Modern Family and Phil, the father, begins crying as he realizes that his daughters are growing up and aren’t relying on him for absolutely everything anymore. His tears caused the girls to cry and I’m sure you can guess who that pushed over the edge into a fit of tears....me! This scene, for the normal viewer, was intended to make people laugh, but for me...well, I saw the humor in it, but I couldn’t help but cry with the characters. I’ve just returned to Mundika from close to two weeks in Nairobi. I love, love, love Nairobi but I can’t help but blame this city for making me miss home more. When I’m there I’m able to dress more like I would at home (instead of the hippie skirts and frumpy shirts), eat meals for two weeks straight that don’t repeat themselves even once (nope not one serving of ugali!), go out dancing, have meetings with people that see me more for who I am and what I want to do in my life rather than for the color of my skin and how much money that means I can bring to the table. I get to spend time on Skype seeing faces and hearing voices that I haven’t in too long. I get to splurge on manicures and trips to the gym. All the things that are part of everyday life at home, but that I have to hold out on for long stretches of time here in the village. No, it’s not as hard as volunteers had it even 5 years ago when cell phones were just making it onto the scene here and rates to call home were exorbitant, or trips to any remotely larger city were impossible due to horrible roads unless you were on your death bed. I can’t even begin to think how the first volunteers 50 years ago got through their service! But, even so, it’s difficult no matter what time in history you are doing this. As for my time away from my students... yes, it was only a mere drop in the bucket compared to the time I’ve spent away from home but I began to miss them in a way that is hard to explain. By the end of my time in Nairobi, although amazing, I was needing my kids’ smiles and laughs. As soon as I got back to site I was greeted by 130+ kids wondering where I’d been but so glad to see me back. “Little monkey” or “nyani ndogo” was pushed forward by the bigger kids to greet his “mommy” as they now refer to me as for him. They told me he had been sitting by my door the past few days crying and wondering if I was coming back. This, after only knowing the child for 6 months. I don’t even want to begin thinking about 1 1/2 years from now when it is goodbye, and for more than a two week trip. As much as he thought of me and missed me during the time I was gone, I can assure you I thought about him and missed him equally if not more. There has not been a single moment where I have wanted to “ET” or early terminate my service as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Yes, there have been moments I want to see people, just take a quick trip home, but not to end my service early....and that’s because every time something aggravating happens I have this little face that comes into my mind. “Nyani ndogo” is saying “I need you here to help me, to be my mom, to hug me and hold me like no one here has ever done, to have patience with me as I’m learning this new language, to teach me that it’s not okay to hit other people just because I see the teachers hitting other students, to take care of me when I’m sick, to put a band aid over my cuts, and to love me.” Of course, I’m head over heels for this little boy, which is why it is his face that is in my head but his thoughts represent the thoughts of all my kids, whether 5 years old or 28. No, I don’t hold the 28 year old in my lap, but I do try to empower him to be a leader in ways that the teachers here don’t encourage a person with disabilities to try to be. There are things at home going on that I wish I could be there for to take care of. My grandparents, my friends, the kids down in Perry County that I worked with last summer, Becky, the list goes on and on....I wish with all my heart I could be in a million places at one time but that’s not realistic. What is true is that I’m here now and have 130 kids to take care of. There are some great organizations that have visions here in Kenya and I want to work with them to make positive things happen. The first time I came to Kenya 6 years ago, I remember telling one of the children at the orphanage “I will be back”. I didn’t know it would play out like it has but I am back. The time that I wasn’t here and was back in the U.S. “absence made the heart grow fonder” and despite all the complaining I do about corruption, apathy, etc., etc., etc. I love it here and have been absolutely blessed to have an opportunity to live here for two years. Two years to figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life here or what I want to do with the rest of my life anywhere else but here (although I tend to think more and more every day that my life is going to have a focus on Kenya). So, as I close, know that although I may not write to each of you or call you as much as I would like to be able to, absence from you all has made me think of all the times we’ve had together that have built our relationships into what they are. I also relish the thought of the next time we see each other and all the moments that are to come!

Well, sometimes you don’t even get to tell a story before it changes right before your eyes. In my last blog entry I was telling the story of Faith, the little girl with the enlarged heart and how Dr. Lawrence and I were able to get her some help. I also mentioned that when I visited Gladys’ home for orphans “I fell in love as soon as I walked onto the small compound, but I’ll save that story for the next time”. Well, the story I was going to tell was of the little girl who absolutely stole my heart. Her Christian name was Dorcas and that’s how she introduced herself to me as I’m always introduced to people by their Christian names since they think I will prefer those to their traditional name. Well, personally I prefer Babgy, the name everyone else calls her. I didn’t even see the little girl when I first walked to the home where they lived. She was sitting to the side of the house in a tiny old wheelchair with a blue seat cushion that could hardly be classified as something that provided any sort of comfort to Babgy’s seat which was one of the boniest I’ve seen her while in the village. I know you’ve seen those children on t.v. that have the legs twisted up, the sunken in faces, the little black teeth, and the flies swarming around their crusty faces and open sores found all over their body...well, that was Babgy. I wrote in my journal that night that she “made me feel confident in why I’m here...it’s little girls like her that I want to help have a reason to smile”. When I first saw Babgy, Gladys, the woman who took these kids in, could see my heart melt. She led me over to Babgy who was telling Gladys in kiSwahili that she’d wet herself...again. Gladys told me that due to Babgy’s paralyzation from her neck down she was unable to hold anything in. Her clothes, of which she only had one outfit that fell on her like a circus tent, were soiled and smelled of old urine but she kept saying she wanted to be held. I picked her up and held her in my lap, sporadically feeling my lap getting wetter and wetter as she relieved herself. She cried for food and so Gladys brought me some beans- the greyest, driest, coldest, most disgusting looking food I’d ever seen- to feed Babgy. I had to use everything in me to control my gag reflexes as I fed her. It was hard work feeding the child who had no control of her limp body. I had to hold her head up and keep her from sliding out of my lap as I fed her spoonful after spoonful of that so-called food. Once she finished she began crying for chai tea. I began to wonder “does this child ever smile? All I see her do is cry and beg for food and drink and to be carried. But really, can I blame her for being so unhappy....being neglected by her own parents, not being able to hold herself up or control her bodily functions, relying on everyone around her to take care of her every need. No, I can’t blame her at all. I’d probably be screaming and be even more upset with the world.” I asked Gladys if Babgy was happy. She told me that usually she was much happier she was just upset that she was sitting there soiled and had no clean clothes to change into. She looked at Babgy and said “Unacheka! (Laugh!)”. Babgy looked up at me with this face that honestly made me think she was pushing out something I really didn’t want on my lap but that was her smile which slowly turned into a little laugh. She said “Ninacheka, ninacheka! (I’m laughing)” I smiled. This child had made my day and I couldn’t wait to come and see her and play with her more and give her a reason to say “Ninacheka” again. I went home that day so happy from learning that I might be able to help Faith and by finding this little girl, Babgy, who, from the outside was a little girl that most people wouldn’t want to touch with a ten-foot pole but for me was a reminder of the reason I’m here and as an inspiration to keep fighting for what is right in this country, not just what is easy. Too many of these children living with disabilities of all kinds are hidden away, not deemed worthy of being fed, bathed, held, or God forbid, loved. Babgy’s laugh made me see that these kids can be happy if given a reason to be. I went back to see Babgy and took picture after picture of her wearing my sunglasses, laying there on the soiled straw mat, and she kept asking for more pictures to be taken of her. If I’d only known that would be the second, and final, time I would ever see that little girl. I would have stayed so much longer, I would have taken more pictures, I would have made her laugh one more time, I would have bought her a feast that didn’t include grey beans, I would have bought her an outfit that clung to her body and was clean, I would have bought her diapers so she didn’t have to sit for hours in her own filth. But how could I have known? Although, frail and unable to hold herself up, I didn’t expect that what was next would ever happen. I see too many adults in the same condition as herself sitting in the streets of Busia and I guess I expected her to live to be one of them. But yesterday I had just gotten back to my house from an event in town and was getting myself ready to head over to the house to play with Babgy and Faith. Mr. Werimo, one of the teachers at my school and a neighbor of Gladys who also knew Babgy and knew why I was so in love with this child, came to me and said “I hate to tell you but Babgy has passed on.” I held myself together through the rest of the conversation but went into my room and cried. Then I heard a knock on my door. I dried my tears quickly not knowing who it was. Gladys was standing there...and I lost it and fell into her arms. She told me all the details of what happened but honestly I don’t know what she said. My mind was swirling with thoughts about little Babgy and how in only two visits a little girl could cause me to cry like this; why Mr. Werimo and Gladys weren’t crying like me yet they had known her so much longer; whether this little girl’s parents would care at all if they knew she’d died. But death here is all too common. It doesn’t bother people here that a ten year old child dies like it would in America. In my world, people aren’t supposed to die until they are old and their bodies have retired completely. And even then, no one’s prepared for their death. Just the other day I heard military taps being played and it took me back to my grandpa’s funeral 6 years ago. He was close to 90 years old, beyond ready to leave this world but it still hurts to think of him not being here. And this 10 year old girl wasn’t causing anyone else to cry but myself. Today, I went to her burial service. Mr. Werimo and I met Gladys at the mortuary. As soon as I stepped foot in that place I got chills....it was eerily quiet. Not one tear was shed (except for by me, as secretly as I could manage). They asked me if I wanted to see Babgy’s body. I don’t know what came over me but I said yes. They opened the doors to the mortuary and the smell of death poured out of the refrigerated room. I walked in to a room with naked, dead bodies lying on the floors and stacked up on cots. The bodies belonged to people of all types...babies, children, young men, older women, and everyone in between. As I walked through a trail leading from the door to the stacked cots where Babgy lay I was taken back by what I was seeing. I couldn’t help thinking about the Holocaust or the genocides that have happened throughout time and history. No, this room wasn’t near that bad, but it’s the closest I’ve ever been to that much death. I looked at Babgy’s body, still contorted in the same way I saw her this time last week, just naked and absolutely lifeless...and no laughter. I left the room and waited for the vehicle to be ready to take us to where she would be buried. Her casket was the simplest of caskets and I much preferred it to the other caskets covered in colorful fabrics and designs that just seem so out of place here in Kenya. They brought her out and laid her on the ground and took the lid off of the casket so that everyone could look at her and send a prayer up for her. Gladys asked if I would take pictures and as much as I felt that I was disrespecting Babgy for taking pictures of her, Gladys was quite pleased with the idea of having pictures of this celebration of her little girl’s life. As we piled into the Land Rover, all 20 of us, Babgy was strapped on top of the vehicle. The entire ride to the cemetery was filled with songs sung in kiSwahili. We got to the land which was quite different from any cemetary I’ve seen before- overgrown with vegetation, no sign of any plots where people were resting in peace. When we walked up to the burial spot, the guests were unsatisfied with the depth so Mr. Werimo began digging deeper until all were satisfied. They took the casket down from the vehicle and laid it in the ground. As a sermon was given in kiSwahili and the other local dialects Mr. Werimo signed for me. I didn’t want to lengthen the service by having it done in two spoken languages so I had him sign. When Gladys began to reflect on Babgy’s life, her words quickly turned to me. It bothered me that my attendance at the funeral shifted the focus from this little girl to me. It was certainly not my attention in the least. Gladys talked of how I’d come into this little girl’s life and became a second mom to her. Yes, I did hold this little girl and feed her, something her birth mother never did, but I couldn’t believe that my skin color escalated me to receive so much praise at this service. Every guest that spoke thanked me and blessed me and said that what I did was amazing, but I loved that girl the same as all of the guests there did. They asked me to speak and, again, as much as I felt like this was more because of my skin color than anything else, I spoke because I wanted to shift the attention back to Babgy with my words. I told them how her laugh brought such joy to me, how I’d been so moved by this little girl that I told friends and family back at home about her, how she inspired me to do even more to make a change for the lives of orphan children living with disabilities. Babgy’s life was the reason for us to celebrate...not me. The funeral ended with us throwing handfuls of soil over her casket and singing Kenyan spirituals as we rode away. Babgy, I know you are finally somewhere where you can run freely, laugh every second of the day, dress yourself in the most beautiful of clothes, eat the most delicious foods, drink the sweetest chai, and play with nothing holding you back...and live happily ever after. I look forward to seeing you again.

You know those stories that you hear that give you goosebumps all over and a smile comes over your face that you can’t even begin to hold in? Well, I’ve been lucky enough to be a part of several stories like that in my life....all of them interestingly enough leading to the moment I’m at right now. One day I’ll write a book about all of these crazy events that have all managed to come together in some spiderweb- like connection. Until then, let me at least give you a small portion of this web of events. As you know I’m here in Kenya, and if you’ve been following this blog since the beginning you also know that Dr. and Mrs. Lawrence, a couple from First Baptist Church in Asheville, NC (my home church) came to Kenya a week before I did and will be here the same amount of time as me. I’d actually never met this couple until a week before we departed for our new homes half way across the world. We met at the “Corner Kitchen” on a Saturday morning and enjoyed delicacies I can only dream of as I sit here on this Saturday morning drinking my chai and gnawing on a mango. I walked in not knowing what the couple looked like and I guess my face gave that fact away (I’ve been told many a time that you can read my face like a book...something I wish I could control a little better). A newly retired cardiologist, Dr. Lawrence, stood up and walked over to me clad in his tailored suit and bow-tie (something he pulls off quite well!). He shook my hand and welcomed me to the table that he and his wife, Dale, were sitting at. We talked about the work he would be doing in Eldoret, Kenya through Duke University and AMPATH. He was asked to build up the cardiology program at Moi Teaching and Referral Hospital, one of the best in Kenya, although, no American I know would set foot in that building to receive any sort of treatment or care. Dale would be working at the children’s center there where the little ones go as they receive treatment for various ailments. After they told me of their plans and how their life paths had led up to this moment in their lives I told them of my upcoming adventure through the Peace Corps and how I got interested in Africa, my hopes for my time in Kenya, and my basic plans for life after Peace Corps. It was a wonderful breakfast and let me tell you that having them be in the same country as me during the same period of time has certainly put my parents’, as well as other friends’, minds at ease knowing that even though no one knew exactly which part of the country I would be going to, I would have a wonderful couple to watch out for me from a lot closer distance than they could be to me as I went off for two years. A week later we were both off to begin our adventures in Kenya. Theirs started strong at the hospital within their first week in Eldoret; mine began in intensive training in Machakos, very far from where they are. Just a week into training I learned where my site would be. Of course I was excited at the opportunity to live at the Kenyan coast, or at the base of Kilimanjaro, or up north with the camels and nomadic people, but something inside me also longed to be relatively close to the Lawrence’s. I’d only met them once but knew they could be my rock if I was feeling low or help me out if I was in a snag. Well, the announcement time came and as you know I’m in Mundika, Busia, Kenya....not exactly right next door to Eldoret but a LOT closer than if I’d been placed at any of those other sites I mentioned. A mere 4 hour matatu ride (if they are cooperating) and I could be in a different world- a world where doctors from all over the world came together to help build up the medical field here in Kenya. In the compound where the Lawrence’s live there are some houses that I could not fathom ever living in. I’d only seen these type of houses in the areas of Nairobi where the ambassadors and other government officials live. The Lawrence’s live in a simple cottage-like home that I adore and could see myself living in (much more so than the school office attached to the girls; dormitory that I’m currently calling my “home”). It has a small kitchen with an oven, microwave, and sink, a bedroom for them, a guest room with two twin sized beds, a toilet room, a shower room, and a small living room. The front yard is small....but there’s a front yard! Next door is a home with a HUGE hi-def t.v., an oven that produces brownies and other desserts, and amazing works of art hung on the walls. Needless to say, when I go there I have to pinch myself and ask if I’m still in Kenya. But outside of the compound there is the Kenya that I know better. The dirty streets, the overcrowded matatus zipping from place to place, the small children carrying even smaller children on their backs, and just down the road is the hospital where Dr. and Mrs. Lawrence spend most of their time. It’s filled with sickness and death. Mourning is always happening but death is always expected and the Kenyan doctors there do much too little to keep that outcome from happening. Death is thought of quite differently here in Kenya than how we Americans think about it. Death just happens; why spend money, that is not there in the first place, on someone who is going to die anyway? We Americans spend any amount of money to keep someone going, to keep them from dying, to resuscitate them, and even extend their lives far past what some of those people would prefer (just read an article about Dr. Kavorkian’s death and his life). Anyways, back to the most recent serendipitous situation Dr. L and I have found ourselves in. On Sunday afternoon of last week I returned from their home in Eldoret to my home in Mundika. On Wednesday I ran into a woman, Grace, that I had unintentionally run into a few weeks ago who told me that she housed orphans with various physical and mental challenges. I had told her then that I would call her and come visit her home and see her children. I called her, and of course, the phone number didn’t work...typical! Well, Wednesday I ran into her again and she asked why I hadn’t called. I explained and she told me she would just come and pick me up that afternoon and we would walk over to her home. I fell in love as soon as I walked onto the small compound, but I’ll save that story for the next time. What was so interesting was one of the little girls, Faith, looked completely normal, no apparent challenges that I could see with my eyes. I asked Grace what was wrong with this little one. She told me she had a heart problem that the doctors had noticed back in October and referred her to Moi Teaching and Referral Hospital straightaway. As I said in my last blog, things happen pole pole (slowly slowly) around here and it’s taken her up to this point to raise the money to even get to Eldoret. Goosebumps came over my arms and legs as I told her that a doctor from my home church was actually in Eldoret at Moi and was a “heart doctor”. She couldn’t believe it. I called him and read through some of the medical documents Grace had given me and he was able to tell me that there was a pediatric cardiology clinic on Friday mornings that would be able to cater to Faith directly. Unfortunately, Grace had a meeting to get to on Thursday and Friday so we discussed her going the following Friday. Thursday morning she came to me with the news that her meeting had been cancelled and she would now be able to head to Eldoret for the clinic on Friday. I told her to be there 8 am sharp to beat the crowds...maybe I should have told her 5 am (aka around 8 am Kenyan time). I was just hoping she got there and was getting Faith checked out. I received an e-mail last night from Dr. Lawrence telling me that he didn’t usually work in the pediatric cardiology clinic but yesterday he just happened to walk in, not knowing that Faith would be there because we were expecting to have to wait until next week. He talked to the doctor who was examining her. Dr. L gave me an idea of what the doctors found out and although she will be faced with some challenges she’s beginning to get the care that she’s needed for months. It’s amazing to me how two very different people, one who just wants to do something for orphans throughout Kenya despite their abilities and disabilities, and another one who just wants to help build up a cardiology program in Kenya, came to meet one little girl both in the same week for different reasons but both to help make her childhood a little better....one by playing games and holding her, the other by helping work with cardiologists to help them understand the importance of taking care of the hearts of everyone in Kenya. I can’t even begin to explain all of this except that someone is certainly watching over us all from above and He is orchestrating quite a symphony of events.

