Bwwahhh!!

Everyday, at least twice a day, for the last two weeks, I've said to whomever is around, "Only (insert number here) days until Zack comes home!"

We have so much to do. And Dale and I can't wait to have someone so like-minded within such close proximity again. It gets hard to live in a two-person bubble sometimes. It's much easier to insulate oneself against an ignorant and apathetic world when one is part of a three-person team, you know.

I hope your traveling goes smoothly...be safe, keep your head about you (you no-common-sense-havin'-sunofabeetch), and get home quickly!

xoxo

Zack,

First...I'm sorry. I hadn't seen your post until now. You know I would have written sooner had I seen it. Now.....FIGHT! If I understand this correctly, Patty donated the money to purchase the land and materials to build the orphanage and the labor has been provided by volunteers such as yourself and the guys from TARA. Now, Mama Tunza managed somehow to get her slimey name on the deed and is trying to sell the property and building and will then pocket it and remain in the current place. If that is correct, I would get to Irene, have a discussion with her to make sure all of your facts are straight and see what is being done about it. If you still feel things are not being done right for the kids, then find a way to get a hold of Patty. I find it very difficult to believe that Patty and Irene, who sound like decent people would literally give something so large - the welfare of these children, property and a brand new building to Mama Tunza if she is obviously that neglectful of her responsibilities and her character is blatently flawed to the point you noticed it right up front. You were very perceptive but Irene did not become a director and Patty a person in life that is able to donate to this extent by being stupid.

Fight, you can't get tired right now. In less than a week you will leave there and then you can rest. Do all that you can and that is all you can do. Things may or may not change. They may or may not work out the way you want them to. But if you do everything you possibly can, what else can you do? You have to be able to put your head on the pillow in Kenya, Waterloo, or wherever else this life takes you and be peaceful knowing you have done well. In the meantime, enjoy the kids. They are why you are there.

I will see you in 10 days and can't wait to hug you tight and hear you laugh.

P.S. If you want to talk, call me. I no longer have a phone number to contact you. I need to speak to you sometime on Sunday as I will be verifying nothing about your flight has changed and will need to let you know if it has. Please call then.

See you soon.

Love,
Mom

Motherfuckers,,,,

So I read that last post and I'm pissed.  There are to many Mama Motherfuckers in the world.  Breed by capitalism, greed, and laziness. 

Wouldn't Irene have more clout in the courts than Mama?  Couldn't the Irish donator contest all of this bull crap?  Am I understanding the issue or do I not know what I'm talking about?

Any way, if I were in that place being in the state I'm in now (which is not having spent nearly three months in Kenya) with only two weeks to feel good about what I've done there. I'd definitely keep talking with Irene with what I could do, and  I would spend as much time as possible with the kids.  Have as much fun as possible and be as big of an influence as you can.  

 Like lets say the kids come to a crossroad where they could make a choice like yours, caring, brave, and ( I can't think of a single word that means hard working, but insert that here) oh wait I know, not being a pussy,  or they could go the Mama route.  Try to leave them with a moment where they can reflect and think, what would Zack do.

Man one day that building is gonna fall.  No matter who owns it or what is done with it.  I mean its great to see something solid done by your own hands, but it's giving the stuff that you can't see that will help those kids more than anything.  And if you don't believe me go through the blogs you written and count how many time you thank your Mom, Grandpa, Grandma, Alex and Nick for things you can't touch.

Hope this helps, 

D.J. 

P.S. I just reread your blog to make sure my post makes sense and I'm still not sure if it does.  But I'm posting it any way.  Peace.

Built Up and Beat Down

When I first arrived in Kenya I was incredibly hopeful of all that I thought I would be able to accomplish. After learning of my placement in Kibera, I knew that there would be a huge opportunity to instill some positive, sustainable change in the community I would be working in because of, in all fairness, all that the people of that community are lacking. I have always held a conviction that, for any real change to exist and propagate, it has to start with children. Even in the case of political demonstrations in Kenya during the past 25 years, 9 times out of 10 it is led by students from the universities of Nairobi. So, to know that I would be volunteering to help better the lives of children living in the largest urban slum in Africa was a privelege of sorts, a chance to put everything that I believe in to practice because of the kindness of friends and family that gave me that chance.

During my first couple of weeks I set out to do what I had mentally prepared myself for a little over a month before my arrival. I took to playing and mentoring the kids at Mama Tunza's, eventually warming up enough to teach some classes. One thing that I will never forget while I was teaching was the fact that the kids were actually on holiday at the time. I was voluntarily teaching the classes, and any students that filled the seats were voluntarily attending class. I could not have been more proud of those kids, because I knew that they knew that their education was their opportunity to get out of the slum and live a better life. And, to bat, no student in that class was any older than 15; wise WELL beyond their years. Like every 'good kid' I've met, I will never forget these students, and teaching them was an absolute pleasure. I remember teaching a science lesson one day on endosymbiotic cell theory, the theory that links together evolution and cell biology, and having the kids recite the technical jargon that is necessary to learn such a theory. It was beautiful hearing their strong Kenyan accents pronounce English words with 5, 6, and 7 syllables spot-on the first time through. They were so bright, and the only thing that outweighed their intelligence was their eagerness to learn. I have seen one of the hardest places to live in the world, and I have seen beautiful children in it want to learn, and smile, and be happy, and live a good life. How these kids ended up in Kibera may have been out of their control, but the rest of their lives was well within their control.

While I was enamored by the tenacity and beauty of these kids, the other volunteer, Danny, and I knew that something was not quite right about the orphanage and it had nothing to do with the kids and everything to do with the staff. The woman that ran the orphanage, Mama Tunza, always presented herself in a less-than-hygienic manner, and knew very little Kiswahili, and even less English. At the time, there were four volunteers total at the orphanage: Hannah and Nathan, a couple of kids from the U.K., Danny, and myself. We were told before by Nathan that, if a volunteer was there to take care of some of the work around the home, Mama Tunza wouldn't lift a finger. The truth of this comment was just the tip of the iceberg, as Danny and I had already gotten a very clear impression of the proverbial shit-storm we had walked into during the first day or two volunteering there. We rarely saw Solomon, 'the social worker', do anything beside sit on a couch and talk to the kids who happened to pass him by, and Derrick (who I will describe in great detail later in this post), 'the head teacher', had about 10 years on me, and presumably those years were not spent educating himself on how to be a better teacher, to say the least. Yes, I knew I was going into the mother-of-all-slums, and yes, I knew that the conditions would be different and very difficult, for the kids I would be working with more so than myself. But, I've been brought up with a clear sense of right and wrong, and I knew in my gut, my heart, and my head that something was very wrong here. There was no clear explanation as to why, even though a number of kids received sponsorships, all of the kids at the orphanage attended 'school' here and they were not sent to boarding or day schools in the surrounding communities. At the orphanage I am living at now, Shelter, it is not uncommon for the students that live here to walk upwards of 2 hours to a school that the Director knows are better-suited for them than the school that is provided to some of the younger kids here on the ground, even though it would save her money that could be used for other needs like clothing, food, and medicine. So, after my first two weeks at Mama Tunza's
, my direction changed.

One day I was in town, sitting around my host mom's house with a lot on my mind, and decided to call up Irene, the director of V.I.C.D.A. (Volunteer Interns in the Community Development of Africa), just to see how some of the other projects were going and to speak to her about my concerns for my own project. Before I could really spit out what I was trying to say, she told me that she was going to visit another project up in Ngong, an area I had never been to before but that I was open to seeing just for the sake of it. She picked me up and we had a nice, long conversation about Kenya; truly nothing to do with what I had my mind on to begin with, but I was open to hearing about this country I had just arrived in straight from the mouth of a native. Eventually we arrived at a construction site where a large foundation had already been dug and poured, and a small set of shacks had been erected that some of the workers were living in. I walked out with Irene and met the workers. Two in particular struck me: Michael, an unintelligent bastard with no ambition, and Lucas, a quiet and smart man that I would, in time, become very good friends with. Irene told me on the walk back to the car that the construction taking place before us was for a new orphanage for the children that were living at Mama Tunza's, a valiant effort to get them out of the slum, into some fresh air, and closer to a primary and secondary school that would be more suitable for a proper education. As soon as I had heard her say this my mind started doing backflips at the opportunity that I had haphazardly stumbled upon, my chance to take part in something sustainable that would improve the lives of the children that I had taken to caring so dearly for during my first half-month in Kenya. This excitement was encouraged by the fact that all of the workers at the site were Kenyans, as I saw an incredible opportunity to understand the life of a native first-hand by working side-by-side with them. I asked her if it was possible to change my project, to move to a place closer to the site and help the workers with the construction. She said that it would not be a problem, and the rest of the car ride was full of conversation about my new opportunity.

Irene informed me that the new orphanage would be run by Mama Tunza, and I immediately began to tell her my concerns about her placing too much faith in a person that I knew to be far less than trustworthy. I felt a bit out of place in trying to explain to her that she would be better off finding someone else to run the new home and simply moving the kids, without the staff, to the orphanage in Ngong. I tried to convince her that Mama Tunza and her cronies were not people that should be given so much responsibility because they would, ultimately, let those people down that had tried to help them. As the conversation continued, my instinct and 'speak-my-mind' attitude were put on the back burner as she explained that a number of people were involved in the project, including a donor from Ireland, that believed that everyone at Mama Tunza's should be moved to the new location. I made the foolish mistake of believing that my limited time in the country kept me from fully understanding the situation I was in, and was coerced to believing in Irene's seemingly unsubstantiated faith that everything would work out. This was a point I would kick myself in the ass over later. Nothing in this world outweighs instinct. No matter how complex a situation seems or what other people may try to convince you of, if everything in you tells you something's right or something's wrong, 10 out of 10 times you're dead on the damn mark, as time would prove for me.

I spent a full month at the construction site working with only Kenyans. Sure enough, Michael proved himself to be, on a daily basis, exactly who I thought he was on first meeting. He took to over-sleeping, playing with kids in the community, and trying to make conversation with me faaaaaar more often than he did any kind of work, in any capacity or definition of the word. Lucas, also, was a man true to his nature. I loved working with him, and when we found breaks here and there throughout the day I talked to him about his life in Kenya, his family that he had left to find work where he could, and about academics, too. I had found out in the first week that he holds two degrees and is well-versed in calculus and the basic sciences. I remember when he and I would work together digging out a road 50 m long with a pick and a shovel, we would take these small breaks to catch our breath and look at each other with this deep respect; we came from completely different places, had different lives, and different perspectives, but when we were digging we were the same. Just two guys digging a road. As much as I enjoyed living at Shelter and being given the trust and responsibility to take care of the kids who fell ill, and working at the construction site with 'brother Lucas', when the group from TARA Projects in Ireland arrived it was a welcome change of scenery. The pace of anything in Kenya is slow, and when it's just two guys doing nothing but digging with hand tools for a month, it's a little tough to see any realy progress over the course of a day or two. But, when the lads from Ireland came, our daily progress was ridiculous. Seeing the progress we were making kept me going, no matter how much I had to drink or how little sleep I had gotten the night before. And being able to walk away with those guys everyday for two weeks, sitting around a bar and laughing and talking about what we had done that day and what would be done the next, did my heart a lot of good. Kenya, and Africa in general, has a way of getting under your skin, but in a good way. It makes you basic, reduces you to what your real nature is, and if you can't hang then tough shit. It's wild, and beautiful, and if you're not ready for it it will eat you alive. As well as I had felt like I had adapted over the past 6 weeks that I had been in Kenya, I was ready to take a break from all of it for a while. Furthermore, meeting Patty, 'the donor from Ireland' as Irene had called him, and getting to know him and his capacity to light a fire under people's asses to get stuff done helped to instill at least a little bit of the same faith that Irene had told me about the day we first visited the site. I began to feel some relief as to how the whole situation would work out and, more so, an immense sense of pride and good fortune that I had my hand in helping to build an orphanage that would improve the lives of 90 kids living in Kibera, from the start of the trip to the finish of it.

One day at the site, my faith wavered. I saw Mama Tunza and Derrick speaking to Patty and could tell from the good distance I was sitting at that Patty was beginning to get tense and uneasy. I continued to watch the discussion and, eventually, saw Patty pointing his finger at Derrick and saying "That's exactly why we didn't put any single person's name on the title deed, Derrick, so this kind of a discussion wouldn't have to happen! This home is for the kids and the staff who wish to move here to it, and it's a gift!" My heart sank. Everything that I had felt and known for the past 2 months had come to fruition in those two sentences, and I knew there would be problems from there. To provide some background to Patty's statement, Irene had assured me when we first visited the construction site that her name, as well as Mama Tunza's, had been placed on the title deed for the land and any property constructed on it. This was a smart safeguard on Irene's part, as she was not completely ignorant to Mama Tunza's corruptibility and wanted to make sure that the land and property could not be sold if Mama Tunza and her possie had complete ownership of it. Either way, I knew that this gift had been given to the wrong woman and, furthermore, people's faith had been put in the wrong people. If there's one thing I can pride myself on in being agnostic and not placing faith in anything beyond what is right in front of me, it's that I've gotten really damn good at knowing when someone isn't worth the time of day, and when I'd be willing to take a bullet for someone because I believe in them that much, and I knew I wouldn't piss on Mama Tunza if she were on fire.

Unfortunately, the construction wasn't finished by the time the group from TARA Projects left, something that worried me a bit. Not because of the amount of work that was left to be finished, which was trivial at best considering all the progress that we had made while they were here, but because Patty was leaving. Kenyans believe very stronlgy in not making public their anger or frustration about a problem, which seems like a decent practice in theory, but leaves those who have been the source of the problem without any real sense of atonement. Also, the Western World, far more so than Africa, believe in accountability. If something doesn't seem quite right, or if someone isn't being completely honest with you when you are being completely honest with them, that shit just don't fly; but, it does in Africa on more occasions than not. I knew that after Patty was gone it was up to Irene to make sure that the kids found their way to their new home, and with a minimal amount of problems, something I didn't think would happen easily for two simple reasons: 1) Because of the half-assed way I have seen so many things done in this country, and 2) because she has a lot on her plate otherwise as the coordinator of one of the strongest volunteer programs in Kenya. After TARA Projects left, I decided to spend the next two weeks working at Shelter helping another volunteer, Carolyn, finish her projects before she left. We made slow progress in the first week, but after the second week everything was finished that she had set out to accomplish. She just left this morning, in fact, and last night she told me that she was happy that everything was done to such an extent that, even if she could stay longer, she wasn't sure what she would do with her time.