Slowly by Slowly Slowly by slowly...that’s how Kenyans describe gradual change around here. Too many things seem to happen slowly by slowly....cooking, washing clothes (for me at least), getting from one place to another, the teachers accepting the fact that I do NOT eat meat or ugali, and more pertinent to the past few weeks, the beginning of a new term. We are now a good solid three weeks into term 2 of school and I’m still waiting on several of my students to show up. The official first day of school came and went with only 3 students showing up. By the end of the week there were 20 students (out of 130). Now, almost everyone is back but I’m still waiting to see some faces that I haven’t seen in over a month and a half. I hate having to get started teaching knowing that every child that shows up after that lesson is going to be left in the dark. These kids already have it tough enough not being able to hear and not having access to materials that make learning for them easier, but being thrown into class when 15 lessons have already gone by and there’s really no way to make them up sets them back. But every day new children arrive back and it’s wonderful to see them sitting at their desk which was empty the day before and give them attention and make them feel welcome back and show them how excited I am to see them in a way that I wouldn’t be able to show each of them individually if they did all show up on the same day, and although I’m still waiting on several of my students from last term to show up, there have been new students come and several of them are already on my “I want to adopt you” list....it’s getting lengthy here lately! One student is hearing (we are starting to get several children that are hearing and I’m now quite sure of the answer...I have a feeling it has to do with the principal getting extra money but I’m going to try to tune that out and focus on the child that is now my student) and he absolutely is the most friendly 6 year old with the biggest smile I’ve seen in a while. The first day he arrived he came up and shook my hand and because he doesn’t have much speech he just smiled at me. Already he is very good friends with “nyani ndogo”, the little monkey, Ian, that I have written about. Both of them together are a hoot and love to drop in on my lessons together and distract me. The class 8 students came to me as soon as school started and asked me if I would teach them science since the teacher last term did not once show up for class. They have their primary school exit exams in December and cannot afford to go into them missing out on an entire year of the subject! So, the next day I opened up the book and read “Chapter 1: The Reproduction System in Humans; Lesson 1: Puberty”. You don’t know how much I wanted to take back my decision and go to the teacher that missed every lesson last term and tell him to do his job and don’t put me through this. It wouldn’t have been sooo bad if my class 8 boys were the age of boys in 8th grade back at school (around 13....take that back! That would have been horrible, too!), but these guys in my class are all between the ages of 18 and 28. Obviously they have been through puberty and most of them, I’m fairly certain, are sexually active based on the fact that the school choo (bathroom stalls---absolutely the most unsanitary place to have sex) has a reputation of being one of the favorite spots for the older boys and girls. Another thing that made this lesson of the day absolutely horrific was teaching it in sign language. If I were simply explaining it in a monotone voice with words and inexpressively writing on the board and pointing at pictures then the situation would have been at least bearable. But no, I had the thrill of doing it in a very visual language. I wrote in one of my earliest blog entries about a deaf man explaining sex to us in sign language and how entertaining it was to see sex explained in sign language, but at that time I had no idea that those same signs would be coming from me in front of my audience of male Kenyan peers. Talking about breasts growing, certain private parts having hair begin to grow on them, and the act of sex between a man and a woman was quite possibly one of the most horrible moments in my life here in Mundika. They were laughing at me, telling me they could tell I was embarrassed and asking me questions that made me want to crawl under a rock and hide. That night as I was doing exercises in my room to relief some stress from the day, one of the older boys came and asked me if I could come and explain a term they had seen on a poster I had brought from Peace Corps with various health related signs. I got to the classroom and he pointed to “F.G.M.” Well, being that I did 2 thirty page papers on the subject in college I actually knew how to answer that question but to an extent I don’t think they cared to know. As soon as I explained to him in the most basic of terms what it was I could tell he wished he wouldn’t have ever asked the question. In other news, my secondary projects are off to a great start. I’ve been contacting many organizations in the Deaf community here in my area of the country and finding out where they need more help. I’ve been shocked, honestly, with the willingness of these people to talk to me and lead me to various people and organizations. I figured I wouldn’t get replies to my e-mails for weeks but got 5 within the day that I sent them. I also happened to meet a woman on a matatu that works with orphans within a few hours of me that is more than thrilled to have someone like me to help her out. As I was walking to town one day, a lady called out another female name and some people told me she was calling my name so I turned around. Not recognizing who this lady was I approached her with confusion but went to greet her. She had thought I was someone else that works in the village (WHAT?!??! Another white person and no one told me?????) but upon meeting her I found out that she works with mentally and physically challenged orphans!!! Ahhh, I couldn’t believe it....less than a kilometer away and there’s a house full of orphans that I would absolutely love to work with. She gave me her number and of course the time I tried to call her he phone had been disconnected. I will have to try another way to get in touch with her as I know that that mishap of a meeting happened for a reason! Yet another wonderful meeting happened on the train the other evening. A Kenyan woman who now lives in Geneva and works for the UN ended up sharing a cabin with me and Noëlle and was just a wealth of knowledge about the politics of Kenya. It was amazing to hear a Kenyan woman talk so strongly and passionately about getting corruption out of the country and replacing it with positive change. As we passed through Kibera, the largest slum in all of Africa, I thought about the fields that you pass by when you are traveling through Kentucky and Illinois and think to yourself “Wow, these fields go on as far as the eye can see” or when you are at the beach and the sea goes on and on. Well, here the shacks and metal scraps leaned up against one another go on for what seems to be the very end of the Earth. I asked her about the slum and she said that, unfortunately, it has continued to grow over the years and there is not just this one slum in Nairobi, there are several more. Raila Odinga, the other candidate for president in the last election that resulted in such terrible violence, has a vision and was in the process of making that vision a reality. He had begun to replace those shacks with actual apartments to move the tenants into and during his presidency was planning on finishing those. If you are not familiar with this election, the president that was in power somehow managed to stay in power despite the popular vote going to Odinga. To this day the politics of the last election are a very hot topic and with the elections coming next year they will continue to stay on people’s minds. Anyways, all this said, it has been a wonderful time of meeting amazing people that have great vision for this country and are appreciative for what we volunteers are doing at the grassroots level and look forward to working with us, which is an attitude I don’t often see in the villages and at the school. Okay, two more quick stories and I will wrap it up for this blog entry. Story #1: As I said, I took the train the other evening with my closest friend here, Noëlle. I called ahead of time to reserve seats on the train and gave them our names. When I got to the station and told them who we were they said they didn’t have our names on the list. I looked at the list and figured out that we had indeed been put on the list but under very different names than what I had given. My new name: “Marcin Otjano” and my partner in crime, Noëlle Opsahl is now called “Noel Osjano” I was only able to figure out that these were us because of the Noel and Marcin being somewhat close. It made for a huge laugh in the station among us and all the workers there! Story #2: I was leaving Noelle’s house and walking to the bus stage carrying a black container to fill with water and this crazy man starts yelling at me from about 30 feet away that I was a “f***ing idiot for carrying a black gerrycan. Didn’t I know that I was white and that I should be carrying a white one? I must be a “f***ing idiot. That got all the mamas on the streets that sell their goods laughing and mocking me. Ugh, when things like this happen I just don’t know how to react. I usually end up having to muster all that I have in me to ignore them and not shout at them letting them know how stupid and ignorant they are making themselves look by saying those things and how they hurt my feelings so much and make me feel like all my time here is a complete waste but none of that would make any sort of difference. Usually the people that taunt me are drunk (like this man) at 8 in the morning and saying something to them would be similar to talking to a brick wall. I just have to remember the encounters I have with the wonderful people here, the ones who hate this behavior as much as I do since it reflects so poorly on them. Well, I hope everyone is staying happy and healthy at home. Thanks a million for the packages and letters that have come lately. My children love the school supplies that have been sent and I love the granola and other yummy things! I love you all and thank you for continuing to stay with me on this journey I’m on!

April was filled with all the things I needed to get rejuvenated: friends, visits to new places, good food, new music, discussions with people that were truly inspiring, and just time to relax. The week after provincial sports in Mumias (not too far from my site) I went to the coast to watch two of my students run at the national level of sports and games. Despite heat and humidity that reminded me of my summer in Alabama, the worst sunburn I have ever had in my life (causing me to walk like a penguin for 3 days and then itch for the next week), the hundreds of little bug bites all over my legs and arms, the sand getting into my eye and scratching it bad enough to make me cry for two days straight, and the 5 abscesses that developed on my head and arm.....life at the coast was good! There were 8 of us volunteers staying in another volunteers home for the week. We had wonderful food every night and lots of stories from each others’ sites. It was nice to get to know some other volunteers better. Our day at the beach was incredible. The beach we went to is next to some old Muslim ruins that I spent some time exploring. I felt like a little kid walking along the tops of the fallen down walls and walking through the remaining doorways. The baobab trees were massive, reminding me of the redwood trees in California. There were so many colorful lizards but every time I got close enough to take a picture they would scurry away. One day we all went to Old Mombasa which I absolutely fell in love with. Some of the streets were so narrow that only one little tuk-tuk (a tricycle-like vehicle) could go down at a time. The architecture of the entire place was just breath taking. The Islamic influence seen on the doors and windows just took me back to my art history class back in high school. The intricacy of the patterns and designs had me staring for minutes at each door. The shops were filled with masks from all over Africa, jewelry being hand-made as we stood there, and beautifully colored cloth. We took a break at a Swahili coffee shop. We sat on the floor and enjoyed the coffee and tea spiced with cinnamon, cardamom and ginger. It was a perfect environment for enjoying tea as we sat on the ground with big pillows and beautiful fabrics on all the walls. We were then led to a spice market where there were buckets full of every spice you could imagine. The shopkeeper’s would scoop out a spice and hold it to our noses. There were shops with sweet desserts I’d never seen in my life. There was a market with absolutely every vegetable and fruit one could think of. It was such a vibrant market full of so many wonderful things. We enjoyed coconut straight from the tree. A street vendor would cut open the top and hand it to you to drink the coconut juice. Then you would hand it back so that he could scrape the fruit from the sides. He would then hand you the fruit and a little spoon made from the coconut husk. The fruit was a perfect amount of sweet! At the end of the week I headed to Machakos where I trained at the beginning of my time here in Kenya. It was absolutely wonderful to see my host family again. I was so excited about seeing my little brother! His English has improved a lot since he started school and my kiSwahili, although limited, did help in our communication. He just followed me in whatever I did during my stay. At one point my back was hurting so I laid down for a few minutes. Some of the family was in the living room talking and he went in there and told them “Don’t you know Anna’s back is hurting and you are bothering her by being loud?” It was precious. He asked his mama if he could sleep with me so we listened to Kenyan music together as we faded into sleep. We walked to town together with my other brother (17 years old) to get some cake at a bakery. The older brother is so smart. I was telling him about some of the corruption I had witnessed at my school and he responded to my experiences in a way that many people here in Kenya don’t respond. He was telling me that “There is a huge difference between a boss and a leader”. It caught me off guard to hear something so profound come from such a young person here in this country. Most of the time the response is “Well, corruption is just part of life here”. Listening to him talk about the things he wants to accomplish in his life just gave me so much hope for the future of Kenya. I’m so lucky to have a family here in Kenya that is wonderful in so many ways. When I had to leave, my littlest brother started crying which of course started the waterworks for me! Getting to Nairobi was another breath of fresh (and surprisingly cool) air! It was wonderful getting to see friends I hadn’t seen since December. Most of our time there has been spent in meetings and training sessions but everyone being together made it bearable, and even enjoyable. It’s been interesting to see how people have changed even in a short three month span. People have said that I am a little more quick to speak up for myself and say what’s on my mind....I have to agree. I hope I don’t get back to America after two years of this and have everyone hate me because I just can’t hold my tongue about anything! Anyways, I really gained a lot from the sessions we have had during our In-Service Training. Two specifically made me so excited about the rest of my time here with Peace Corps, and the rest of my life here. The first one was at a school here in Nairobi called the International School of Kenya. This school is primarily for children of parents that serve as ambassadors and other government officials so the student population, which is made up of 90 nationalities, was very well off financially. There was such a stark difference between this school and the schools that we PCVs teach in but we were still able to gain more than any of us imagined we could from such a well off school. We were there to observe classes and talk about various topics such as managing the classroom, getting our children to think critically, etc. At the school there were also 7 Returned Peace Corps Volunteers that had a panel discussion with us about their experiences and how that led them to where they are today as international educators. Well, after talking to one of the teachers about my interest in special education within the developing world she introduced me to the woman who leads the special education department at this school. This woman is incredible! She led us in a discussion about teaching various children with disabilities that are in our classes. The way she went about getting us to put ourselves in the shoes of someone who has a disability such as dyslexia, attention deficit disorder, and various other learning disabilities was incredible. The way she understands children with disabilities was incredible but what I took away most from that session was just how I might be able to better explain what I’ve been trying to explain all along to my teachers. I have absolutely exhausted the topic of treating the students with disabilities (Deaf and other) but have had no true success. I think that if I talk to my teachers now with some of the examples she gave to us than I can help the staff to understand more how it feels to actually have a disability rather than just tell them what that disability is and some of the things they face when living with that disability. I ended up having lunch with her and telling her a little bit about how I got here, what I want to do while I am here serving with PC and what my long term goals and the 5 year plan that I have to get going in the right direction. After listening to me she gave me great advice for what other things I could do to be most effective. She told me about some organizations that have conferences here in Kenya that will help me understand the issues that I’m interested in to a deeper extent and also make connections with people that share those interests. She advised me to go back to America to get my masters and to focus on how to make policy changes in developing nations since I am here getting the practical teaching and on the ground experience. Everything she said would be good for me to do were things that have been floating around in my head for a while now but to hear them come from someone that has the same goals for children living with special needs was just the confirmation I needed. The very next day a man that is heavily involved in politics here in Kenya came to speak to us. I’m pretty sure as an International Studies major with a focus on Africa I was the only one in the room interested in what he had to say but just hearing his passion for this place got me more excited to know even more about the history, the politics, the people, etc. He was this older man that came in looking like he’d just finished a workout at the senior citizen workout center, clad in a faded purple t-shirt reading “30th anniversary of African Studies” (which by now is probably celebrating its 60th anniversary), some shorter shorts than I’ve felt comfortable wearing since I got here to Kenya, and some tube socks. From the beginning I knew I liked him because he reminded me of several professors I’ve had along the way. After he finished his little lecture I went up to tell him that I would like to talk more about his life in this field of study and living here in Kenya. We ended up talking about things that I might be able to do at my site to help out with various programs associated with USAID and others. He gave me some great ideas and inspiration. After finding out that he loved bluegrass music he told me he was heading to Marion NC for a festival this summer...just down the road from home. After all this time away from site I’m ready to get back. I’m excited to see my kids and implement some of the new things I have learned from all this training in the classroom.