This past Thursday night, all of my feelings, intuition, and experiences came to a boil when Mary, the director at Shelter, told me that Mama Tunza and most of the administration were trying their hardest to secure the title deed for the land with the intention of trying to sell the land and property on it, keep the money, and keep themselves and the kids that they 'care' for in Kibera. I had originally set out that evening with the intent of seeing off another group from Ireland, Maintain Hope, on their last night in Kenya and taking a break from all of the work that Carolyn and I had involved ourselves in over the past half a month. Right or wrong, I drank a lot of whiskey that night. I had a decent enough time with everyone, but had the same thoughts in the back of my mind as I have had for the past 10 weeks: Mama Tunza is one of the worst people I have ever met on this planet and deserves nothing but the products of her ignorance. I spent Friday and Saturday working fervently, trying to take stock in the progress I had made in purchasing medications for the kids through the donation from the Lions Club, writing what became a 43 page manual on how to properly use what was purchased, and organizing a medicince cabinet. Ultimately, the work wasn't enough to exhaust me and I lost a lot of sleep last night thinking about the kids in Kibera that I have come to care so dearly for. I walked out this morning after breakfast into a heavy fog cover, feeling like the weather perfectly reflected my mood, and had a cry. It was a shit cry, though, because I knew I felt more angry than exhausted or sad. All I could think about was going down to Kibera and giving Mama Tunza's a big damn piece of my mind, and tearing Derrick apart like a rag doll.

So, here I am, telling this story of everything that I've worked for since I've been here and being without any clear idea of what steps to take next. I can go back down to the construction site, unsure of what will happen to the orphanage I am helping to build, feeling like it is an issue of futility, or I can talk more to Irene and Mary in seeing if there is anything I can do to help with the legal battle they are trying to win, or I can stay at Shelter and just be with the kids here, or I can go to Kibera and be with the kids there, or, or, or.... I need some advice. I trust and love the people that have written in this blog more than anyone on the planet, and I would bend over backwards to be able to just sit with you guys for an hour and talk this over. But, I can't. I'm stuck in central Kenya, stuck at a crossroads, just stuck. I have two weeks left here, and I want to do anything that I can to come home happy, but I can't do that if things stay the way they are, and especially not if I make the wrong decision on how to spend my time. I love you guys, and miss you more than I can describe right now. Take care, and write back as soon as you can.

Zachary

Media!

Dearest Zacky, 

Here's an assortment of videos and photos to keep you entertained for a few minutes...

Remember when you donned a shit beard for Halloween?

Edgar attack!

Probably the best photo that came out of the Florida Vaycay this year.  Mom didn't appreciate me ruining this picture, but Jimmy Crack Corn and I don't care.

You oughtn't play ping pong with zombies, Zack.

Killer, dude!

Bet you didn't know DJ has moves as smooth as these.

I hope you enjoyed that.  Oh, and consider yourself lucky that DJ talked me out of posting the video of you attempting to climb that tree on Lookout Mountain.  See you in 20 days, homeslice!

xoxo, Alex

The Final Countdown

I was sitting here trying to think of a clever title for this blog post and it came to me after I thought about how this is my final month here. And, also, because I know Alex, Nick, and Deej would especially appreciate it. Speaking of which, Alex and Deej, I don't know if I told you guys, but one of the last times that I was at the YMCA in Waterloo running around the track upstairs The Final Countdown came on just as I was finishing my last mile; the finality was unbearable, as was the humor, and I stopped running as soon as it came on because I was laughing too hard. So, yeah, The Final Countdown... there ya go.

So, it is the last month here and I have seriously got my work cut out for me. A couple of snags came up while the guys from Ireland were here with the construction. Trucks carrying bricks for the dormitory, kitchen, and septic tank were late Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday during the first week that they were here, already seriously setting our progress behind. Later in the first week, a couple of crucial fittings that the plumbers needed were not the right size and/or grade. So, in the first week, the masons, bricklayers, laborers, and plumbers all had their work set back. Then, in the second week the gutter pieces were late, holding up the roofers and anyone working under them, specifically the carpenters. Kenya is great because everyone always says 'hakuna matata' (no worries) and they truly mean it; the country has so many problems that if the people here got as worked up as some people in the Western world do when things don't go right to code, people would be tearing each other apart. But, hakuna matata also, unfortunately, applies to adhering to a schedule and being accountable. People here run their business life the same way they do their personal life, and there needs to be some separation between the two, especially when you have 25 pissed off Irishmen depending on your 'hakuna matata'-ing ass being somewhere on time. So, long story short, the project was not completely finished by the time they left, but we did complete a staggering amount of work while they were here. Also, me and the Kenyan laborers that were there before the guys from Ireland came are still there and making good progress. I am adimant about seeing every kid from Mama Tunza's moved in before I leave at the end of this month, and have every faith that it will happen.

As far as things go at my orphanage... There is another volunteer that arrived about 2 1/2 weeks ago that has been organizing some really great projects at Shelter. Unfortunately, she may have taken on a little too much given that she is only here for a month, so I've taken to helping her until she goes home to make sure that her projects are finished. It's a little crazy scrambling from helping with projects and taking care of the sick kids at my orphanage, and helping to finish building another orphanage, but I'd rather be this busy than not, and it makes the time off that I do get a lot more enjoyable. Right now, believe it or not, there is another group from Ireland called Maintain Hope at Shelter Orphanage helping with daily duties and hooking up high-speed internet access for the kids and the staff there, something that will make the kids' studies and the staffs' work much easier. I'm planning on going out with them tomorrow night to, you guessed it, have some beers! It'll be the weekend and I'm ready to relax.

Alex, like I told you on the facebookmachine.com, I'm sorry to hear about the job situation. But I'm damn proud of you that you let your boss have it, especially given her evident inability to take criticism and to channel it to people that can water it down into an ass-kissing by the time it gets to her. If there's one thing that I can't stand in this world more than a capitalist, it's an administrator. Good luck to you finding something before you and Deej take off for India. The way I see it, though, is that given the luck you, him, and I have been having with employment (I couldn't find work for 3 months after I graduated and then lost a job at a school that was open for 44 years before I got there; you put up with more shit than you should've had to take working for a college, and still kept doing quality work for a half-assed institution, but got laid off because of a 'personal difference'; Deej got laid off and then got screwed out of a certain amount of money for unemployment checks BECAUSE he was a student) we should all have found jobs by the time we move in together in December, making $40,000/year for saving animals and children and being bad ass.

Nickolas, thanks for the post, ya schmuck; it took you long enough, huh? Just messin', fella. I hope the semester ended well for you and works going well enough. I know you're wondering what we're doing this summer, and I've got a lot of plans... first off, the MCAT is riding my white ass like a stallion into the sunset. I've got to get that monkey off my back as soon as I get home. But, when I get free time from studying, I want to go camping, go out to SchwagFest at least once, (finally) climb the bluff with you, and just chill out for a little bit. It's going to be a good summer, fella.

Mom, thanks for keeping me updated on the whole family when we talk. It's great to hear that everyone is doing well. Sometimes when I talk to you, I'll be in the middle of doing something very Kenyan, if that makes sense, and I'll forget where I am while I'm talking to you. It happens specifically when I'm on the internet, for some reason. So when I get done talking to you I have to snap back to what I was doing and it's like "Oh, yeah; I'm not in southern Illinois at all!" Please tell Mark, Grandma, Grandpa, and everyone else that's worth a crap that I said hello. Haha... just joking, but not really.

Last thing, guys... Homecoming Party Planning Time! I don't think this is too far in advance, right? Either way, I've generated a mental list of things that would be good to see when I get home that I'll put here. Consider it like a Christmas list... I'm not expecting to get anything, and anything will be very much appreciated.

1. As many family members and friends can make it
2. Thai and/or Indian food
3. Washers
4. Ladders
5. Stag beer... lots and lots of Stag
6. Jim Beam whiskey
7. Music (Queens of the Stone Age, MUSE, Johnny Cash, and 311; I haven't heard any of them since I've gotten here, and it's starting to get to me)

Thanks for keeping me updated on everything that's going down at home, guys. It's going to be great to see you.

Take care.

Zachary

Oh...life...

Holy Moley!  You wouldn't believe some of the shit that's transpired lately...  

I've caught you up on Food Not Bombs, I believe.  While DJ and I were away in Florida, a guy from the group decided to sort of take the lead, I guess.  He's been sending out constant e-mails and giving pep-talks and seemingly deciding what the group is about to an extent.  I may just be taking things the wrong way, but I'm a little uneasy about the whole situation right now.  We need to get back up in things again and see what's what.  No one is meant to officially lead FNB, and maybe this dude isn't necessarily trying to do so, but it feels too much like it did last year when one person was tending to dominate the conversations and the decisions.  Maybe that's just the natural order of things though, people emerging as leaders and situating themselves a little too comfortably in that position--even when it shouldn't be that way.  But it's not a huge issue, really.

What else, what else?  Some horse-drawn carriage company is trying to establish business here in The Loop.  How awful...it'll be miserable walking around the 'hood seeing horseys shackled to huge carts hauling fat-assed, ignorant consumers.  After I finish this blog post, I'm writing to the U City officials.  I so hope this plan doesn't come to fruition.  

And on the subject of my dear neighborhood...remember the drum circles that used to happen in the little public space between two buildings in The Loop?  Every Sunday, all the STL area hippies and bare-feet dancers and random folks with drums would show up to this spot and jam out together.  It was sorta comical, especially since the first I had ever heard of it was from a car full of kids heading down there one night.  They were pulled up next to me on Skinker and told me that they were treehuggers, too (like is stated on my trademark bumper sticker).  And they invited me to "the drum circle, mee-an."  But it was a cool happening, and very communal and subversive in that it was free entertainment and festivity in the midst of an enormous commercial district.   We even served free food there one day last fall with Food Not Bombs, and it went over tremendously well.  But alas!  Racanelli's Pizza expanded their restaurant some time ago, and in the process, bought up that one piece of communal ground.  And so out the door went the drum circles with "PRIVATE PROPERTY, NO TRESPASSING" signs.  It was sad...I missed hearing the beats coming from up the block when the weather got nice again, and Deej and I were awfully disappointed that we couldn't bring FNB to the party anymore.  Oh, Capitalism...why do you have to ruin all the fun?  But maybe it hasn't completely--in this case, anyway.  On Sunday, DJ and I saw a couple people packing up drums down the street at another small, public space.  We didn't hear any hippy jamming going on beforehand, but hopefully those folks are the resurgence of the drum circles.  Hopefully, they're a big "F U" to capitalism over communalism--for now, anyway.

Sorry I just wrote that sorta newspaper style...and I don't even know what made me think of the (temporary?) drum circle collapse, other than that I'm really preoccupied with conventional business and money-makin' versus more holistic living and service to the world.  I'm very, very ready to go to India and start doing something that counts.  I'm so ready to get my new real life started...being in the dirt and tending to the planet and meeting people who matter to this Earth and doing more to fight (really fight) to keep animals alive and well.  After India, Farm Sanctuary.  After Farm Sanctuary, farming around the country.  And after all that, Deej and I will establish our little pice of sanity and simplicity in this silly society.  (Woah, that alliteration was phenomenal!  Astronomich!)  These are the plans...and I'm hoping more everyday that they flourish and become real steps towards a goal of truly leaving this Earth better than when I arrived on it.  (And I have to say I'm an awfully proud big sister to see you've already begun taking those steps yourself...and I'm a little jealous of your timing, but I'll get over that.)

So on that note, as you've known for a while, I've been planning to leave my job in September in order to do the volunteer project in India.  Yesterday, they did me the favor of "liberating" me a little earlier than I had anticipated.  That's right, I was finally fired.  First time for everything, eh?  Anyway, Big Boss made it a point to let me know that "90% of the reasoning" was essentially because someone who'd been there longer than me wanted my job, so she was giving it to her.  And the other 10%, you ask?  That, in Big Boss's words, was because I had offended her with an e-mail I sent over nine months ago.  An e-mail regarding my milage compensation rate that was wholly misunderstood.  That misunderstanding was never resolved because when I tried to explain to her what I had actually meant, she shooed me out of her office without being allowed to say a word.  And so that perceived offense festered for nearly a year, and Big Boss went on disliking me without ever bothering to get my side of the story.  So, as I see it, she waited until she had a somewhat legitimate reason to "let me go" (holy shit, I hate that term), and then did so.  Even though I did a perfectly good job for that school.  Even though my reviews from my (immediate) boss were glowing.  Even though, for a while, I bent over backwards to try and get communication flowing between Big Boss and me.  She fired me because she didn't like me.

And so I said as much to her in the meeting yesterday.  (Someone had to talk, because my immediate boss wasn't saying word fucking one in my defense.)  Big Boss didn't like what I was saying, and she shut down the conversation by saying "I'm done" over and over.  I told her I was done, too, with her and with the school.  And I walked out saying that her college has a long way to go before it'll be the "quality" school they wanted me to represent.  In light of that, Big Boss sent me an e-mail today stating that she was reneging on her original offer to pay me through the end of the month.  (Actually, she sent the e-mail to my immediate boss, and then had him send it to me.  And also mentioned that if I had any more questions, I should send them to the immediate boss, too.  Because apparently, she's a huge fan of middlemen.)  Anyway, that's the gist of the story.  I'd be happy to give you specifics about what else was said, but I'll do so when we're talking on the phone.  

So I'm exhausted...I've been going between relief and ambivalence and shock and anger and back to ambivalence...and now finally to some sense of just awfulness.  I feel awful because I don't want to be sponging off the system, but I don't know what I can do for work that will pay my bills but will also hire me with the knowledge that I'll be leaving the country in three months.  And I feel awful because I can't believe I was actually fired--I've never even had a boss that didn't like me, much less fired me.  And I feel really, extremely awful because I want so badly to somehow let Big Boss know that she doesn't have the upper hand, that I don't want her money, and that I knew in the first place that she wasn't going to pay me if I said what I really thought--but that I did it anyway.  

...I don't know what to do with myself at the moment, other than to try and focus on the bigger picture.  I should just do that then, right?  Right...

I ought to get going, I guess.  DJ will be home soon from a day of cliff jumping (yes, cliff jumping) with Kevin, and hopefully he'll take my mind off all this nonsense.  Edgar says hello from the little Jack Skellington platter on my table that he's sleeping in at the moment.  We all hope you're well.  Oh, and I just remembered today that I bought a calling card on Skype some time ago, and that I can use it to call you--from my computer!  Woah, technology.  So I'll do that soon.  And we'll talk, and you'll give me some real perspective on life, I know.  Take care of yourself, please.  Adios, Muchacho.

xo

waddup bretherin! sorry it took me so long to write on this u kno im a computer tard tho. alex finally just pulled up the page for me and here i am now writin u. so thats realy tight u met a friend down there have u met any other cool people? n wat knd of food have u been eating? r u still bein a vegan? that must b hard down there if u r. so im just sittin in a cafe in florida rite now, we got the fl flame, and have been skatin (me n ryan) n beachin it, u kno. but we gotta get like a big trip together when u get back campin or watever it doesnt really matter. so yea, keep holdin it down in africa dude, ur doin it big willie style

one luv

nick

The Irish Have Arrived

The last couple of weeks have been a real turning point during my trip. I had gotten these fleeting feelings of thinking I understood the country I am in and then feeling like that understanding was slipping through my fingers a couple of days later. You can call it culture shock, but more than anything it felt like trying to remember a good dream and finding yourself just shy of recalling the details to know why it was good. But, like I said, the last couple of weeks have been a real turning point. My feet are firmly planted in my own interpretation of Kenya. And, while it may be subjective in parts, it strives to be objective and I can now clearly see this country for what it is.