Right now I’m sitting in my room watching the curtains billow with the wind rushing into my house. The cards that are tucked into a straw mat I have hung up on the wall are flapping violently, some even making their way out of the mat and onto the forever dusty floor of my home. The coolness of the wind eases the pain from the sunburn on my neck that I got while watching my children run their hearts out yesterday. For the first time in over three months there is no noise but the noise of the wind. No children running around outside causing a commotion, no teachers sitting outside having conversations that continue on and on, no house mamas singing church songs as they scrub away at the little ones’ clothes, no crackle of the fire cooking ugali and sukuma. Just the wind....and the moo of a cow every so often from a neighboring shamba (farm). As excited as I am about the rest of the break ahead of me, today as I sit here with a day to myself between trips and I realize just how much I love my children. Seeing my children in a different environment from the regular school day setting was amazing. In Mumias, a town just an hour or so down the road from my site, my children competed in provincial level sports yesterday. I went a few days earlier than they did to help another Peace Corps volunteer with a project and I went to greet them upon their arrival my heart just melted. They came up and hugged me and I had several hands grabbing onto each arm as I walked farther to say hello to the teachers that had come with them. It’s amazing how seeing someone in a setting that you are not used to seeing them in can make the mood so different. The teachers, not bogged down by the stresses of being at the school, were happier than usual, more playful with the children, and more willing to offer a hug to me than the typical handshake. Although I was completely irritated by the lack of organization of the games, the attitudes of some of the judges and overseers of the game, and the oversight of lunch leaving the children to run race after race without food 10 hours after their last meal (of porridge), I still enjoyed every second of being able to joke around with the kids, cheer them on as they sprinted each meter of their race, and intertwine their little black fingers in between my white ones as we sat waiting for the next event to begin. Sitting here now, alone in silence, I anticipate the first days of May when the kids come back and the beginning of school is more like a reunion than a hectic meet-and-greet that the first days of January were. I don’t like being here without them...it just doesn’t feel right.

I cannot believe my first term is over! I'm so ready for this month off to be able to travel around, see other volunteers, visit places I haven't been to yet, eat good food and just relax. I'm sure that April will go by even quicker than the last three months have. With the end of the term came exams...a topic I particularly despise here in Kenya at schools for children with special needs. My students are given the same exams that the hearing students are given- written, multiple choice exams in English. As I've said before, English is a foreign language for these students. Yes, the written word that represents their sign is written in English but for the most part they just learn to recognize certain words and what they stand for, not the English language as we know it. So when they see a 90 question exam on everything they are supposed to know about Class 7 science, social studies or math they are without a doubt overwhelmed by the daunting task in front of them. They look at the questions hoping to pick out a word that they recognize and then hope that one of the answers has another familiar word. Whether the two familiar words actually have anything to do with one another is besides the point to them...they have recognized two words so they put them together and hope the answer is the right one. The English Composition Exam really annoyed me as the students were expected to write 2 entire pages on a topic written at the top of the exam which they were expected to read. The essays the students wrote consisted of excerpts similar to “cat tree mine cousin class friend red nice English four Maths....”. Sometimes you might get someone who had copied sentences from another textbook....just hoping the teacher would mark it as their own thoughts, even if it was way off the given topic. As I raised my frustrations to several of the teachers they seemed to agree with me MOSTLY, but I could tell their attitudes still leaned towards the Deaf just never being able to understand anything even if they were taught and then tested in a language that would enable them to perform at a level they are fully capable of. I was given the answer key to mark the exams for Class 7. While they were taking their exams I decided to take some of them as well just to see how I would fair. Well, when I went to mark my own math exam (which I was confident I had made close to 100% on) the answer key had me marking X's all the way down my answer sheet. I was mortified. I didn’t want any of the teacher’s to see my horrible marks. But as I looked over the test I knew something was wrong...and that something wasn’t me. Another teacher looked at the answer key and said it was made for the wrong test. While this made me feel alot better about my own test results it made me think “How many teachers check their answer keys to their tests and ensure correctness?” Especially here, where the teachers are just expecting grades averaging between 10 and 30, why would the teachers not just assume the kids were getting another failing grade when it might actually be that they were using a faulty answer key? Anyways, after two days of giving those horrible exams to the kids and just watching their faces drop with each test I was able to give my own Kenyan Sign Language Exam (as these are not published by the Kenyan government). To my surprise the majority of my children made in the 70s and 80s....and compared to the 10s and 20s of the other classes, I was quite pleased. I love teaching KSL because I'm able to teach using plenty of games that get the kids excited and when they are excited about the learning, they grasp a lot more....as seen in the test results! My teachers doubted the test scores when I presented them. No, it's just I believe in the kids and their abilities, rather than assuming they will perform poorly. I didn't design my test for the failure of the students but so that they would pass and therefore have more confidence in their abilities for the other subjects and for the future classes and tests. Okay, enough of my ranting about tests. Another thing I have come all to close to lately is death. As I was coming home from Nairobi last week (my ongoing sickness led me there along with a scary encounter with someone trying to get into my home in the middle of the night) I looked out on the side of the road where there had been an accident and there was a body lying dead in a pool of blood. I'm fairly certain that this man’s body was the first dead body I have ever seen outside of a casket. It brought chills to me as I thought about how quickly emergencies are reacted to in the States and how swiftly the bodies of the dead are covered up so as not to frighten others. Here the man just lay as twenty others stood off and tried to figure out the accident. Two days later I was walking past the hospital in Busia and saw a dead body laying at the mortuary doors, waiting on someone to bring it in or for family to come claim the body. Two days later, I sat in the teacher's lounge and announcements were being presented by the head teacher. With ease he announced the death of one of our students. My jaw dropped and a million questions came out of my mouth. I wondered why no body else was questioning which student it was, what he died of, what we could do for the family. But the death of a student was not the tragedy to them that it was to me. I've dealt with sudden, unexpected deaths on several occasions in my life....but my “several” just doesn’t compare to the “countless” that they’ve gone through. The boy hadn't been to school this term as he was older and had to help around the house and farm but I had met him and talked with him just two weeks ago. I saw him playing with the other kids, telling stories, laughing....here one day, and gone the next. The concept of death here in Kenya has presented itself clearly to me this week and I’m sure, unfortunately, that I will have to face it again during my time here in one way or another. Good news...I got a 100% on my kiSwahili test...my Spanish keeps messing me up as everytime I try to create a sentence I end up inserting several Spanish words into my sentence and my teacher gets really confused! By the time I get back to America I'll be talking in a grand mixture of dumbed down English, Spanish and Swahili while also using my hands to talk as well! Well, I'm going to go enjoy being on vacation now! I'll update as soon as something thrilling happens...hopefully soon!

Today as I was preparing to teach my Class 7 students another teacher came in and started asking a question that came out of his mouth (well, hands in this case) just as naturally as the students answered it. “Are your parents alive?” Most of the kids responded with “No, I stay with my aunt” or “My dad is dead” or “Both my parents died when I was young”. And they answered with less emotion than they do when they are asked if their porridge was tasty that morning. I was the only person in that room that teared up. I didn’t let them see me get emotional because I can’t imagine having to talk to a parentless child about this topic, but I’d be the one that had more trouble with the discussion than them. A million thoughts ran through my mind like “Can you imagine sitting in Ms. G’s 7th grade class and her asking each student which, if either, of their parent’s were alive and seeing most of the classmates raise their hands to tell her that both parents were deceased”, “What if I had to answer that I had never really known my mom or dad because they died when I was 5”, “What if AIDS, malaria, and other things that lead to parents dying so frequently were such an everyday part of life that not having parents didn’t phase me in the slightest, either?” Heck, I cry at least once a week (I’m getting better!) because I miss just seeing my parents even though I am able to call them or e-mail them whenever I want. I’d been told their were some orphans in my school but it just overwhelmed me today to see that “some” orphans means the majority of the school. As school is winding up I’m now wondering what will happen to these kids over break. Some are lucky enough to go home to a mom or dad who will feed them ugali and sukuma every day, some will go to an aunt’s home to take shelter and get food. Some of the children that have parents are left here for days, even weeks, until the head teacher calls the parents and reminds them that their child is on vacation from school and they must come and pick them up. Can you imagine sending your child to boarding school for three months at a time and not absolutely counting down the days, hours, and minutes until you got to pick them up from school? And then, the children who have absolutely no one....completely unimaginable.

I have recently read “Long Walk to Freedom”, Nelson Mandela’s autobiography. As he speaks of his time in prison he talks about the idea that the days go by so slowly it hurts but the end of the year comes and you wonder where all those months went. No, I haven’t been here even close to a year yet (I can’t even imagine 27 years like Mandela spoke of), but I must say that this first term of teaching is somehow over....yet every day that I prepared for lessons, and every Monday that I wished would turn into a Friday seemed to last FOREVER. I haven’t read this many books since the church library contest in 3rd grade where I was determined to win “most pages read” during that summer. My day is structured so that there just isn’t time for me to head into town and work with any organizations. By the time my classes are over for the day there are only a few hours of sunlight and it takes a good hour and a half to travel back and forth. Hopefully next term I can arrange it so that classes are in the morning only and I can work on doing things for my community. It’s been hard on me to sit and not occupy myself with something every moment of the day. As most of you know, I’m not one to be idle at all. I don’t like sitting in my house during class breaks wishing I could do something more but instead just waiting until the next class begins. My kids are becoming more special to me every day. I love that when they are sick they come to me to just lay their head on my lap; I love their laughs, their grunts, every noise they make; I love watching the little ones pick up new signs and I love that the older students are always helping me learn new ones; I love that every time I leave the nursery class each of the children waves goodbye to me and if I don’t see them say goodbye they chase after me as I leave the room and make sure I see them gesture “bye”; I love that no matter how mad one of the adults makes me, a child can absolutely change the way I feel by smiling at me; when I’m sick they make sure to check on me and make sure I get food for the day; I love that the older kids joke around with me and know that I enjoy being a silly friend way more than I enjoy being a teacher that has to discipline them and tell them when they get an answer wrong. I also want to say thank you again and again for all the notes of encouragement whether it be through e-mail, snail mail, Facebook, or just word of mouth. Word travels fast even half a world apart, especially with my mom as the messenger! I have all of my cards tucked into a straw mat hanging up behind my dresser and notes of encouragement posted around my bed so that when I wake up I’m surrounded by words from you all back at home. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about how different this experience would have been even ten years ago when Facebook and Skype didn’t exist and not every person on the planet had unlimited access to an e-mail account.

Ian. Ian is quite possibly the cutest child I have ever seen...and I’m in Africa where cute kids are quite the norm. He came to school at the very end of February (not sure of the circumstances that kept him away for so long). The first time I noticed him was while I was helping to serve dinner and this little thing, “no bigger than a minute” as mom would say, came up and held his plate high above his head to get served. He wasn’t smiling at all. Actually, he had this sort of “mean mug” across his face like there was nothing that could bother him. Ian has cataracts in both eyes giving them that blue glazed look. I don’t know the extent of his vision but he seems to see most things without any trouble. When he is standing out in the sun you can see how sensitive his eyes are as the lids struggle to stay open. It’s that feeling one gets when they are woken up in the morning to a light suddenly being switched on and their eyes have yet to adjust. Well, the next day as I was teaching Class 7 this little guy walks in the classroom and stands next to me as I teach. He’s holding back a smile, he doesn’t want anyone to see him lose his “tough guy” appearance. I finally scoop him up and continue teaching. He’s holding on so tight that I am still able to sign with both of my hands to my students. I started calling him “my little monkey” or “nyani ndogo wangu” and now that’s what everyone is referring to him as, “Anna’s little monkey”. After class I just sat with him as he curled up in my arms like a little baby and fell asleep. Although I’ve been told he’s 5 he looks to be around 3. I can put my fingers around his upper arm. Besides his frail little limbs, cataracts in his eyes and being deaf, he also has a horrible case of some kind of worm that is taking over his body, especially his scalp, ears, and chest. There are little zit-like mounds all over that burst at any given moment. I’m not sure if they hurt him but they sure can’t be good. Now he comes into whatever class I’m teaching and hangs out until I’m able to scoop him up and hold him for as long as I can. He waits at the door to my house and makes funny noises to get my attention. He pulls on my curtains to peek inside and when he sees me he lets out the cutest giggle ever. He follows me back and forth between the gate and my house when I’ve returned from errands. His tough guy appearance is slowly fading as he lets his smile show more often. The house mothers say that he is smiling a lot more now. I’ve noticed his tendency to fight with the other children for no reason. He goes up to an innocent child and stomps their foot or clobbers them with his fist. But, that too is slowly coming to an end as he knows how much it bothers me to see him do it. As I write this, he is laying on my couch passed out from pure exhaustion. His little belly is not proportional to the rest of his body as it pooches out, a sign of an unhealthy diet. The teacher’s tell me he has responsible parents which is good to hear...but I hate to see that this bloated bellied, worm infested, skinny legged boy who was not born deaf and has not received any sort of help in regards to his eyes is a result of “responsible” parenting. If they told me he did not have parents I might just be bringing home a grandchild for mom and dad. There’s something in this child that just makes me want to be a mom. Don’t worry though...there are plenty of kids that are acting as birth control...as if Firstshine, babysitting, and Perry County weren’t enough to keep me from not having kids for a LONG time!

As if it’s not obvious by the title of the entry, I read “Eat, Pray, Love” this week. Every day I tended to examine these three parts of my life since they were at the forefront of my mind as I ripped through the pages of this book.

Eat. Well, I did allow myself to indulge in Eldoret last week with more pizza and salad than I’ve had in what seems like decades...and no, the toppings weren’t ugali or sukumawiki! Besides that, though, my eating this week has consisted of bananas, sukuma, beans, and white bread. I certainly could afford to indulge a little bit more on myself, but being on the school compound and having every move I make and, in this case, every bite I eat examined I choose to eat with the other teachers during lunch and with the students at night. They already comment on my wealthy pockets with all the traveling I do to visit other volunteers and the mass amounts of laundry that I have and am able to pay someone else to wash. I don’t want them to see me stuffing oreos, chips, soda, etc into my mouth (Trent, et al....that image is for you from your favorite BIG GIRL!!!) and have yet another reason to think I’m Money Bags and can afford to buy them all the things they want or, worse, to think that I see myself as superior to them.