This understanding couldn't have come fast enough, since in the last week 32 Irishmen from a group called TARA Projects have arrived to help with the construction for the orphanage I've been working on and they are madmen. The first day we had a truck full of cinder bricks that got stuck on the path just outside the construction site about 70 yards from the foundation they needed to be laid on, largely on account of the fact that most Kenyans feel like they have to operate their vehicles like total assholes to be effective drivers, so me and a couple of other guys hopped on top of the load and pitched out 50 or 60 pound bricks into the yard. I nearly fell off at one point since the only decent way of going about throwing them was like a shotput and my footing was a little shaky, but we managed just as well. After the first day I was beat to hell and back, but got invited out to go have a night with the guys from TARA; twist my arm. We stayed up drinking, laughing, and playing cards and after I was through I was offered a spare bed in a room with a guy who had a bit of a snoring problem (yeah, even worse than mine) and I mustn't have gotten more than about 2 hours of sleep.

So, the next day was a little rough going at first, but then I reminded myself of all the all nighters I had pulled going through school and got over it quick. The next couple of days had gone the same, with drivers bringing more bricks in and apparently determined to get their dumb asses stuck at the gate at least once. More than anything, though, I have loved working with these guys. Being at the same work site for a month and digging out a road and some foundations with a pick and a shovel with two other Kenyan workers, we didn't see much progress, needless to say. But since these fellas got here we've nearly completed laying the bricks for the main building of the orphanage and can see huge amounts of progress everyday. I even got some compliments from a couple of guys for being a hard worker, and some fun to have a night out with. I'm pretty content with where I'm at and what I'm doing.

Having really found my bearings last week helped me to take stock of a couple of things: where I am, who I am, and what I miss, and I am very much looking forward to coming home. I miss you guys, but in a good way. I'm determined and happy about soaking up every bit of this experience while I'm here and doing the most and best work I can, but coming home is going to be a real trip. So without getting too corny, I do miss you guys a lot, some days more than others, and it'll be good to get home when it happens. Take care and write something soon. You schmucks are really slackin' on the posts lately.

Zachary

:(

I really miss you lately.  A lot.

I'll post a more substantial update soon.  I hope you're doing extraordinarily well.  And that your head's not too sunburned.

On a Personal Note...

So, it occurred to me the other day that I have been writing almost exclusively about my day-to-day here in Kenya, effectively writing 'at' you all instead of 'to' you. While I want to continue to describe my experience here, and in good detail, it wouldn't kill me to develop more of a personal touch in doing so. I would now like to take a moment to write 'to' each of you, individually, similar to the letter that Alex left her friends and family when she left for Germany...

Mom - I find myself on another continent, working as hard as you taught me how to improve some small pocket of the world with what I have learned from you, from life, from the education that you saw fit to sacrifice for so that I could have. I love you so much and gain more respect for you day by day. I cannot even begin to thank you for everything that you have taken, given, and received during the course of my upbringing, as well as during my adulthood; it seems only fit to use what you have given me everyday of my life, and what you have given me is serving me well. I am, very much, your son.

Alex - I attribute as much of my current disposition to my own want as to the example you set for me growing up. I became vegetarian, twice, and eventually vegan because you did first, and educated me on the advantages to both humans and animals. I attended Webster University, a school that taught me to think of myself as a global citizen instead of entering into the post-youth mentality some pathetic souls die with of only considering themselves. You have been an incredible older sibling and have helped to guide me in some of the most important and simultaneously confusing points in my life. You are my best friend, the one person that I have related to consistently my entire existence. I miss you.

Nick - I don't think there are things in this world stronger than a brother's love, especially when its an older brother to a younger brother. You are incredible, man. While we butted heads on occasion at the house this past year, you also taught me a lot about myself and my capacity to adapt, which at the time was limited at best. Alex and I often called you the smartest of the three of us and, while I've put that debate to rest in my own mind as that all three of us are equal people with different talents, I want you to know that I think you're brilliant. You have a depth that I have been privileged to learn about, especially in living with you during the past year, and I want to acknowledge you for it. I love you, little bro.

Deej - I think of anyone else that I am writing to on this page, our friendship has developed the most over the past few years. On that note, I have developed a respect for you that I have never deliberately told you about, but one that I hope I exude. You may not talk as much as some, but you don't have to; you choose your words wisely, and when none need to be spoken then you are silent. Not to mention, you're like a rock in your family. You have made decisions to become involved with things like veganism and environmental conservatism that reflect how thoughtful you are, and you give me just as great an example to live parts of my life by as my mom and Alex do. Oh, and the gift you gave me before my departure, The Motorcycle Diaries, has been like seeing this part of my life lived by someone else, in a different place at a different time; a road map to a new mentality, you could say. You're wise as hell and, even though it's a small reflection of it, I want you to know that the book has provided a lot of utility out here 'in the bush'.

Mark - It has been great getting to know you over the past years, and I want to thank you for all that you've done for my mom, my family, and myself. You are a genuinely good person. And, when I say that, I mean that you are able to retain a decent amount of cynicism about those things that need to be taken with a grain of salt, but without letting it wear on you. There have been few times that I have seen you without a smile on your face. Thank you, and your family, for helping to make this trip possible and, more than anything, believing in me. My mom has told me a number of times what esteem you hold Alex, Nick, and I in and I want you to know that I feel the same way.

Justin & Kegan - My brothers from another mother. While I am enjoying my life in Kenya very much at the present moment, I miss hanging out with you guys a lot sometimes. From time to time, when there's nothing to do, I picture myself with you guys doing the stuff that we'd do: climbing the bluff, drinking at Friday's for Stag Monday, driving around with either 3OH!3 or German rap playing at an obnoxious level... This summer's going to be great. I miss you guys, and am very much looking forward to continuing in the nature of a true 20-something when I return home, tearin' shit up and what-not.

Warmly,
Zachary

Zack, how ya doing, man?  Alex and I have got FNB STL going again and it looks to be super-powered this time around.  Well, possibly.  Can't promise anything.  Did you know that Nairobi has a Food Not Bombs chapter?  

I've made Alex and me a batch of brownies a week for he past two weeks and we scarf 'em down like hound dogs.  

I'm about finished with this semester of school.  That's pretty exciting.  Just maybe comparable to you seeing a leopard, huh?.....PSYCH!  Seeing a leopard or any animal is more exciting than STLCC.  Man, a real safari would be bad-ass like Bruce.  I know what you're thinking.  Bruce who? Go ahead and pick one.  Bruce Willis, Bruce Lee, Bruce Campbell, Bruce Wayne, or Bruce Springsteen (the working-man's badass).  I think in a Royal Rumble of Bruces, it would be a toss-up between Bruce Willis and Bruce Lee.  But Lee would finish with a fatality, fo sho. Bruce Lee forever, Zack.

Love, D.J. 

P.S. I guess you're wondering why Bruce Wayne wouldn't be included in the top two Bruces.  That's because the Bruce Wayne mentioned in this Royal Rumble is being played by Michael Keaton.  Definitely not bad-assed enough to take on Willis...or maybe even Springsteen.

*This post edited (with love and, of course) by Alex.

Last Tuesday I was taken to a construction site where a new facility is being erected for the orphans that I had been volunteering with in Kibera, the fore mentioned slum located near the capitol of Kenya, Nairobi. I felt instantly at peace with my surroundings and, being able to see a very tangible project that I could dedicate my time and energy to, I requested that I have my work and living accommodations transferred to the site that stood before me and, respectively, to an orphanage located relatively near to my new project. I spent my final day in Kibera with the orphans at Mama Tunza's telling them of my decision, trying to alleviate the discomfort felt on either ends by reminding them that my absence would result in their exodus from the slum being expedited. The situation was exacerbated by the fact that there was a conflict between some residents of Kibera who had, apparently, been stealing electricity for some time and the police. The disturbance began in an area that was a decent distance from the block upon which Mama Tunza's Children's Center is situated, but eventually found its way to that same block. In an effort to flush out the fugitives the police tear-gassed the entire block, and the staff, orphans, and volunteers at Mama Tunza's found themselves in the thick of the shit. It seemed a funny way to leave things. T.I.A. ... This is Africa.