On the flipside though, I get so much grief EVERY SINGLE DAY without fail from the other teachers about what I don’t eat or the small amount I eat (really, it’s not that small it’s just they eat a ton!!!). Since being here I have given up meat (maybe I mentioned this before...my brain cells are dying faster than a Kenyan marathon runner). When I tried it at my host family I almost gagged with disgust. I realize that the animals in America are not always treated appropriately in the meat industry but at least the taste of the meat at home was pleasant. I never ate much meat in America so once I got here and tasted that nasty beef and saw the people sucking the juices out of the bones, it was a clear sign that I would not be consuming meat for at least the next two years. Also, the images I witness at the butchery where a skinned cow hangs from a hook in the hot sun with flies swarming around (insert horrific smell here) and the butcher goes to cut a hunk off and then hands it to you after shaking your hand AND THEN takes your money....and proceeds on to the next customer never once considering wearing gloves, washing his hands, or sanitizing any of his knives...well, those images confirmed the vegetarian lifestyle I gladly adopted. So, I’m a vegetarian...which is not a very popular thing to be around these parts. Every Wednesday (meat day) I get to argue my point in as polite a way as I know how. I especially love Wednesdays because there is also ugali and while I don’t like the stuff I do take a small piece (since it’s flavorless...and no flavor is better than meat flavor!) to help me scoop up my sukuma. Here again I get to defend myself for not taking a piece that is as big as my head. The women always tell me I am going to wither away and die if I don’t start eating more and that no Kenyan man will ever consider marrying me and my parents won’t get their cows (sorry mom and dad! Looks like you will have to become vegetarians too since we won’t have cows!). The men always think I’m crazy for not liking the stuff. I asked them if I brought them a big plate of cheese would they eat it. “No, I do not like the taste of it!” Okay?????? So, why am I not allowed to not like ugali, or little fish with the eyeballs still in them, or cooked cow intestines? I’ll stick to my peanut butter and granola bars from home to keep me from withering away!

Pray. Well, since getting here I’ve started doing yoga every morning and after reading through the section in “Eat, Pray, Love” about the author’s time in India I was truly inspired to make that time more about prayer and reflection than exercise as P90X is trying to tell me. This week I had to take an impromptu trip to Nairobi because I’ve been struggling to catch a full breath for a few weeks now and have had several coughing attacks where I wear myself out trying to find my breath (I’ve had Jordin Sparks “Tell me how I’m supposed to breath with no air” stuck in my head for days). I had to get this song out of my head so I called P.C. medical and they asked me to come in (turns out the environment here has triggered asthma but not too severe). Well, Nairobi is not a hop, skip, and a jump from Mundika...in fact it is a 10 hour bus ride. But as I was riding along I was able to really gaze at the scenery which ranged from rocky mountains to lush chai fields, from dry savannah plains to slum areas bustling with the poorest of poor Kenyans. I prayed through much of that time and found myself falling in love with Africa again. Not that I ever completely fell out of love during these past few months but all of the frustrations were really wearing me down and making me wonder if this was the place I truly wanted to be. Do the people appreciate what I’m doing; will the constant laughter and stares ever stop; is what I’m doing making any difference at all? Maybe, maybe not...but being able to look out over the many different parts of Kenya I also saw many cultures, heard many languages, and thought of reason upon reason for why I am here, why I worked so hard to be where I am at this moment, and what I have to do while I’m here with P.C. and for the rest of my life. I’m certain there will be many more times where I sort of “drift apart” with Africa as its many character flaws show themselves to me...but then I can sit, reflect, and look to the people and places that make Africa such a passion of mine, and pray for patience, for peace, and for the people.

Love. Well, I think the last snippet really tells a love story but where I’ve really reflected on love this week was, obviously, with the children (I know you’re totally shocked it’s not a love story with a dreamy Kenyan man....I’m telling you, they are sooooo unattracted to this vegetarian that is slowly withering away......). The kids may hit one another and call each other out on wildly embellishing their stories but when I talk with them they are the most loving children while also being the most deserving and accepting of the love I have to give them. When I got back from Nairobi the cooks and house mamas all told me the kids had been wondering what happened. I took some of the little ones and tossed them over my shoulder and walked them around while they were turned upside down. They loved it...they loved being shown love...even if love is an upside down walk around the school compound. And I love being the one who gets to love them. I’ll continue with the “Love” story as soon as a handsome stud comes galloping into my life on his giraffe through the African sunset...hopefully sooner rather than later!!!

The past two weeks have been full of improvements and moments that have made me smile. I’ve been spending a lot more time outside with the children in the afternoons. As athletic director (BIG JOKE) I’m fully committed to having national champs from Mundika School for the Deaf and I’m utterly convinced that cartwheels, handstands, and yoga are gonna get us there!!! I’m pretty sure I have a world class athlete when it comes to walking the furthest on one’s hands. I’ve also attempted on occasion to run with the boys 12 times around the school compound but I prefer my 6:30 a.m. jogs in 70 degree weather to a full out sprint at 4:30 in the afternoon when it gets up in the 90s. My class load was lightened this past week with the coming of three other teachers so I asked if I could begin working one on one with some of the children who have other special needs and would benefit from being away from the 40+ crazy children running around the classroom. For the past couple of weeks I’ve just been sitting down with them and letting them get to know me and feel more comfortable and now that they feel okay with me I’m going to begin teaching them some basic lessons. One of the girls, Doreen reminds me so much of Becky which I think is part of the reason I’m so keen on helping her. For those of you that don’t know, Becky became my little sister as I worked one on one with her while I was at NCSU. We went out to social gatherings, worked on various skills around the house and played alot. Although Doreen doesn’t say anything the smile she gives me when I’m rubbing her back is the same smile Becky would give me when she was happy about something. Doreen is often tossed out of the classroom when she gets anxious and begins making a repetitive noise out of nervousness. The teachers just don’t know how to deal with her and don’t like listening to the noise so they send her to sit by herself across the school yard. Whenever I’m not teaching and I hear her sitting outside my house I go out to rub her back and calm her down. Her noises immediately subside and a smile takes over her face. All the girl needs and wants is a little affection and positive attention. As soon as I sit with her the little boy, which I’ve told you about making such a positive transition, (who I’m also working one on one with) comes up and sits on the other side of me and puts his head on my arm and just laughs. Today I was walking to my house and I saw him running towards me so I opened up my arms to give him a hug and just before he got to me he bent over and rammed his head into my gut....it made me laugh so hard as I was not expecting it at all. For the next few minutes I chased him around and he was blissfully happy. His pants don’t fit him around the waste so when he runs he sticks his bottom out as far as he can to keep them up but he also holds onto them from the back. When he gets too excited he forgets to hold onto them, therefore, leading to a wardrobe malfunction. These two kids have just brought so much joy to me in the past two weeks as I’ve seen them open up but also how I’ve seen the interactions we have with each other influence the behavior of the other students. When I first began paying them attention all the other children would point to them and tell me that they were stupid, or weak, or mentally handicapped and ask me why I was their friend. I tried to tell them that we should be nice to everyone and treat each student as our friend. The pointing and rude remarks have turned into the kids coming and sitting next to me and showing positive attention to them. Hopefully, not only will the kids make this change in how they treat each and every student but I hope to see change in the teachers’ behavior as well. I can only hope and I honestly have a good feeling about several of the teachers. Speaking of the teachers at school, I have really grown to like a few. I’ve tried to open up a little bit more to them each day and let them know that I’m not this stodgy American that came in to change EVERY little thing or to ridicule each idea I disagree with. I want them to know I can have a sense of humor and that I am here to learn as much as I am here to teach. I’ve started my kiSwahili lessons which lets them know that I’m interested in their language which I can tell they appreciate. I’ve been asking them for advice and seeking their guidance on certain things, too, which helps me in understanding why things happen like they happen here and allows them to open up with me and recognize that I genuinely do care about what they have to say. I showed them my photo album of family and friends. I have one picture of my friend Trent and his mom Amy in there and as I was telling them that Amy is like my second mom they looked at me in shock and said “So your dad has two wives?” I guess I should watch how I describe people in a polygamous society! Let me talk about my weekends too, as they have played a crucial part in keeping me upbeat. Living on the school compound is both wonderful and horrible at the same time. I absolutely love being close to the kids but constantly having them stand at my window and watch every move I make and comment on every little thing I have is strangling. The other day I was sick (and yes, I stayed at home all day....first day of school I’ve ever missed in my life! Shocker to those who’ve known me for a long time, I know) and I had every teacher come check on me and ask what I was sick with (honestly not something I want to discuss with someone that I’ve known for a matter of weeks). I was wearing shorts and a tank top which is nothing to be caught dead in here, and I would have to get redressed every time I heard “Hodi” and a knock at the door. I just want to be somewhere away from everything where I’m not looked at under a microscope. All that being said....I love my weekends! Last weekend I went to Kisumu for the day with Noelle and we sat on the rooftop of the guesthouse we stay at when we’re in town. The free wi-fi kept me there all day and I was able to skype with mom and dad, Tyler E., Josh P., and George B. and his girls. It was wonderful to see everyone even if everyone was still wiping the sleep from their eyes and had horrible bed head. I’ve been in Kenya for 4 months, I am not one to judge on looks these days! We also went to the supermarket and tried on African wigs....I must say I pull off the long black hair rather nicely. Anyways, one of the priest’s at the compound where Noelle is living gave us a little tour of places we hadn’t seen in Kisumu. We looked at some of the nicer hotels there and just gawked. They are definitely not in our Peace Corps budget but as all the store owners here tell us, “Looks are free”. It was nice to just see the swimming pools and magnificent views of the lake. That night Noelle and I prepared dinner for the priests on the compound. Father Tom is from Ireland, Father Anish from India, and Father Mario from the Phillipines (who lives at the neighboring compound). We also had a couple of the sisters join us. We had my famous sweet potato casserole, green beans, carrots, rosemary chicken, and brownie batter....it wasn’t supposed to be brownie batter but the oven was throwing a tantrum and didn’t want to cook correctly. Father Mario told us he had to confess that when he makes brownies he cheats and buys the box...which is exactly what Noelle and I had done but when he said it the way he did we couldn’t let him know. Noelle had to leave the room with her fit of laughter as I gave him a hard time about him taking the easy way out and making Betty Crocker do all the work. That night was so much fun as we just enjoyed each other’s company. It was quite an international group and we shared stories and laughs from each of our experiences here in Kenya. After the visitors had left and it was just Father Tom, Father Anish, Noelle and I. I had brought my “Would you rather?” book so we asked a bunch of stupid questions to each other and laughed hysterically at some. Noelle and I then stayed up until a stupidly late hour watching Glee and then crashed. The next day we just enjoyed laying around until I had to coerce myself into getting back to site. But being greeted by handfuls of children at the gate made it easier. This weekend I’m enjoying time in Eldoret with Dr. Lawrence and his wife, Dale, again. It is so nice to be in a place of retreat. Their house is simple but perfect. We had pizza for lunch and dinner (and will probably have it again for breakfast)! Dale took us to the Imani workshops where women make bags, bracelets, cards, and other African goodies. The proceeds go towards helping people who are living with HIV/AIDS. Noelle had asked last time about getting some beads donated so that we could use them with our students. At first we were talking to someone else who tried to charge us but then we were able to speak to the woman we met last time who gave them to us and even went back to the stockpile of beads and got us some more. The generosity was beyond unexpected. In a place where we are constantly asked to sponsor a child, or give to this, that, and the other, a selfless gift like what we received today gives one hope. And hope is part of the equation that will lead to a wonderful experience here.

This week was better by leaps and bounds! I had so much fun spending time with my kids on their new playground. I was doing flips on the bars, swinging as high as I could on the swing-set, and playing on the see-saw. Being there with them took me back to my own days on the playground, which clearly took me back to some wonderful days! While I was swinging one day, my mind took a trip back to the day when I was with my grandpa at Fred Olds Elementary (where my dad grew up going to school), just down the road from NCSU. I remember grandpa telling me to pump my legs hard so I could swing up to the trees. It was a wonderful moment of nostalgia! Grandpa was a wonderfully humble man that continues to inspire me every day to do the right thing and do it without seeking praise from others. Having memories such as these just reappear in one’s mind are wonderful surprises that keep one’s spirits high.

Earlier this week while I was teaching in the nursery class I had the kids using the crayons to color different shapes. Some of the kids were having a hard time with it but when I saw some of the other students that were understanding it a little better helping out their classmates I just stood there and watched in awe of how helpful they were being to each other.

Another breakthrough moment happened this week in regards to a little boy I wrote about briefly in an earlier blog. It was the little boy who I said was keeping to himself so much but was sitting outside my door as if he was comfortable there and trying to slowly open up in his own way. Well, this week he came running up to me one day with the biggest smile! I found out he is hearing and is simply here because no other school will take him. So he came up to me saying something in another language but I could tell he was asking me to come with him and play. I just held his hand and walked with him and ever since every single time he sees me he comes up jumping and laughing and asks me to come with him. Even during the middle of class he comes up to the blackboard while I am teaching and asks me to come with him. Before this breakthrough moment he sat in the back of the classroom on the floor just staring into space. I was so thrilled to see this!

This weekend I went to Kisumu to celebrate a fellow PCV’s birthday. There were a lot of volunteers there so we all got to catch up and eat some food (other than ugali and sukumawiki), go out dancing, and enjoy the hustle and bustle of a bigger city. On Friday night Noelle and I stayed with a friend, Tracy, that I met a few weeks ago. We got to use a real, hot shower. Having a shower after a month of constant bucket baths is one of the most satisfying feelings I know! I hadn’t shaved my legs since Noelle and I visited Dr. Lawrence back at the end of December so I had quite the forest to cut down! Nasty, I know!

Today when I arrived home from the weekend travels I was greeted at the school gate by all the students that board here. One offered to help me with my bag and all the others greeted me with handshakes and hellos. At that moment, and reflecting back on this week I said to myself “This is why I’m here”. There are many frustrations from day to day but seeing a child open up, a student helping out his friend to draw a square, and have 80 children waiting on your arrival so they can say hey and see how they can help you after a weekend of travel...those moments are why I’m here.

So I couldn’t even wait until next week to update my blog because this story is just a great representation of my life here...but so many things crammed into a single day.

So we have known for several weeks now that the Dutch visitors wanted to take the children on a field trip to Kisumu to an animal park, to see Lake Victoria, and to look around at the Kisumu museum. Well, Wednesday the teachers decided it was about time to start planning the details such as how we were going to get 150 people to Kisumu, what we would feed them, if each of the places we were going to visit could accommodate us, etc. And, of course, that meant that several teachers couldn’t come to school on Thursday because they had to travel to each of these places instead of just calling around or, heaven forbid, we started planning this last week so that last Saturday the traveling around could have been done. Anyways, Friday they came back saying everything was ready and taken care of. The buses would be picking us up on Saturday morning at 7 am and we’d return by 5 so that the children that do not board at the school could walk home. So, all the kids woke up at 4 am (and when they wake up and start making noise that means I wake up) and were giddy with excitement. At 7, almost everyone was at the school ready to go. Every teacher had brought all of their own children, too, to get in on the trip paid for by someone else. They were all dressed in their Sunday’s finest clothes. I think field trips and I think jeans and a t-shirt, but here going out into the city means showing off the finest things you own. So, 7 am passes, 8 am passes...finally at 8:30 the second bus that was hired to drive us arrived. So we loaded up into the buses and headed off. For some reason, I’m sure I will never ever know, we went on the long route to Kisumu, the 3 hour route instead of the 2 hour one. Well, about 2 hours into the journey, this horrible screaming noise started coming from the bus. We pulled over and after 2 hours of looking under the bus it was determined that the connection between the horn, the brakes, and the clutch came disconnected as we were driving on a road with huge potholes every meter or so. So, we had all the children out on the side of the road waiting with no water, no food, and nothing to do but wait. When they figured out the problem was going to take a while to fix they sent us to a school yard where we could give the kids some water and wait. Finally, at 2 they said the bus couldn’t be fixed immediately and needed a few more hours. So we had to hire matatus for the kids to get the rest of the way. Now, you all know the luck I have in my life!!! I get stuck next to the kid that pukes the whole way! Poor thing puked every last thing up out of his stomach and when you are on a matatu there is no stopping for anything, so I sat next to him and his puke covered self. I don’t know how I kept myself from puking all over.

Well, we got there at 4:30....and remember at the beginning of the story when I told you that we were supposed to be back at 5? Yea...not happening! We ended up only going to the Impala Park and foregoing the rest of the places. But, I have to say, the children absolutely loved that park. There were lions, hyenas, monkeys, impalas, baboons, and buffalo. Several of the children absolutely hated the monkeys. The monkeys would come right up to you, and some of the children just weren’t happy with that and burst into tears. It was funny! As we were looking at the baboons the male got really excited if you know what I mean and the visual that came with that caused the kids to start asking a lot of questions I wasn’t prepared to answer...especially in sign language! All of the adults on the trip were just laughing hysterically at what was going on and all the children were confused. It was pretty humorous.