On Thursday I left in the morning with my luggage and a new sense of balance, excited about what I would be able to accomplish at my new project site and the prospect of living in an area that possesses more children than adults, being the orphanage named Shelter that I would call home for the next 2 1/2 months. I arrived and, with my uncanny skills in organization, had pitched all of the articles contained in three pieces of luggage into some shelves and a closet in my new room within the first 90 minutes of my arrival. Afterward, I spent some time reading in my room until a large lunch of chapati (tortillas on steroids, my favorite African source of carbohydrates), lentil stew, and cabbage arrived in the room adjacent to me. In a somewhat awkward attempt to be accommodating to their new guest, the kitchen staff have seen fit to have me sequestered off into a fairly large dining room for all of my meals. While I do enjoy the solidarity, at times, it is nonetheless a fairly peculiar way of letting someone know they are welcome where they are. Fair enough, though. The rest of the day was spent acclimating myself with my new surroundings, being an area characterized by rolling hills, incredibly fresh air, and the nomadic Masai tribe. These are a people that have done an immeasurable job at retaining their cultural and tribal customs in the face of modernization, westernization, and urbanization. But do not be fooled by their ability to survive in remote areas as their being out of touch modernity... they are outstanding businessman and businesswomen. They will literally sell the shirt off their back, a fact that was shown first-hand to me upon arrival at the Masai Mara National Reserve.

The next morning I had my first experience in riding on the back of a motorbike. It was real damn fast, and a lot of fun. While I left the orphanage feeling somewhat groggy, I arrived in Ngong Town wide awake after having the wind whipped in my face which wore a slightly self-destructive smile in not knowing if my driver intended to keep both of our asses on the bike for the duration of our trip. However, we arrived safely and I thanked him for helping me wake up, as well as allotting me an extra 15 minutes with which to arrive at my final destination due to the speed with which he traveled. Good times. I hopped into a matatu, a van that has been modified to escort somewhere between 10-15 passengers, and was on my way to Nairobi. I met some other volunteers who would be going on the same safari at the VICDA office and spent some time reading and checking up on emails. As is usual in Kenya, we were scheduled to leave at 8:00 and punctually departed at 9:40. However, we made good time in getting to Masai Mara and spent the remainder of the day on a game drive in which we spotted a number of species including giraffes, cheetahs, baboons, warthogs, elephants, elands (the antelopes stockier cousin), wildebeests, zebras, and lions; A day well spent, indeed. At the entrance to the park we were flooded by Masai women eager to sell the beads they are famous for fashioning into pieces of jewelry, as well as some other wood carvings created by other indigenous tribes of the area but hawked by the Masai due to their uncanny hawking skills. They literally threw some items onto our laps and called out the price of the item while it was in midair; ruthless tactics. I remained immune the first day but, after considering how many more times I might get the chance to purchase gifts from one of the most famous, and infamous, tribes in Kenya, I gave in as we drove in the following morning. Alex, D.J., Nick, Mom, Grandma, Grandpa, Kegan, Justin, and Chase... I have something for each of you when I return home. Accompanying us was a fellow volunteer named Rachel and her father, David. While I have made it a point to remain open-minded to all things that I am exposed to here, I made my opinions swiftly and, by all indications, correctly after the first day of these two blowhards. David was a fairly loud-spoken man who had taken to deciding to marry a woman from China after developing a stimulating relationship for a whopping 3 months over the internet. He had received my most unfavorable reaction to his ability to project his voice when he decided to act as a human alarm clock the second morning of our safari, alerting another volunteer and me that breakfast was ready like a friggin' drill sergeant. Rachel, a double-major graduate, showed varying signs of intelligence that were ultimately compromised by a complete and utter social ineptness. She struck me as a girl who very rarely did without the things that she desired, and her father affirmed this suspicion. They accompanied me when I asked the driver if he would drive me back to the gate of the park so that I could pick up some gifts I decided would be fitting to certain friends or family members. The two of them were successful in making all three of us looking like money-slinging idiots, ready to whore our wallets out for beads and wood. Perfect. I held my tongue for the entirety of the weekend and, successfully, while I found myself without two things: a conflict, and their want of my phone number to stay in touch after the safari was over.

One of the most illusive animals known in the African Serengeti is the leopard. During the second day in the Mara our driver spotted an impala, dead, slung across a branch of a tall tree... a telltale sign of a leopard nearby. With a combination of patience and luck, the driver managed to get us back to see what he knew to be the only leopard in a 500 kilometer radius in a tree adjacent to the prey it proudly displayed in the fore mentioned tree. The next day we visited Lake Nakuru, an area characterized by white rhinoceroses and an enormous swarming of greater flamingos... you know, the pink ones. After viewing the rhino, we had officially seen what many people set out to do and are willing to pay ridiculous amounts of money in order to view, being The Big Five: lion, leopard, buffalo, elephant, and rhino. It was a safari well spent.

As for recent developments, I am finding myself enjoying my new home and job very much. It is a nice combination of manual labor with some very funny, loyal, and honest Kenyan guys during the morning and early afternoon, thereafter returning to the orphanage I now live in. I am currently serving as a math, science, and english tutor, as well as administering first aid. Thank you, Mom, for helping me build the first aid kit before I left; it is serving the children here very well. The staff have saw fit to call me Dr. Zakayo, Zakayo being the Swahili equivalent of Zachary. I feel useful, and strong, because I feel needed. I'm proving to myself that I am my best when others use me to help them for things greater than myself.

On two final notes... I have been talking to some of the men working with me at the new facility for Mama Tunza's orphans in constructing what would be the first public children's library in Ngong Hills, the very rural, very displaced area I am now living in. They have taken to standing behind me after seeing how hard I am willing to work for them after the first week of construction, and have volunteered to perform the labor for free until I can either raise donations or save money to pay them when I return home. So, Mom, thank you again... my work ethic is not just my initiative, but also a product of your efforts, and has gained respect from people halfway across the world. Be sure to pass that onto Grandpa, too; he deserves my thanks, also. While I would need to fund raise for the costs of building materials, the labor and supplies with which to stock this library, being the materials gathered through the fundraiser at Waterloo High School, are already available. We're already 2/3 of the way there; good stuff. Oh, and the last thing... I shaved my head last Friday. For real.

Take care,
Zachary

Cookies! And kitties!

Wow, so the blog's gone neglected for a little bit.  Sorry about that.  Where are you friends?  Surely I'm not the only one...or maybe I am?  How sad for you.

DJ is making snickerdoodles in the kitchen, from whence I type to you now.  (That's an awesome sentence.  Say it out loud and don't laugh.  Impossible.)  Anyway, why is Deej always baking when you get blog updates?  He's a master baker, that's why.  He says the best thing about vegan baking is that you can eat the dough without concerns of salmonella.  Wuenderbar!  That alone should make everyone want to go vegan right now.  By the way, how is the food thing going in Africa?  And I was thinking about this today: when you come home, should I make you a big, American feast, full of all the stuff you aren't eating in Kenya?  Or would you like for me to try my best at imitating African food, and cook you up your Kenyan dishes?

Today, Edgar went to the vet to get his teeth cleaned.  In order to do dental work on a kitty, one must put the kitty under anesthesia.  (Because, really, who wants to scrape the plaque off the teeth of a combative cat?)  So Edgar was knocked out for most of the day.  And while they had him asleep, they shaved his underside, too.  (Per my request, of course.)  DJ made a good point that it would be super-weird to go to sleep, wake up, and then have minty-fresh breath and a naked belly.  Woah, man!  Needless to say, he's looking a little funny now.  Especially because they had to shave a part of his front leg in order to put in the IV.  So imagine Edgar with a pink belly flopping around and a leg that's normally furry, save the three inches in the middle that are completely bald.

While he was there, the vet did pre-anesthesia blood work to make sure his kitty kidneys and liver were functioning correctly; they called me a few hours after I dropped him off and said that one of the white cell counts came back low, meaning that they would need to run a feline leukemia/AIDS test on him.  Oh, I was so scared...and I was sitting at a school, doing a lunchroom visit, when they called--so I could do nothing else but fidget and worry for the hour it took them to call back.  Luckily, everything came back negative, so no kitty cancers in our tiny friend.  Good thing!

All right, so I've realized that I just spent the last 15 minutes telling you all about my cat.  And I think you're one of the only people I know who probably wouldn't find that annoying.  (Thanks for that.)

Everything else not Edgar-related is also going well.  Work is fine and about to finish, at least for six weeks.  I don't have to teach this Spring quarter, so even if they need me to teach in the Summer, I still have off for a month and a half, starting May 15th.  Hoo-rah!

The big Forest Park Earth Day festival is coming up this weekend.  DJ and I are working at the St. Louis Animal Rights Team information booth, preaching the good word about veganism.  Can I get an AMEN?!  Other than that, I don't think there are any big plans.  Ooh, wait!  I forgot about DJ's art show.  He entered a student competition/show held by his school, and he got in.  So on Friday we get to go act like art snobs and attend the opening gala.  I don't think the school is really calling it a gala, by the way.  But I sure as hell am.  I hope there's bubbly.

I'm off to eat snickerdoodles.  

xo, Alex 

P.S. Tell me about the safari!  

Just...you know...

I really wish I could call you up and talk to you right now...

But by the time you get this, it probably won't even be important anymore.  So don't worry or anything, but know that the convenience of your sound advice is missed right now.

xo, Alex

Kolmer and Kenya

The past week has been a trip. So much has happened that, even with my incredible, compulsive powers of organization, I have a difficult time figuring out where to start, or how to prioritize my thoughts. I suppose we'll do it chronologically, to an extent...

On Monday, Danny and I began our work at Mama Tunza's Children's Center, an orphanage and school that provides a place to sleep and 2-3 meals a day, for some, and an education, for fewer. A student there is convinced that I am his ticket out of Kibera, but he shows little aptitude in his schoolwork and even less potential in his ability to speak English. Unfortunately, another case of someone looking for money that will only get them as far as the next month or two. I have grown accustom to being asked profusely for money, ranging from amounts as small as 10 KSh (10 Kenyan shillings; approximately $0.13 in the U.S.), all the way to 500 KSh (about $6.50). The natives are indiscriminate to the age of the person they are asking; the only important part is that you are Muzungu, or a person of non-African appearance. However, regardless of how used to I have become of being asked for "help", I find it especially frustrating to be asked by this 'student' who rarely comes to class, the class I am voluntarily teaching, to ask me to 'sponsor' him in going to college. I openly refuse his offer, politely of course, but he continues to ask daily.

I have begun teaching science and math classes which began last week and, considering that the students at the children's center are actually on holiday for the last and present weeks, I saw fit to reward those students that attended class with a folder containing a ruler, some loose-leaf paper, and a calculator, as well as novels that I left open for them to democratically decide who would get which. They were thrilled, and actually applauded after I had told them that everything that I distributed was there's to keep. I was so happy for them, and am thrilled about the amount of materials still tentatively on their way to help them further their education in any capacity possible. I told them "You are all good students; hopefully this will help to make you better students". I want so much for these kids, which makes it so difficult to see the staff at the center hindering their progress either by laziness, ignorance, or volition.

For example... yesterday, during the Easter party, I was signalled by a young boy of about 6 or 7 named Brian to come upstairs with him. He walked to the back of the classroom and held up his shoes, a cheaply-made version of Krocs that had been worn so thoroughly that the edge of the shoes had disintegrated and left his toes bare. As Brian has not yet begun to learn much English, or Swahili for that matter, I have no means to communicate with him other than physical gestures. Linguistics aside, Brian is a very smart little boy and takes well to these non-verbal directions. I motioned for him to follow me across the small walkway to a closet full of supplies that had previously been donated by other volunteers. This closet, as Danny and I found it, was a product of years of non-action as it is littered with items that would find much utility if distributed to the children. The long and short is that the items have never been organized by age, gender, etc. and therefore have never met the children to whom they were originally donated to. Needless to say, Danny and I were both ready to take the bull by the horns when we stumbled across this carelessly established shit-storm and began organizing the closet the first day we arrived at the project site so that we could start disseminating the supplies to the kids before we both leave. However, back to the present... Mama Tunza, an ignorant gate-keeper of a woman who keeps the kids from "ruining things", seemingly her excuse for haphazardly tossing donated items into a closet that never sees the light of day, was in her office talking to some friends directly adjacent to the closet I have been mentioning. Brian, knowing full well the ramifications of Mama Tunza seeing him enter said closet, looked at me with blatant anxiety from across the walkway, silently letting me know that he could not walk with me. I understood immediately and entered into the closet brazenly, inviting a confrontation with Mama Tunza by being as conspicuous as possible while procuring the shoes. I walked past her office with the shoes in plain sight, but she didn't budge. Brian and I went back to the original classroom and, being that the shoes were the only in Brian's size that were available and lacked shoe strings, I put them on his dirty feet and wrapped them tight with some medical tape that was in my pocket.

Being at the center is a delight and a frustration, all in the same. I try my best to remind myself as frequently as possible that I am there for the kids, not to confront the administration of the center as to the corrupt and volatile way they choose to operate their shitty little establishment. Therefore I make a conscious effort as soon as I step inside to surround myself with the children there and to keep my distance from Mama Tunza and the staff. While I cannot truthfully say that the non-volunteering adults are bad people, I can truthfully say that they think slightly more about themselves than they do about the children that they care for. It is a difficult situation, but an opportunity to instigate a serious and profound change all the same. The children are so appreciative of what they have because, without Mama Tunza and the staff, they would have nothing and something is always better than nothing in Kenya. But when you reflect upon the innocence and the potential of these children and the examples that are being set for them, I feel no degree of pride in saying that I can do better for them if given the same tools as Mama Tunza and her cronies. I believe I have found my life's plight here in Kenya and, while it may not stay here specifically, I know that I have seen the side of life that I can change, and help. I have had such a full and fortunate life and the staples of that life, the things that cost nothing and that anyone can own, being friendship, love, honesty, integrity, and wisdom are truly virtues. I did not know the real meaning of that word, virtue, until I came here. It's easy to bet big when you have a lot to bet, but if you can know that you are the same person when the chips are down as when they are up, you are virtuous. I don't expect to change Africa, or Kenya, or Nairobi, or probably even the children's center during my time here. During my lifetime is a different story. But, what I can do now is change the minds of the people around me, and that's exactly what I intend to do.