Around 6:00 the thought came to pass that it was about time to head home. Problem....the bus that was supposed to be fixed in time to take the children home was still broken. Why they didn’t start thinking about a Plan B just in case something went wrong and the bus didn’t get fixed in time is so far beyond me. But they didn’t, and we only had one bus to get all the students back to Mundika. We put all of the youngest children on the bus and left all of the older kids to wait and see if they could find a bus....but the teachers at my school figured it would be a few hours until something like this could be arranged. They had no food and were just going to sit in the dark outside of the park until, either they found another bus or the bus with the younger children was sent back.

While all of this planning (or lack there of) was going on, this street vendor was giving popsicles out to all the children and when we finished doing that he came to me and said “Are these your children”? I told him that I was one of their teachers. He said “Well, then you should pay for them, you are their sponsor”. I said “Excuse me?!?!?!? I am a volunteer, I am not paid and if I were going to blow a wad of money on them it would not be on Popsicles, it would be on something like toothbrushes.” He laughed at me but continued with “But you are a mzungu and you have lots of money. You have brought them to this park now you must pay for the Popsicles they have taken from me.” By this point in the day I was just done! If all of my bags had been packed and were with me and there was a flight going straight from Kisumu to Asheville I would have been on it! But, fortunately, that wasn’t the case and I’m still here. I just walked away from the Popsicle man and got on the bus with the younger children and headed back.

So, this morning I found out that the older children did not get back until two am! Poor kids having to wait so much! I’m so glad that these kids are so resilient and don’t let the things that bother me so much get them down. They were happy to get away from the school setting even if it meant spending most of it waiting somewhere with different scenery.

This week Mundika School for the Deaf had visitors from Holland, which I’ve been told is in America. Since we have the same skin color we must know each other! So many of the children asked if I knew them and a few of the teachers asked me if Europe and America were close! There’s this TV show similar to “So you think you can dance” filmed in Australia that airs everyday during lunch time. They ask me the names of the dances they are doing because they think because the dancers are white they are from America. I have told them many times that just because someone is white does not mean they are from America...and we have black people in America. They don’t believe me when I tell them my school was half black/ half white. They ask me if I yell at a black person if I see one walking down the street like they do to me. When I tell them that we have alot of foreigners from all over they just don’t believe me!

Anyways, back to the Dutch. They are from a church in Holland and have been sponsoring this school for a few years. On this trip they are building the children a playground, a new kitchen setup for the school, and doing a mural on the side of the school of Noah’s Ark. They are also taking the children to Kisumu to see some animals that we typically associate with Africa, but that these children have never had the opportunity to see. I love seeing the visitors here because it reminds me of past trips that I took here. I have to say I’m a little jealous of the brevity of their visit. It was nice when I was here for short stints and the constant yelling of “mzungu” didn’t bother me, but rather I thought it was cute. I liked it when the lack of punctuality didn’t bother me so much and I enjoyed the leisureliness associated with the African concept of time. I wish I could turn my face away from the fact that the teachers don’t care about teaching their children in a manner that they can, in fact, absorb. But having these visitors here helped me to remember the things I love about Africa and to remember why I’m back here for an extended period of time. I got to spend some time with them one evening for dinner and they actually shared some of their own frustrations that they have experienced over time, such as what the school “needs right now!” and then coming back on their next trip and seeing that all those things that the school so desperately needed still sitting there untouched. But they asked me for my own input on things I saw an actual need for. I told them the supply of visual aids here was lacking and that would be a wonderful thing to help these kids learn. They gave me insight on what they’ve seen over the years to help me understand the background of the school and how it’s developed over time and the roles the various administrators play. They were a nice group to talk to and get to know.

This week I saw a lot of beating by the teacher’s and I thought I was going to be tougher when I saw it. I knew it was going to happen but I didn’t think the sound of the slap across a little boy’s face would instantly bring tears to my eyes. Throwing a little boy into a metal pole because he’s crying from being hit by someone else just makes me want to scream. I was talking to one of the Dutch visitors while the teacher’s were getting them ready for something and she said they don’t treat them like children, they treat them more like they do their cattle. They just herd them together and if they want them to go this way they slap them in this direction, if they want them to sit, they shove them down on the ground. Whenever I see an opportunity to affirm them for what they’re doing and give them some positive encouragement, rather than hitting them or yelling at them (sign language not included!) I take it. Last night at dinner, one of the older boys was helping all the children wash their hands before eating and when he was the last one to reach the food and it was all gone the woman who stays with them at night started yelling at him for not getting there in time and there was no food for him that night, he would have to wait for tomorrow. I told her he was helping with the other children. She didn’t want to hear it.

Okay, something positive!!!! YAYAYAYAYAY!!! I got packages! They were supposed to get to me by Dec 15th when I left Nairobi. But they are here!!!! 4 boxes full of school supplies that will make my life ten million times easier! It was the Christmas I didn’t get to have this year! Besides school supplies there were some things for myself too, so life it good! I already used some of the play dough and other colorful things and the kids loved it. It was absolutely wonderful to see them play with things they’ve never seen before. It was so cool for me to see them help each other figure the new things out. In my nursery class, most of the children know absolutely no sign language so to watch them teach each other about what things they could do with play dough made me so happy! I also brought a map of Africa with me and when I took it to my Social Studies 7 class and had them come up to the map and point out different places and their points of latitude and longitude they were almost timid about leaving their seats but after telling them I wouldn’t bite them and that what we were doing was different than just copying notes off the board they relented. I ended up bringing the map back the rest of the week because they enjoyed searching for the different cities and their coordinates. I’m so glad to see these kids excited about learning!

Well, big day ahead...field trip with all the students! I’m sure there will be many stories that will come with the day!

Let me start off with a few funny moments from this week

1) I put my trash bag outside of my door as it was attracting many ants in my house. A few hours later I went outside to find various bags from my bread and other foods on the heads of the younger students and one kid with pretty pink post it notes all over his face. They may not know how to sign their own name in sign language but you have to give them lots of points for creativity, resourcefulness, and ability to find fun in absolutely anything.

2) I found out that my disguise isn’t working for me. Despite my blonde hair, white skin and blue eyes they still know I’m Michelle Obama! One man called me that the other day in town!

3) I’m pretty sure “Baby’s First Words” here in Kenya are always “Mzungu, howayu?” So many kids so small they can barely walk can still spot a white person a mile away and start yelling that right away. Today as I was riding home the mom behind me was teaching her child how to say it!

4) One morning I woke up and it was 72 degrees. I went on my run and came back sweating. The children were all dressed in their sweaters and the teachers were all talking about how cold it was that day.....I had to laugh. I would love to see them in Asheville right now where it’s 20 degrees and snowing! I don’t think they’d make it!

Okay, so week one of being a teacher in Kenya has been good. I absolutely love all the children, most of them have come back to school at this point, although there are still a number that are still away. On the first day of classes I was the only teacher that went. The other teachers were there but since the new schedule wasn’t posted yet they didn’t feel a need to go. So most of the other student’s just watched in on my classes. I told the students who I am, why I’m here, where I’m from, and a few things I like to do. I asked them to tell me their name (finger spelled), their sign name, where they are from, and a few things they liked. Most could finger spell their name, the majority could give me their sign name, but very few could tell me where they were from and things that they liked to do. I had to basically tell them things I knew they liked, like football and chapati. When you ask these kids questions where they have to actually go into their brain and formulate an answer that is different from their other classmates, you’ve asked them to do something really challenging. You can see it happening: one of the students who knows sign language more proficiently answers the question first, and then the other kids have close to the same answer. As I taught more and more classes through the week, I realized that their vocabulary in KSL is so limited, so to learn lessons about water conservation, school activities, and the history of Africa is yet another challenge they face in school. I began to figure out that they were just miming what I was saying. I would ask a question to the class and they would sign something I had just signed to them, even if it made no sense at all. I noticed many of the teachers simply copying paragraphs from the textbook on the board and having the children copy the passage into their notebooks. If they are struggling with Kenyan Sign Language, isn’t it obvious that paragraphs written in English, a foreign language to them, will not be clear, but yet another thing to confuse them? I’m just going to try and do as much as I can to avoid the tactics that the other teacher’s are using to teach them. I hear them talk about how “slow” these kids are, and yes, they are behind, but I think a lot of that has to do with the teaching approaches being used with them, as if they are hearing. These students don’t learn in the same manner as hearing children, but they are just as smart. I went into a KSL class where the syllabus asked that we talk about school activities but when I asked them the day of the week they all gave me a different answer. So we spent 3 days on days of the week. I gave them a quiz using sign language but they weren’t satisfied because they didn’t have a piece of paper with red ink checking off each correct answer or a grade. They’ve been conditioned to think they’re not learning unless they copy something from the board into their notebooks and get it marked by the teacher. But copying off the board does absolutely nothing but take up time...and I didn’t come here just to take up time, I came to teach and help these kids progress.

Anyways, during P.E. I introduced them to frisbee and they love it. I wouldn’t be surprised if we play that every day for the next two years! Some of them are having a hard time understanding how to throw it but some of them picked it up quickly. It is so awesome to see the ones that are good at it helping out the ones that aren’t as coordinated and the younger ones. There are a couple of students that have developmental disabilities and while some of the students don’t give them a chance and make fun of everything they do, there are some students that are so wonderful with them.

Well, my house (or rooms) are shaping up and almost becoming homey. I have all my furniture except for my couch, curtains made from Kenyan fabrics, straw rugs, and have some decorations up on the wall, like masks, banana fiber pictures, and wall hangings. The school staff that help me clean my house think I’m crazy for having these kinds of decorations but the way they decorate their homes is just not my style. You walk into a living room and find about 6 calendars (all from different years) and 4 or 5 clocks all telling you a different time of the day (I don’t know why the obsession with decorations revolving around time when time is not regarded). There are doilies covering all the furniture and there is always a picture of the President Kibaki somewhere on the wall along with a lot of other mug shots of the family members. In order to feel more at home I’m going to have to stay away from their interior decorators.

I want to thank all of you that are sending me messages on Facebook, e-mail and through the mail. This week I got several messages that came at just the precise moment I needed them! It’s wonderful to hear what everyone is up to and get some encouragement to keep on keeping on! Well, it’s time to go wash my clothes...hopefully this won’t take more than 2 hours!

Last week, many of us volunteers got together for one last vacation before school started back. It was nice to be in a bigger city with everyone one final time before teaching got started. Tuesday was the day for our initial teachers’ meeting in which we were to pick which classes we’d be teaching and which activities we’d be heading up. The meeting “started” at 10 a.m., meaning the other teachers trickled in around 11:30, we had tea and butter sandwiches (mmmm...NOT!) then around 12 we started reviewing the minutes from the last meeting which was held in November (meaning I zoned out until time for introductions). We went around the room and said, as requested by my head teacher Mr. Ngalo, our African names and English names, how many wives the male teachers had, how many children, and interests. I also explained a little bit about the Peace Corps and what its goals are. When the time came to decide what classes everyone would be teaching, true colors came out. It was evident that some teachers just wanted the minimum amount of classes possible in order to still get their paycheck, some truly picked up their fare share of classes, and others willingly offered my name up for absolutely every class that the majority didn’t want to teach. There are a couple of teachers that are fairly good at Kenyan Sign Language but the majority of the teachers barely know how to sign their own name. But, as so many here think, if you yell loud enough at a Deaf child they will hear you! Right?!?!? One teacher asked me how long I’d known sign language. When I told her that I began learning in October you could just see this look of disgust come over her face. She said “Well, you had teachers that taught you lessons”. Funny thing is, in order to be able to teach at a school for the Deaf you have to go through a couple months of classes in Kenyan Sign Language. One of the other teachers who is good in KSL looked at her and said “ You have been teaching these students for three years...obviously you haven’t been interacting with them in the way you’re supposed to. Anna should be learning from you, but instead you are impressed by her ability to fingerspell her name” She was humiliated.

Anyways, so upon deciding on classes I was given nursery English (basically, “teaching them their ABC’s for a year” they say....I’m pretty sure I can accomplish more than that with these kids!), Class 3 KSL, Class 4 Science, Class 8 Social Studies (African history), and Class 2 and 3 PE. I’m also heading up athletics, as I already told you, and I’m the head guidance counselor (since I let them know that there are alternate ways of punishing kids besides caning them). They just decided to send any discipline problems to me so I could deal with them in the way I thought would be appropriate ... but I’m sure I will still have to deal with seeing caning anyways, which I’m definitely dreading.

Wednesday some of the kids started showing up, but that number was very few. Deaf children, and children with special needs, in general, are not given priority at all. That means that if there are other children in the family, the parents take them first and then when they get time they take the child with the special need. Often times they are hidden away and kept at home until someone from the school comes and pleads with the parents to let them come to school. Some of the kids that came on Wednesday were very sharp and could communicate well. Others didn’t even know how to tell you their name or respond to “How are you?” That day we were scheduled to have a meeting at 8. So I hurried to get washed and ready after my morning run to get to the room where the meeting was to be held. I don’t know why I rushed because I waited in there until 11 before the first person even showed their face. Then at 2, when everyone had finally gotten there, we decided to postpone the meeting until Thursday! Aahhhh! It is so frustrating to sit there and hear them complain about things not getting done and hear them talk about how America is so much better because people are always busy but watch them take 6 hours at a meeting to decide to wait until the next day to have it. Anyways, the rest of the week, I just tried to get to know the kids as much as possible. They are so energetic! They just don’t realize how loud they are! At times it is funny to hear all the noises that they make, but when it’s 12 midnight and they’re still making noises and there’s no solid divider between my room and their room, it’s not so funny. Mr. Ngalo didn’t think about my need to sleep for the next two years when he placed me in the old office attached to the dormitory. I mean I know America is the land where potatoes come out of the ground already peeled, and Americans can walk on water and heal the sick with our magical white skin, but we still haven’t mastered the whole “staying up 24 hours a day” thing. What a shame!!! In all seriousness though, the girls have been really good about sitting down with me and helping me build my vocabulary. I love how they hang out outside my home. Especially the children that keep to themselves so much. I walk outside and a little boy, who is away from home for the first time in his life and won’t say anything to me, is sitting there at my door when he could pick a million other places on the compound. I feel like it’s his way of slowly warming up to me without having to talk with me right away. Friday night I sat outside and showed them my photo album from back at home and had dinner with them. We just “storied” and I told them a little something about everyone in my book. They looked at it over and over and over. It was a moment that helped me to remember why I’m here truly. There are so many frustrations that come with being away from everything that I’m familiar with, working with people that just don’t care, and being stared at and yelled at constantly, but the moments like having dinner with my students make all those other things easier to deal with.

What an emotional roller coaster of a week! The few days before Christmas and moments throughout Christmas day were tough to say the least. Sitting and thinking about all the snow going on in Asheville and everyone being together around the tree was enough to make me cry a few rivers. Thank goodness there are several wonderful volunteers (Jenny, Noëlle, and Cindy) within a couple of hours of my site. We got together at Jenny’s (she’s been here for a year now) house. It was so nice to get to stay in a place that has a homey feel and share it with people that were feeling the same way I was feeling about the holidays. On Christmas Eve, as the rains fell instead of snow, and we sat there sweating instead of shivering, we ate spaghetti to the light of a kerosene lamp since the power was out. That night, my friend Cindy and I were sharing a bed and around 4 a.m. we heard something rustling around but I chose to believe it was the 9 puppies that Jenny’s dog had recently had just scooting around. Then I woke up enough to realize it was mice scurrying around in our bags and in the couch, not the innocent puppies! It was not the reindeer on the rooftop that usually wake me up on Christmas morning. A couple of hours later a stampede of mice ran out of the room being chased by Jenny’s dog. Cindy and I sat up so fast! She was hiding behind me and I was using the mosquito net as my shield! I’ve never wanted Christmas morning to come so bad, and for reasons quite different from the reasons I had when I was a little girl! That day was pretty relaxed. We made french toast for breakfast, watched a couple of movies, and then Jenny’s neighbors invited us over for Christmas lunch- chapati, potatoes, rice, pilau, fish, beef, stew, ugali and salad. It was delicious but I couldn’t go back for seconds, despite the mama giving me a few death stares for not eating enough for her standards. I was able to talk to my parents and grandparents that afternoon which was wonderful and horrible at the same time. It took everything in me to hold in my tears until I said goodbye and hung up. Needless to say, I’m glad I only have to get through one more Christmas without my family and friends. Having my birthday within the first week of being here, followed by Thanksgiving toward the end of training and then Christmas at the beginning of being at site has been quite an emotional test. I passed...barely! The day after Christmas I headed back to my site to do some chores before heading to Eldoret with Noëlle (the most wonderful and genuine person I know!) to see Dr. and Mrs. Lawrence. These past couple of days with them were the most stress free and relaxing days I’ve had here. When I got accepted into the Peace Corps Kenya program several people at my church told me there was another couple that were members of FBC-A heading to Kenya. I couldn’t believe it and knowing they are within a couple of hours drive of my site has also put my parent’s minds at ease, as well. Dr. Lawrence is a cardiologist who was asked by Duke University to come help set up a cardiac program in Eldoret. He and his wife moved here just a week before I did. I went to breakfast with them in Asheville the week before they left so that we could get to know each other before we each set off on our adventures. They have been home in Asheville since Thanksgiving after spending two months here setting up their home and getting acquainted with the hospital. I was so glad to see them and they were so welcoming to me and Noëlle. They had brought with them a bag that my mom had gotten together for me filled with Christmas cards from various families, a picture of mom, dad and Clint from T-giving, and good American Orbit peppermint gum! So after crying a few tears from looking at the pictures, bliss took over at the mere smell of Orbit! Dr. Lawrence took us around the medical facilities. Seeing all the patients, both children and adults, laying in beds desperate for medical care was hard to take in but it was an opportunity for us to witness something that is such a reality here in Kenya. Once most of the patients actually make it to the hospitals they have so many medical issues that have built up on top of the original problem that the future seems bleak. Dr. Lawrence is certainly doing an amazing thing by building up a cardiology program in a country where the field isn’t seen as very important. There are, I believe he said, around 11 cardiologists in the whole of Kenya. His wife, Dale, works with the children by reading to them and doing all that she can to keep them positive and happy while they are undergoing painful treatments. It was quite inspirational to see their workplace and what they are doing to better healthcare here in Kenya. They also introduced us to Dr. and Mrs. Mamlin, who (let me preface this by saying “we live in a very small world”) also went to FBC-Asheville, attended Lee Edwards High School (Asheville High School), and went to Mars Hill (where my mom and much of her family went). They are another outstanding couple who have not wasted a single moment of their lives, neglected a single resource that they have been blessed with, or let an opportunity to serve others pass them by. They began with Peace Corps Afghanistan where Dr. Mamlin was working to start a hospital. They were there for a good while but some things happened that forced them out and they eventually found themselves in Kenya. They have adopted many children along the way which they have sent on to universities such as Harvard. Their children have all taken after their parents and not wasted a bit of life and gone on to do quite amazing things for the world. Dr. Mamlin is known throughout Kenya for the programs he has not only started and helped to maintain sustainability, but also proved extremely successful. Mrs. Mamlin is always making sure the Americans that are within the borders are welcomed and taken care of. She knows who is here so that in case of an emergency, like the post-election violence of 2008, she can make sure they reach safety. Seeing couples like the two I’ve been talking about give me such inspiration. Eldoret also proved to be respite that Noëlle and I needed. Sleeping on a quality mattress, having a hot shower, eating pizza, Chinese, grilled cheese, having reliable internet, and having ice in our drinks was heaven. Mrs. Lawrence took us around town to go shopping for things to put in our houses to make them feel more like a home. Having good conversation proved therapeutic, as well. As much as I enjoy all the conversations I have with each Kenyan that I meet, sometimes they seem very introductory and repetitive. Talking with professionals about development in Kenya and all that is attached to that broad topic led to some great, intellectual conversations that sparked my mind and made me think more critically than I’ve had to think in the past few months. Being able to share my observations with other’s who have their own observations and compare them is something I love and I’m so glad I was able to do that with the Lawrence’s. It’s hard to start out as a volunteer living with such basic amenities and in such solitude, but seeing that life here in Africa can include living in a modest house in a community where other caring and serving people from around the world live makes me have something to look forward to. Living in the situation that the Lawrence’s, Mamlin’s and others are living in is what I’m working towards now. Dr. Mamlin told Noëlle and me that everything he is doing now spawned from his Peace Corps experience. That statement gave me such hope for my life that is starting here. Let me end with a quote about what it is to be a professional. Dr. Lawrence shared with it with us during our stay ....not the definition you would get from Mr. Webster. "The professional (wo)man is in essence one who provides services. But the service he renders is something more than that of the laborer, even the skilled laborer. It is a service that wells up from the entire complex of his personality. True, some specialized and highly developed techniques may be included, but their mode of expression is given its deepest meaning by the personality of the practitioner. In a very real sense his professional service cannot be separate from his personal being. He has no goods to sell, no land to till; his only asset is himself. It turns out that there is no right price for service, for what is a share of a man worth? It he does not contain the quality of integrity, he is worthless. If he does, he is priceless. The value is either nothing or infinite. So do not try to set a price on yourselves. Do not measure out your professional services on an apothecary's scale and say, 'Only this for so much.' Do not debase yourselves by equating your souls to what they will bring in the market. Do not be a miser, hoarding your talents and abilities and knowledge, either among yourselves or in your dealings with your clients, patients or flock. Rather be reckless and spendthrift, pouring out your talent to all to whom it can be of service! Throw it away, waste it; and in the spending it can be of service. Do not keep a watchful eye lest you slip, and give away a little bit of what you might have sold. Do not censor your thoughts to gain a wider audience. Like love, talent is useful only in its expenditure, and it is never exhausted. Certain it is that man must eat, so set what price you must on your service. But never confuse the performance, which is great, with the compensation, be it money, power or fame, wish is trivial." Judge Elbert Tuttle(civil rights judge) 1957Happy New Year!!! Make 2011 professional in it’s truest sense.

What an emotional roller coaster of a week! The few days before Christmas and moments throughout Christmas day were tough to say the least. Sitting and thinking about all the snow going on in Asheville and everyone being together around the tree was enough to make me cry a few rivers. Thank goodness there are several wonderful volunteers (Jenny, Noëlle, and Cindy) within a couple of hours of my site. We got together at Jenny’s (she’s been here for a year now) house. It was so nice to get to stay in a place that has a homey feel and share it with people that were feeling the same way I was feeling about the holidays. On Christmas Eve, as the rains fell instead of snow, and we sat there sweating instead of shivering, we ate spaghetti to the light of a kerosene lamp since the power was out. That night, my friend Cindy and I were sharing a bed and around 4 a.m. we heard something rustling around but I chose to believe it was the 9 puppies that Jenny’s dog had recently had just scooting around. Then I woke up enough to realize it was mice scurrying around in our bags and in the couch, not the innocent puppies! It was not the reindeer on the rooftop that usually wake me up on Christmas morning. A couple of hours later a stampede of mice ran out of the room being chased by Jenny’s dog. Cindy and I sat up so fast! She was hiding behind me and I was using the mosquito net as my shield! I’ve never wanted Christmas morning to come so bad, and for reasons quite different from the reasons I had when I was a little girl! That day was pretty relaxed. We made french toast for breakfast, watched a couple of movies, and then Jenny’s neighbors invited us over for Christmas lunch- chapati, potatoes, rice, pilau, fish, beef, stew, ugali and salad. It was delicious but I couldn’t go back for seconds, despite the mama giving me a few death stares for not eating enough for her standards. I was able to talk to my parents and grandparents that afternoon which was wonderful and horrible at the same time. It took everything in me to hold in my tears until I said goodbye and hung up. Needless to say, I’m glad I only have to get through one more Christmas without my family and friends. Having my birthday within the first week of being here, followed by Thanksgiving toward the end of training and then Christmas at the beginning of being at site has been quite an emotional test. I passed...barely! The day after Christmas I headed back to my site to do some chores before heading to Eldoret with Noëlle (the most wonderful and genuine person I know!) to see Dr. and Mrs. Lawrence. These past couple of days with them were the most stress free and relaxing days I’ve had here. When I got accepted into the Peace Corps Kenya program several people at my church told me there was another couple that were members of FBC-A heading to Kenya. I couldn’t believe it and knowing they are within a couple of hours drive of my site has also put my parent’s minds at ease, as well. Dr. Lawrence is a cardiologist who was asked by Duke University to come help set up a cardiac program in Eldoret. He and his wife moved here just a week before I did. I went to breakfast with them in Asheville the week before they left so that we could get to know each other before we each set off on our adventures. They have been home in Asheville since Thanksgiving after spending two months here setting up their home and getting acquainted with the hospital. I was so glad to see them and they were so welcoming to me and Noëlle. They had brought with them a bag that my mom had gotten together for me filled with Christmas cards from various families, a picture of mom, dad and Clint from T-giving, and good American Orbit peppermint gum! So after crying a few tears from looking at the pictures, bliss took over at the mere smell of Orbit! Dr. Lawrence took us around the medical facilities. Seeing all the patients, both children and adults, laying in beds desperate for medical care was hard to take in but it was an opportunity for us to witness something that is such a reality here in Kenya. Once most of the patients actually make it to the hospitals they have so many medical issues that have built up on top of the original problem that the future seems bleak. Dr. Lawrence is certainly doing an amazing thing by building up a cardiology program in a country where the field isn’t seen as very important. There are, I believe he said, around 11 cardiologists in the whole of Kenya. His wife, Dale, works with the children by reading to them and doing all that she can to keep them positive and happy while they are undergoing painful treatments. It was quite inspirational to see their workplace and what they are doing to better healthcare here in Kenya. They also introduced us to Dr. and Mrs. Mamlin, who (let me preface this by saying “we live in a very small world”) also went to FBC-Asheville, attended Lee Edwards High School (Asheville High School), and went to Mars Hill (where my mom and much of her family went). They are another outstanding couple who have not wasted a single moment of their lives, neglected a single resource that they have been blessed with, or let an opportunity to serve others pass them by. They began with Peace Corps Afghanistan where Dr. Mamlin was working to start a hospital. They were there for a good while but some things happened that forced them out and they eventually found themselves in Kenya. They have adopted many children along the way which they have sent on to universities such as Harvard. Their children have all taken after their parents and not wasted a bit of life and gone on to do quite amazing things for the world. Dr. Mamlin is known throughout Kenya for the programs he has not only started and helped to maintain sustainability, but also proved extremely successful. Mrs. Mamlin is always making sure the Americans that are within the borders are welcomed and taken care of. She knows who is here so that in case of an emergency, like the post-election violence of 2008, she can make sure they reach safety. Seeing couples like the two I’ve been talking about give me such inspiration. Eldoret also proved to be respite that Noëlle and I needed. Sleeping on a quality mattress, having a hot shower, eating pizza, Chinese, grilled cheese, having reliable internet, and having ice in our drinks was heaven. Mrs. Lawrence took us around town to go shopping for things to put in our houses to make them feel more like a home. Having good conversation proved therapeutic, as well. As much as I enjoy all the conversations I have with each Kenyan that I meet, sometimes they seem very introductory and repetitive. Talking with professionals about development in Kenya and all that is attached to that broad topic led to some great, intellectual conversations that sparked my mind and made me think more critically than I’ve had to think in the past few months. Being able to share my observations with other’s who have their own observations and compare them is something I love and I’m so glad I was able to do that with the Lawrence’s. It’s hard to start out as a volunteer living with such basic amenities and in such solitude, but seeing that life here in Africa can include living in a modest house in a community where other caring and serving people from around the world live makes me have something to look forward to. Living in the situation that the Lawrence’s, Mamlin’s and others are living in is what I’m working towards now. Dr. Mamlin told Noëlle and me that everything he is doing now spawned from his Peace Corps experience. That statement gave me such hope for my life that is starting here. Let me end with a quote about what it is to be a professional. Dr. Lawrence shared with it with us during our stay ....not the definition you would get from Mr. Webster. "The professional (wo)man is in essence one who provides services. But the service he renders is something more than that of the laborer, even the skilled laborer. It is a service that wells up from the entire complex of his personality. True, some specialized and highly developed techniques may be included, but their mode of expression is given its deepest meaning by the personality of the practitioner. In a very real sense his professional service cannot be separate from his personal being. He has no goods to sell, no land to till; his only asset is himself. It turns out that there is no right price for service, for what is a share of a man worth? It he does not contain the quality of integrity, he is worthless. If he does, he is priceless. The value is either nothing or infinite. So do not try to set a price on yourselves. Do not measure out your professional services on an apothecary's scale and say, 'Only this for so much.' Do not debase yourselves by equating your souls to what they will bring in the market. Do not be a miser, hoarding your talents and abilities and knowledge, either among yourselves or in your dealings with your clients, patients or flock. Rather be reckless and spendthrift, pouring out your talent to all to whom it can be of service! Throw it away, waste it; and in the spending it can be of service. Do not keep a watchful eye lest you slip, and give away a little bit of what you might have sold. Do not censor your thoughts to gain a wider audience. Like love, talent is useful only in its expenditure, and it is never exhausted. Certain it is that man must eat, so set what price you must on your service. But never confuse the performance, which is great, with the compensation, be it money, power or fame, wish is trivial." Judge Elbert Tuttle(civil rights judge) 1957Happy New Year!!! Make 2011 professional in it’s truest sense.

When I came to Kenya just over 2 months ago, things changed...but here in the last few days, life just made a 180° turn. Let me start with the end of training in Machakos. We had a family appreciation lunch for our host families. I made a speech recognizing the families for all they had taught each of us and thanking them for being so welcoming to us strangers from America. The rest of the group had skits to depict some of the things we learned from our families, such as washing clothes by hand, using the choo (hole in the ground to use in place of a toilet), and grabbing a hot pot with bare hands. After lunch we all went home for one last night to pack up all of our things to head for Nairobi to gear up for swearing in. We got to spend one night in a nicer hotel with a hot shower and a delicious dinner before taking a matatu to Nairobi on Sunday. We got to go into town to do some shopping at stores, namely Nakumatt which has absolutely everything any American would ever want. I was walking down the cookie aisle and saw Walker’s Shortbread cookies and almost cried because that is what my dad always puts in my brother’s and my stocking every Christmas. Of course, I bought some for my Christmas dessert!

Monday I met my head teacher of the school where I will be teaching. He seems to have higher expectations of me than I have of myself. I want to do as much as I can but already he has asked me to be head of the athletics, help with the dance team, teach the Early Childhood Development class, and, of course, be a teacher for all the classes that I’m supposed to be teaching anyway. I know that I’m horrible at saying “no” when someone asks me to do something so I’m having to go into this knowing that I can’t do everything they want me to do, especially since I have no teaching experience and am still learning the language I will be teaching in.

During the few days before leaving site, all of us tried to spend as much time together as possible. As much as I’m glad we don’t have to start training over, I do wish, now that we are completely comfortable around each other, we could have some more time together. I’ve enjoyed everyone from the beginning but it took us all awhile to get to the point where we are now. Luckily we will have our breaks to meet up with one another.

So, Wednesday was swearing in day. It was held at the house of the Deputy Chief of Missions (DCM). It was the most beautiful house. Absolutely huge and decorated so nicely. The DCM is the second in command at the US embassy here in Kenya. It made me want to work really hard so that I could have a job like that. Not necessarily for the ridiculously posh house but just to be in a position to do something legit for Africa. I’ve got a long way to go, but hopefully these two years with Peace Corps will help me get somewhat close to pursuing a position like DCM. During the ceremony we heard from the country director, the DCM, the ministry of education, and the P.C. Director for Education. All of them said things that also motivated me to make the most of the time I have here. After the ceremony there was a reception with homemade cookies, tortilla chips (Tostitos brought in from the U.S), cake...all things that I will probably not see again for a very long time!

The night after swearing in was definitely the best night so far here in Kenya. All the newly sworn in PCV’s went out dancing. Ahhh, it was amazing! I haven’t had that much fun in so long. After all the stress of the training sessions, testing, and just being away from home it was nice to just have fun with everyone else that was in the same position. And, as an added bonus, my friends that I met here 5 years ago, Patrick and Sharon, came out. 5 years ago I thought I’d never see them ever again. I told them then that I promised I would find a way to get back to Africa, which I did, but I didn’t think I’d see them again. I’ve never been more excited in my life to see two people. Those two were a huge part of me falling in love with this continent. Sharon was the first person I had a conversation with in Kenya. I remember sitting with her as a 17 year old talking about the similarities and differences between Kenyan and American culture and knowing then that I wanted to know as much as I could about the many traditions and ways of life of people outside of the U.S. Patrick and I have been good about keeping in touch over the years and I even saw him when he was in America the day before I headed to NCSU for my freshman year. I remember having dinner with him several times during my stay in Kenya and just learning so much from him. Anyways, so yea that night was so incredible....minus the fact that I got a bloody nose. No worries, it was an accident! I got elbowed by someone on the dance floor and blood started gushing! It didn’t hurt though, so “hakuna matata”. Haha!

So, Thursday, I headed to Busia. A long, long, long matatu ride of about 8 hours finally led me to Mundika School for the Deaf in Busia, Kenya. The compound is small, with only 3 classrooms and a dorm for boys and girls. The three classrooms are intended for 9 classes----so, you do the math, that’s three classes going on within one room! I have two small rooms which I’m in the process of furnishing. The water doesn’t work so I have to have water brought in from outside but the electricity does work. Friday Mr. Ngalo, my counterpart, and I went to town to get some things for my life here. At least for the time being I will be cooking on a kerosene stove or a jiko (charcoal) stove. He doesn’t want me to use an electric stove, so as to save power. I heat up my water for bathing and then heat some for tea. Cooking is such a tedious process compared to home. Since I don’t have a refrigerator I have to make just the right amount and I have to keep everything inside my house but then take it all outside to prepare. Bathing is still in a bucket like I’ve been doing for two months now but all of sudden “mama” is not here to warm the water for me....and water is not as unlimited of a resource as it was in Machakos. So it’s just more of a hassle. Right now, while my bed is being made by the carpenter, I’m having to sleep on my sleeping pad which is super uncomfortable. There’s no need for a blanket as it’s really hot here. There are a ton of bugs in my house so sleeping on the floor requires sleeping with one eye open; so not very restful sleep. Laundry is still my least favorite chore in Kenya, especially without the help of mama. There’s been a funeral going on somewhere close by the school compound which means singing and shouting til about 5 in the morning!

I did go on a 30 minute run this morning....holy crap I am out of shape. It was hard to find time and energy in Machakos to run on a regular basis so now I’m just having to build my endurance up again. But it was the most liberated I’ve felt in a while. Just running and thinking and being. I ran early so that the kids wouldn’t be awake to bother me, and had I been in better shape I would have liked to run all day.

I also went to church....a 4 hour service! I couldn’t believe it. I’m glad I had Perry County churches to get me used to long services but nothing could have prepared me for 4 hours! Thank goodness they had a translator for me or I would have lost it!

So as I sit here in my new home listening to Christmas music, chasing a cockroach or two, squishing the spiders walking by, watching the chickens, goats, and cows outside my window, I can’t help but think about how much my life has changed in two short months. When I think about two years of this I get overwhelmed and wonder what I’ve gotten myself into. But, I will just take it one day at a time and I know two years will come and go and I’ll wonder how they went so fast!

Well, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to everyone! I hope you enjoy the holidays. I’m planning on going to Eldoret two days after Christmas to see Dr. Lawrence, the cardiologist from my church back at home that is here in Kenya for a couple of years, as well. Then for New Years I will meet up with some of the volunteers in the region to celebrate. Should be fun! Take care, everyone!

I hope everyone is doing well, keeping warm, and enjoying the holidays! It’s hard to think about Christmas when it’s over 80 degrees outside, there are absolutely no decorations anywhere, and not one Christmas carol has been played. What I would do for a cup of apple cider and a piece of some sort of holiday dessert! Surprisingly, Thanksgiving ended up feeling and tasting alot more like home than I expected. We had class on the Thursday of Thanksgiving so on Friday we all got together and went shopping for all the things we needed. We were able to use a facility that had a kitchen with an oven (hard to come by around here!) We ended up having mashed potatoes, green beans, avocado salad, cranberry sauce, my famous sweet potato casserole, fresh bread, pumpkin pie (canned pumpkin isn’t in Machakos, so it was the real deal), carrot cake, gnocchi, and fruits. It was all so delicious. We decided to go vegetarian this year. No one felt like killing a chicken for the occasion and the meat here is easy to say “no” to because it’s usually pretty tough and tastes different. We had so many leftovers, and the place where we cooked is the same place where the Deaf community of adults stay, so we invited them over to finish off what we had and they loved it! I figured they might try a bite or two of a couple things and politely say it was fine, but they ended up finishing off everything we had and were happy with the American foods. The next morning we all watched “Love Actually” to get in the holiday spirit but it ended up making us all sad seeing all the Christmasy decorations and just thinking about missing the holidays with our friends and family. Last week we had model school which I was terrified of at the beginning but ended up enjoying alot. Some of the students from the Machakos School for the Deaf (where we have been having our training classes) stuck around for another week as we taught them different things throughout the week. The idea for us was to try teaching different subjects and different class levels to see what we might like to do once we get to our schools. I enjoyed teaching Social Studies the most, although it was difficult describing topics such as “promoting peace” and “the importance of trade” with my very limited vocabulary. Some of the classes were absolute disasters but others went better than planned. Giving the students the opportunity to get out of their seats and involved in the lesson with activities instead of having to sit through a lecture was exciting to them. They rarely get the opportunity to learn through interactive activities or visuals prepared by the teachers so they were shocked by the different ideas we all had for them. This past Saturday I went with my family to a wedding. I knew it was going to be long, but wow! The invitation said the ceremony would begin at 10, so people began trickling into the church around 11. Sitting on the wooden pews I looked around at the decorations for what seemed like hours.....oh, it was hours! 12:00 passed, 1:00 passed, finally 1:15 things started to begin slowly. Little girls in light blue dresses that looked like Cinderella costumes started walking down the aisle slowly taking two steps forward and then one back, two steps forward and one back. Then little boys came walking down the aisle in the same way. Then the groomsmen came in dancing and met the bridesmaids dressed in maroon (light blue and maroon....quite a color combo!!!), and walked to the front with them. The groom followed behind them and then the flower girls prepared the way for not only the bride, but also a little girl dressed like a bride. The little bride was dressed in a white princess dress with a veil and a tiara that flashed red lights. Directly behind her was the bride who was being sprayed with fake snow every few seconds by one of her bridesmaids. The ceremony took a couple of hours. There was a master of ceremonies leading the whole thing and a d.j. taking care of music which ranged from more traditional African wedding songs to hip hop, quite a selection! The rings were brought to the front in a box that, when opened, played “Fur Elise”. During the ceremony there was no holding of hands between the bride and groom, and, of course, no kissing. The papers were signed in front of the church to make the marriage official. There was a sermon, all of this was being done in the local language, so I didn’t understand one bit of what was being said. At the front of the church was a homemade poster that said “Laury weds Ken” and the rest of the church was decorated with streamers and bows. After the ceremony, the bride and groom and wedding party went on a ride around town for a couple of hours. We waited while they enjoyed town. Food was served- rice and stew. When the wedding party finally came back around 5 there were many speeches given to congratulate them. By the time they were thinking about cutting the cake we had to leave to walk home. I was fine with foregoing the cake to get home! I think what made it hard for me to enjoy the wedding was that it had been so influenced by Western traditions. I love Africa because of all the rich traditions, and the image in my mind of the wedding I would be attending included African dancing, good music, beautiful colors and Kenyan prints in the clothing. It makes me sad that the Western traditions have replaced the African traditions. I hate that throughout history white people have come in and told them that being Western is better and, therefore, they should adapt themselves and adopt our ways and give up what is theirs. Now they wear white, and have fake snow falling, and paint their cars with “Just Married” so that they can feel like they are doing what’s correct in the eyes of the white people. I could even tell that they were looking at me and asking me questions about the decorations and the ceremony to get my approval since I was the “mzungu” there. Well, I guess I’ve bored you enough for the time being. I leave for Nairobi on Sunday to be sworn in as a volunteer next Wednesday and then will move to Mundika School for the Deaf in Busia the next day. I’m beyond ready for this. I have never in my life had to work so hard to be a volunteer! I’m also excited to be settling into a place where I’ll be for the longest period of time since I lived at home in high school. I get to go shopping for furniture and kitchen stuff! Too bad there’s no Pier One or Williams and Sonoma.

Sorry to leave everyone hanging for so long on the updates....I know you have all been waiting at the computer since I last posted just anticipating what I'm gonna say next! So here it is. Actually not too much which is why I haven't written in a while. There has been a lot of language training, HIV/AIDS sessions, and an assortment of classes on lesson planning, the Kenyan education system, medical information, etc. All of that information was tested in one way or another this week. The language was tested in an interview in which an interpreter came in and asked me questions about my family here in Kenya and my family in America, my favorite foods here in Kenya, what I studied at university, how I react to the marriage proposals here and a bunch of other random things. I passed so it looks like I'll be sticking around Kenya for a few years to be a teacher! I know it will still be tough since my vocab is so limited but I'm ready for it. I'm just glad I passed so this blog update doesn't have to be me telling you it is the last update and that I am heading home because I couldn't learn Kenyan Sign Language well enough to teach. Although, I would love to be heading home just to see everyone!

We were also tested on things we have learned at our homes such as lighting a lantern, a jiko (charcoal stove), washing clothes by hand, cutting cabbage, sukuma (kale), potatoes, and green beans, and mopping a floor with a rag (no handle- just bent over with a big, wet, dirty rag!).

Also, we had a testing session where we had to prove we knew how to handle various situations around town such as bargaining at the market, ordering at a restaurant, dealing with attention at the bars, and reporting something to the unconcerned, rude police. Everything was set up by our Deaf instructors and the Deaf students at the school where we have classes so it was all in Sign language which made it a little tougher but more entertaining!

In regards to HIV/AIDS we've had a lot of informative sessions but I have to say learning about this topic in Sign Language is a lot more interesting than in English. When you see someone acting out how to contract HIV, having multiple partners, how to put on a condom, etc. visual languages make learning more interesting for sure! I wish I could have taken a video or one instructor we had. He was this big guy that could have been a comedian with his act. By the end of his session he was sweating. And the interpreters couldn't say some of the things he was signing because they were laughing so hard or just felt that words couldn't do justice for some of the things he was saying without the use of verbal words.

With all the condom demonstrations we've had I feel like I'm back in middle school. "When it's time to PLAY sex, you must put on a condom." Play sex???? Haha. But in all seriousness it is something that I'll be teaching for two years and need to be comfortable talking about with the students.

Well, that's about it for now, I hope everyone has a Happy Thanksgiving and a great start to the holiday season. Oh, one more thing...I've gotten several questions about sending packages, what I need, what my students need, etc. To answer that---it's super expensive to send packages through the mail and once it does get here (if it gets here) I have to pay customs fees..which is really expensive, especially compared to the amount I'm NOTmaking here. So if you want to help out with supplies and things for my school the best thing would be to send a donation to my home address (12 Mayflower Drive, Asheville, NC 28804) and my dad will deposit it into an account set aside for my class. School supplies are available here, especially in the bigger cities so with the dollar you spend on the box of crayons in the US and the shipping and the customs fees I have to pay I could buy a ton of school supplies over here. If there is something special I need sent I will let you know but for now the basics I can get over here.

On a more selfish note though, if you do want to send ME something that's unrelated to my class I'd love love love it but please don't feel like you have to. Really, letters mean the most! It only costs about $1 and that makes my day to get mail. If you want to print out some pictures for me I am planning on putting up alot of pictures once I get to my site and didn't pack many so if you have some photos of us or can get some printed that would be the best thing EVER!!! Stickers too for the kids if you have them laying around! If you really really really want to send a package I'm not gonna turn it down! Books, dried fruit, trail mix, granola, crystal light and orbit peppermint gum are really the only things I've been craving!

Nakupenda!!!

The week at the coast of Kenya was incredible. I was in Mtwapa with one of the other trainees and we were shadowing a volunteer that has been teaching the Deaf for a year now. There were definitely high and low moments throughout the week for me. I felt like my confidence level in using sign language was boosted. Just being around the kids in Mtwapa helped me to make a real connection with why I am working so hard to learn this new language. The smaller kids would just come running when they saw us walking to school and sign the basic “Good morning! You fine? You sleep well?” and then just hang all over like little monkeys. The bigger kids would come up and start to tell stories and, although, I didn’t understand a lot of what they were trying to tell me it really pushed me to learn new signs and be as receptive as I possibly could be. As the week went on I definitely was understanding more of the stories. Although my week was focusing on the classes for the Deaf, I was also able to visit some classrooms for all different special needs. It was like FirstShine (the camp my church sponsored for children with special needs) on steroids! It was out of control but sooo much fun for me! One class that I observed was for kids with autism and microcephalics (a condition that is characterized by a small head and, oftentimes, developmental delays). One guy was spinning around laughing, another was twirling a towel on the ground for an hour, three were laying down in the back of the room, one was marching back and forth and back and forth, two were covering their heads with their jackets so they couldn’t see, another was talking on his phone (a piece of scrapwood), and the smallest microcephalic little girl (who I just wanted to adopt right then and there) was just standing on the desks and waiting to be thrown into the air over and over. It was frustrating to see so many children in one small space that needed such individual attention but I loved the energy in that classroom and I loved being able to play with them and be silly with them since that is something they don’t get much of, unfortunately. I have to admit, I really wish that I was going to be in a school with all areas of special needs but maybe thats an area I can focus my secondary project on or see if there are children at my school with developmental delays along with being deaf. Sadly, there were many situations this week that forced me to see the faults in the schools and education system here in Kenya. Every day something would happen that disappointed me. As I walked passed the classrooms to get to the one where I was observing, it wasn’t uncommon to see the students sitting in their seats but no teacher. Or, if the teacher was there, she was sleeping. And, if a teacher just happened to be teaching it was in the most unexciting tone I’ve ever witnessed or it was yelling at the Deaf, which is obviously not effective. On Wednesday, most of the teachers had a meeting to go to at another school. Well, guess who the substitute teachers were???? You probably wouldn’t guess the maintenance man...but that was one. And you probably wouldn’t guess the house baba (the one who helps out in the boys dormitory), but that was another. And then there was me and the other volunteer who have been using KSL for 2 weeks! The one class where the maintenance man was teaching was in an MH class and for the first time in forever the kids were yelling with excitement because he was so engaging. As for me and the other volunteer we just reviewed some lessons with the classes as they prepare for their final exams, but being thrown into the teaching setting was really beneficial for us. It was almost a disappointment to see some of the teachers back at school the next day because the student’s were forced back into the world of boredom. But, not for long, as the next day the teacher’s were absent from school again...this time with no excuse. The volunteer that we were shadowing was incredible with the students. She had activities planned for them that kept them excited about learning and she has become someone that they can go talk to. I got so many ideas from her about what I want to do in my school and classes so that schools isn’t just a place they have to go to. She had them going on nature walks, doing arts and crafts, having peer support groups, etc. The way she cared for those students was something awesome to see. Besides school though we also got to take an afternoon at the beach on the Indian Ocean which was so nice. As nice as the coast was though, I’m glad that I’m not posted there. I like to be warm but because it is always so hot and muggy it’s hard to keep a high energy level which is so necessary for teaching these kids. I’m fine with the coast being a place I can escape to for a vacation. Yesterday (Saturday) was a long day of riding back to Machakos, trying to get a matatu without getting charged the mzungu (white person) price, getting absolutely crammed into a bus and holding on for dear life as I rode standing next to the open door for what seemed to be an hour but was only 15 minutes. My knuckles were white and I felt like I’d worked out after that ride. Then was the fight for a legit taxi to get me home by dark. I was soooo happy to be home after all that. Habby was so cute when I got home. Mama said he’d been asking for me all week. Today, I was able to have the day off for the first time since I’ve been here and honestly it was one of the hardest days because I had so much time to sit and think and reflect on why I’m here and what I miss back at home. I went on a run for the first time in forever! As much as I loved it, I realized how out of shape I’ve gotten since I got here. Also, it was frustrating because I just wanted to run without being bothered but that just is not an option around here. Kids stop playing to run towards the white girl jogging like it was some sort of freak show. I know I’m not a common sight around here but it’s hard to not be able to do anything without just feeling as if I have no privacy or anonymity. Well, that’s this week’s update....crazy long...sorry! Please send e-mails to keep my up to date with what I’m missing out on in “Amerika”! ahmartin1808@gmail.com.

Lots of love,

Anna

(This blog was written last Thursday....wasn't able to publish it until today..I will post again when I get back to Machakos!)

So this week some things happened that made this whole thing become a reality. First of all, we found out the sites that we will be going to starting in December. I will be in Busia, which is right on the Kenya-Uganda border. I will be teaching at Mundika School for the Deaf which has just over 100 students. There have been two volunteers there in the past, but the last one got kicked out after just a short while. They specifically requested a female volunteer because they associate male volunteers with rowdiness, etc. Busia, from what I hear, isn’t a place many people go to visit but there is a town 7 km from my school that has everything I will need. My home is attached to the dormitory. So there is only a door separating me from the children. Right now I’m excited about that idea because I love knowing I will be around kids all the time and it will help me to pick up sign language from them faster since they will ALWAYS be around. I do have running water and electricity which is great. I don’t know the reliability of each but just to know they are there is good news.

We also found out where we will be shadowing next week and I will be going to Mombasa, which is one of the biggest cities in Kenya and is on the coast. I’ve wanted to go there for a while so I’m really excited about it. The volunteer I will be shadowing is wonderful, too, based on what I’ve been told.

This week, the frustration of a speaking in a new language also hit me. Having to learn a language sufficiently enough in two months to teach classes in is beyond intimidating. Right now I feel like I can introduce myself and talk about stuff for about 3 minutes and then I have to move on to a new person so I can have that same exact conversation but with a different person. We went to an adult center yesterday to integrate with the Deaf and I just had this feeling of failure because my vocabulary is so limited, I don’t know the correct sentence structure, and understanding what the other person is saying is hard because there signs aren’t as crisp as what I’m learning in class. I’m just waiting on that “Aha” moment to come and everything to progress more quickly.

Also, this week, we had a speaker come in from the education sector here in Kenya and taught us about the Deaf here and how they assess them, what the causes are, etc. You could definitely tell she had the idea that being Deaf was a bad thing, a product of bad genes, and so on. It was frustrating to hear her views and ideas but at the same time it reminded me that my job here is not just to teach the children, but also to advocate for them within the community and to educate the parents and teachers, etc about the Deaf and how it is not a bad thing. On the other hand, we did have some speakers come in that were huge catalysts for change amongst the Deaf here in Kenya. They had some great ideas for how to better serve this community, but most importantly a good attitude and motivation. I can only hope that the teachers and community in Busia will have positive attitudes and be supportive of the children at the school.

This week has been nothing short of amazing! Last Saturday, the group of PC deaf educators moved to Machakos, a city about an hour and a half outside of Nairobi. We stayed in a hotel one last night before moving in with our host families. My family is so wonderful. My mama is a teacher here in Machakos and is so sweet and helps me with absolutely everything. She taught me how to wash my clothes in buckets, make chai (not the way we do it at all), sew, etc. She asks about America and how things are done there. She’s impressed by the washer and dryer most of all. My baba (dad) is a very happy guy who teaches me alot about the traditions of their Kamba people. I have three brothers: Kelvin, 19, Steve, 16, and Aaron, 6. Steve is at boarding school so I haven’t met him yet. Kelvin goes to the university in Machakos so he comes home every night. He’s quiet but has already opened up alot over the week. He always asks me how my day was and when I tell him all the stories of me getting used to walking up the mountain to go home, and ripping my skirt, and my failed attempts at speaking Swahili, he laughs. But he’s so nice about it and tells me that I will eventually learn. Haha. Aaron is my new best friend. His nickname is Habby and I absolutely adore him. Every day he waits on me to get home so that we can play. His favorite things to do are play frisbee and play with my flashlights. He also loves to dance. Every day he teaches me some Swahili and I teach him English. The other night he asked Mama if he could sleep in my room. She told him he had to wait until the weekend but he could if it was alright with me. He’s sooooo cute! There’s also a girl who lives with the family who they say they have “adopted” in a sense but she helps out with cooking and cleaning. I think it’s househelp but they just tell me they are helping her out. I’m not really sure. Also, babu (grandpa) and shu shu (grandma) live in house connected to my family’s. They are so sweet, too. Babu had a stroke 6 years ago so he’s weak and doesn’t get out much but I go and talk to him every afternoon and have chai with him. He was in the Mau Mau Rebellion so he has a lot of war stories to tell. Anyways, my birthday was great. Honestly, I haven’t had time to think about it this year with all that was going on. Here in Kenya, birthdays aren’t a big deal either because they just don’t have the money and resources to celebrate everyones birthday. But the family wanted me to feel special and have some sort of celebration so they bought me a cake. It’s not like the cake we have. It was more like sweet bread. They also got me a pen and a card which everyone in the family signed. My family sang me Happy Birthday several times and then Habby sang some songs for me from school. The compound that I live on is absolutely gorgeous. I live high up on a hill so the view is incredible. They grow coffee, mangoes, avocados, passion fruit, sweet potatoes, and so many more things. Baba told me that I am going to help plant on Saturday so that I know how to grow things when I move to my site. Language training is coming along. There are only two of us that have very limited sign language experience so that’s frustrating to see everyone else signing so well but they’re having alot of trouble switching it to Kenyan Sign Language. There are alot of differences so it’s hard to transition. Some of my lessons are at the School for the Deaf which is so much fun. We get to talk to the children and they are so nice about helping me learn new words. The most incredible thing is hearing them laugh. The school grounds are so quiet most of the time but when they all start laughing it’s just amazing. Yesterday I went there early in the morning and watched them do their morning praise and prayer. They were dancing and signing and making noises to go along with the songs. I could’ve watched them all day. Some of the children have some sort of syndrome or something that deafness is associated with but also gives them the bluest eyes I have ever seen. To see blue eyes on a black child is mesmerizing to me. We also went to a training center for deaf adults. They did a skit about AIDS for us and then showed us the work they do with clothes, woodworking, etc. It’s encouraging for me to see the deaf community here having support. So many children and adults with disabilities get neglected and are not in the picture at all.

Well, time for class....will post as soon as I can!!! Love you all....thanks for all the facebook happy birthday wishes and emails!

First things first...the address I gave everyone has been changed. Please send mail to the following address until December 15th.Anna Martin/ Peace Corps TraineeP.O. Box 698-00621Village MarketNairobi, KenyaApparently some of the paperwork we received had the old address still on it.Besides that urgent bit of news, everything is going fantastic! We arrived to Nairobi last night (Thursday night) got to the place we trained today and had a wonderful meal and then went straight to sleep. Now, I know none of you will believe me when I say I slept in this morning, but I was actually late for training because my alarm never went off. I felt horrible walking into training and was the only one late...I guess I’m going ahead and getting used to African time fairly quickly! Today was filled with lots of training sessions, talking to current volunteers about their time thus far, and a walk to the supermarket for a couple things, toilet paper being the most important purchase as we had our session on the “choo”, bathroom, and learned that toilet paper is not something that families keep readily available at their homes or that public places stock up on either. One bummer is that I won’t be training in Loitokitok like I originally was told. I will be in Machakos, which is a fairly large city. They are sending the deaf educators to a deaf school their so that we can immerse ourselves better and learn it more quickly. Alright, that’s it for now....I’ll write soon!

Note: this blog was written a few days ago....

Well, I’m within a few hours of stepping onto the plane for Nairobi (well, technically Amsterdam and then Nairobi...but you know what I’m saying!). I can’t thank my family and friends enough for making the past 2 weeks nothing short from perfect. Yes, there were a ton of tears, and even though they were because I was having to say goodbye for two years I wouldn’t have cried them if we didn’t have hundreds of amazing memories together to reflect on. I received so many letters and e-mails and phone calls of encouragement. (Please keep ‘em coming....I’ll need them even more in a very short time as I begin learning sign language and Swahili and adapt to the new culture). I just absolutely hated saying goodbye to friends and family but I know that where I am headed is exactly where God wants me to be at this moment in my life. So, again I say thank you to all of you for being there for me up until this point. Whether I knew you for a short time or since the day I was born you have all played a part in my life and getting me here. I’m so glad I can share this experience with you through this blog so that, in a sense, you can be on this journey with me. Now, let me tell you a little bit about training thus far. I got to Philadelphia yesterday afternoon after dealing with the airport baggage people....I got my bags back minus the jewelry I had brought. It wasn’t too valuable in the monetary sense but if you know me, you know my love for earrings.....and I’d brought alot. But also, most of them were the ones I’d bought on my past trips to Africa or been given by friends in Africa. The airport staff told me it would be a week before they called me. Well, I’m pretty doubtful I’ll ever see those again being that in a week I won’t be able to accept that call or just drop by the Philly airport and pick them up. Hopefully they can get in touch with my parents if it’s all found. I’ve thought over it, though, and really, it’s just stuff....it can be replaced. But right now I just feel like such a boy with no earrings! Now, number one on my list of things to buy in Kenya is new jewelry! Anyways....training. I love the people in my group so far. There are 38 of us from all over the U.S. heading to Kenya to be educators of all types. Everyone is from various backgrounds and has different interests but still we all have a similar task ahead which has brought us together quicker than I expected. We’ve already talked about things you typically don’t talk about within a few hours of meeting someone. Everyone has such wonderful goals that they want to accomplish in their time as a P.C volunteer and has such incredible stories as to how they got here. After talking to several of the deaf educators I feel more at ease. Some of them majored in deaf studies which was intimidating, but some have absolutely no experience with sign language so I know we will be spending a lot of time together learning. Most of us are under 30 but a few are older. This encourages me because as I was preparing for this so journey many people were saying to me “Yea, do this while you’re young and can afford to.” I definitely understand this and I know that life happens and it is hard to do things such as Peace Corps but I really don’t want life to ever get to that point where I don’t have time to serve people. I’m so glad there are these older volunteers to inspire me to continue doing this throughout my life, not just now while I am young.Alright, hopefully I will be able to update on Sunday, the day I get to Loitokitok, at the base of Mt. Kilimanjaro where training will begin. I’ve heard there is an internet cafe there. If not, don’t worry....as soon as I get a chance, I will. Keep the prayers and good thoughts coming! I love you all!

"Time is a funny thing"...that's what my granddaddy was telling me today and I've heard that phrase many times but recently it has really come to prove true. It's been 5 weeks since I got my invitation and I knew that time would both fly and crawl at the same time. I realize how many things I have to get done before October 12th. With a full time job, learning sign language as fast as possible, training and running for the half marathon I completed last week, and getting ready for my time abroad there is just not enough time in the days or days in the week to do everything I want and need to do. On the other hand, I just want October 12th to be here and it's not! I hate wishing my life away and I know there are many things I'll be wishing I did during this time once I am boarding that plane, but right now that takeoff and all the moments that will follow are saturating my mind. Last Friday I met with my 9th grade Sunday School teacher to catch up and talk about my summer in Perry County Alabama and what I know about my position with the Peace Corps. It was absolutely wonderful to spend time with her but at the end of our time she said a prayer for me and so many thoughts that I just haven't sat down and thought about came rushing to my mind. They've passed through but I'm on such a high with everything that I keep pushing those thoughts away and say that I'll deal with them later. I absolutely hate having to think about that moment when I'll have to say goodbye to my grandparents, my brother, my mom and dad, Becky, friends, and some of the people in Asheville that have just done so much for me up until now.

On the other hand though, I have had so much fun reconnecting with my Kenyan friends that I met 5 years ago and letting them know that I'm coming back! One of my friends, Sharon, said "I remember us having to say "goodbye" to each other and wondering if that were the last time we'd ever see each other but hoping we would somehow be reunited." I found my journal that I kept in Kenya today as I was packing and so many things that I said about my desires to come back were overwhelming to me now as they are becoming a reality. I was only there for 10 days that time but as anyone who has been to Africa knows, it only takes a moment to fall in love and know that you will find a way to get back.

Last Saturday I had breakfast with Dr. Lawrence, an Asheville cardiologist who goes to my church. He retired last Friday and is moving to Kenya tomorrow for a few years with Duke University to help build a cardiology program at one of the universities. It makes me feel better knowing someone from my church will be within a few hours of me. It has also been a major comfort for my parents and others knowing that I have him and his wife nearby.

Sunday was one of the most wonderful days I've ever had. I spoke at church about my summer in Perry County but also how it led to what's getting ready to happen and how my church has been such a huge part in helping to develop the heart I have for missions. That afternoon but parents had a reception for me and over 200 people came. It was absolutely wonderful to see so many people: teachers from middle school, neighbors from my childhood neighborhood, church friends, and people I didn't even know but that my parents know and wanted to come celebrate with me. One person, Donna Lewis, who has done several years of mission work in the Philippines, came up and told me that "the lump that is in your throat when you say goodbye...that lump will eventually go away..." That lump immediately jumped up into my throat and I lost it...and so did she. I knew then that until the day I leave there would be a lot of tears.

Sorry, this post is so long...and probably boring to everyone but me! I know not to wait so long before I write again! I'll definitely write before I take off! I fly to Philly on Tuesday, Oct 12th for staging and then fly from NYC to Amsterdam to Nairobi the next day.....so soon!

Well, here we go! Everything that I've been working for and thinking about for the past 5 years since that first time I set foot on African soil (coincidentally Kenyan soil) is coming together. There were times over this past year I just didn't know whether it was all going to solidify. I know my heart is in Africa but I was having doubts if Peace Corps was going to be the way I got back to the place that I am so passionate about. It has been a long 15 months....many times I almost gave up and started looking at other organizations, but I'm glad I stayed patient because so many of the things I've dreamed about over these past few years are quickly becoming a reality to me.

When I went to Kenya in 2005 I fell in love with the people and many cultures of Africa and knew then I would return many times throughout my life. In 2006, while I was serving with Habitat for Humanity in Zambia, I was approached by one of the locals about the idea of building an orphanage. At that time I was getting ready to begin college so I knew it would be awhile, but the idea of an orphanage has always been on my mind. As I worked with people with developmental needs throughout college and was educated about the people throughout Africa that have various disabilities and how neglected they oftentimes are, I began to consider an orphanage for children with special needs. During my third trip, when I was in Ghana and Benin to study the political systems and history of Africa, I began to have a broader understanding of the different needs throughout Africa, why they exist, and what might be some of the better approaches to solving these issues. At NCSU I took many classes with professors who had devoted their lives to African studies and every lecture, essay, and discussion I had during those years increased my desire to do something in Africa that would create real change.

When I got my Peace Corps nomination back in December of 2009 it was to the Middle East and while I was excited about the chance to serve there I was hopeful that the location would change during the time leading up to the invitation to somewhere in Africa. As I went from step to step in the process I saw no sign of things changing. Then I got a call during the middle of August that asked if I was still ready to go to the Middle East in October. After so much thinking and praying I knew it wasn't the Middle East where I was supposed to be heading. I told the Peace Corps that I was so ready to go in October but I had my heart set on Africa. I thought I'd made it clear in my interview and by having a degree in African Studies with a concentration on Africa I was just sure they wouldn't think twice about having me there. I knew I was supposed to be flexible but I just couldn't go to the Middle East and wonder what I was missing out on in Africa. So I got an email a few days later asking me to be flexible and go to the Middle East. I knew then it was all over. I was crushed! But, I sent one last e-mail stating my case and pleading for Africa. Four days later someone called saying they would work with me...I might have to be patient but they would continue looking for a position in Africa. Well, I'm pretty much a pro at being patient at this point so that was not an issue....and I didn't even have to be patient much longer. The next day I got invited to serve in Kenya in deaf education. I just couldn't believe that one e-mail and 5 more days of patient waiting got me a position that is so perfect! No, I don't know sign language (I'm working on it!), especially not in Swahili. But I know the Peace Corps does a great job at training volunteers. So, yes, in 4 weeks I head to Kenya for 27 months. 4 weeks....a grueling 28 more days to wait but at the same time only 28 days to get everything settled for the time I'm gone, pack for 2+ years, spend time with people I love, and worst of all say my "see ya laters" to so many people I'm gonna miss so much. Well, that's it for now. As the time approaches I will definitely update and when I get there I will write as often as I can (don't know how often that will be). I know I will enjoy mail so please send me letters. I think the following is my address until I'm done with training:

Anna Martin/ PCT

PO Box 30518-00100Nairobi, Kenya When I get to my worksite I will post the address for the two years of service. Looking forward to share these next couple of years with you all!