I began reading Echoes In Our Hearts this past weekend. For those of you not familiar with this book, it chronicles the lives and untimely deaths of five Sisters who worked in a mission together in Liberia, West Africa. Two of these Sisters were my great aunts, Sister Shirley Kolmer and Sister Mary Joel Kolmer. Reading about these incredible woman has inspired me with so much hope for my work here, as well as motivated me to want to return to Kenya in the near future to establish a children's center after I have graduated medical school. I have never felt so connected to my family in all of my life and could not be more convicted that I had to come here, to Kenya, now. Reading about Shirley, specifically, has been a treat. To hear about her commandeering a U.S. army vehicle with another Sister for a little joy ride, studying and teaching mathematics, becoming the Director of Scholastics at St. Louis University, and her impatience with administration, and others, that lacked her vision and ability to see many alternatives to a problem simultaneously put a smile on my face for 20 pages straight. I was enthralled when I came across Arthur, the father of Shirley, as I recognized immediately where my grandfather and I both get our middle names from, a fact that I have proudly had inscribed across both of my shoulder blades. My last name might be Graff, but I know that I am a Kolmer and always have been. As it turns out, being stubborn, smart, and honest has run in my family for a long time and doesn't have a damn thing to do with blood.

I hope you all enjoyed your Easter. We did not do anything special at my home stay, but we had a spectacular party at the center that the kids really enjoyed. Danny, Hannah, and I all brought snacks and drinks that the kids devoured ravenously, coming back for seconds and fifths in which they held their hands out in a familiar gesture resembling children that have asked me for money. You do not fully understand the meaning of 'take it while you can get it' until you see about 20 orphans jokingly fighting over 5-10 pieces of candy. They were happy, so I was happy.

Have a good week, and talk to you all soon. Thanks for all the posts.

Zachary

Hey kiddo, Happy Easter! Did your host family celebrate?

It's been a great weeekend so far. Alex, Jen and I went out for her birthday yesterday. Jen and I got to Alex and DJ's house and made breakfast for everyone. It was great, complete with Mimosas and Bloody Marys. Then we left and went to Kirkwood for massages. She wasn't very surprised by that She had made a couple phone calls to me throughout the week digging for information on what we were doing and I tried to throw her off, but she was ahead of the game and she figured it out. But.....she was surprised by the next stop. We went to a place named Yucando. It is a studio for any type of arts and crafts that you could ever imagine. Alex made a window box and Jeni and I made this absolutely tacky, crazy, wild colored picture frame. It was a lot of fun. We finished the night with Sushi and cocktails. All in all I think she had a good day.

Today, Alex and I went to church in St. Louis at Unity church and then came home. So, as I sit and type you my house is full. Which you know I love! Sarah Outland, her boyfriend Kunal (sp?) DJ (who is baking Alex birthday cupcakes) and Alex are all here. Nick is at work but will join us later at grandma's and said he will probably spend the night in the hoo. So, we're off to grandma's in a bit to dine on mounds of chocolate!

Well, that should bring you up to date. I'd love to hear from you soon.

Take care,
Love, Mom

Americana + Springtime

Hello, hello again, Little Bro.  

I'm writing to you from my tiny concrete balcony, enjoying a glass of fine wine (thanks, Mark!), and breathing Midwestern Springtime air--by far, the best there is, next to Midwestern Fall air.  Yes indeed, Spring is in full force here.  I hope, anyway.  Today was a glorious 60-something degrees with sehr viel sunshine in the sky.  Of course, this happy Wednesday came on the heels of the typical and unseasonable April snow shower and its subsequent freezing temperature (thanks, Global Climate Change!).  But that was sooo Monday, and who cares now, right?  I think we're in for at least two or three weeks of Springy-ness before we're inundated with the swamp-like conditions of Midwest Summertime.  But I guess I oughtn't be complaining to you about hot weather, eh?

Here are some pictures I've been taking around town the last few days (save the day it snowed).  Feel free to use them to inspire envy in the hearts of Africans and other volunteers not from here.

So, for the record, I patently deny having called DJ an idiot after leaving the airport.  I only said he didn't seem affected at all by your departure.  But apparently he was.  I should've known.  He is, after all, my international man o' mystery.  Okay, record straight.

Today, I visited a few schools about 50 miles west of St. Louis.  Usually, I go out I-44 to get to them, but today I went via Manchester because I had to drop off Deej at the Trickey residence to help Kevin with a painting job.  Anyway, have you ever driven the entire stretch of commercial Manchester, starting at I-270?  It's nothing but a 10 mile hole of box stores and car dealerships.  To sorta quote the great Dr. HST, commercial Manchester is where the whole bourgeois world would go if the Nazis had won the war.  And yet, the Nazis did not win the war, and still a large concentration of the STL bourgy crowd seems to flock to this pimple on the face of our fair metro region.  I hate Manchester and I hate everything that looks like it and functions like it and aspires to be like it.  And I fear commercial Manchester will be--if it's not already--the prototype for the rest of this country.  It embarrasses me as an American.  

In any case, I thought of you and of how much you must be enjoying the relative remoteness and genuineness of Africa.  And I thought of how, only 100 years ago, "going to the city" was supposed to be an adventure and maybe even a vacation.  Now, "going to the country" is an escape for people...and those patches of country are increasingly few and far between.  Well, I'll be claiming my patch sooner than later, hear you me.  And you're welcome to come be the resident physician/man o' science/buddy and entertainer to all when that day arrives.  It'll be called Farmony: a farm in harmony with the animals who will find rescue and refuge there, the multitudes of fruits and veggies that will be grown there, the people who will care for this piece of American heaven, and the surrounding nature that shall grow as wild as it damn well pleases.  Naysayers of idealism, you can go to hell.  Farmony will be, and it will be soon. 

Anyway, enough about me and about all the visions of future loveliness that are dancing in my head.  Your adventure in the airports on your way to Kenya sounds like it was capital-a Awesome.  No, I'm not being snide.  I mean it.  If the start to your trip had gone smoothly and according to plan, it would've been much more bearable and less frustrating, and equally less interesting and more ho-hum.  Yes, you had somewhere to be and a much grander adventure to get started, but the time you spent in the airports only made the landing that much more exciting, no?  (You like how I started the sentence on 'yes' and ended on 'no'?  English language mastery, my friend.)  Those airport adventures and adventures of the like are the shit of life.  (I'm coining that term right now: The Shit of Life.)  I'm a little jealous.  I am, however, not jealous of the fact that you lost a piece of luggage.  But I guess traveling through Africa with no First Aid kit will be another adventure, eh?

Kudos on winning your race.  And kudos on immediately finding what must be the slowest group of Africans on the continent.

Interjection: There's a cardinal hopping around in our yard.  What a treat!  (Go ahead and make fun of me for using old lady terminology.)

Anyway, I probably should be wrapping up this post.  I'm glad things are going so well and that you've already found "home" in Kenya.  I hope your time there continues to go the same way your first week has gone.  I miss you a lot and have almost tried to call you on a number of occasions, which instantaneously makes me a little sad...but then I just call Kegan to hang out, and he's a fine replacement. 

xo, Alex

Hello!!!

Yo Zack Dog hows it going? To me it sounds like its going good.  Lets see...first I want to apologize for my behavior at the airport.  For some reason I was happy to see you go... in a proud way and didn't think the whole thing out.  Like the fact we would not be seeing each other for three months and neither would the people that love you the most.  Alex let me know I'm an idiot so you don't have to now.  I can't think of anything really cool happening lately.  I won $250 in poker on Saturday that was cool.  Alex and me have been going out to eat a lot and that pisses her off, but fuck it, I take her where I want, ya know?  

Its cool you dig The Motorcycle Diaries, I thought that part of his life was almost parallel to yours.  I haven't read them yet but will when you get back.  I think during this time in his life is when he decides a political movement to follow.

     Heyyy!!! Did you really get pick pocketed or did you just lose your phone?  

Adios Amigo D.J.

my first blog

Hello Zack, I really hope this makes it to you...Being this is my first blog and I am not sure I am doing it totally right. So if you don't get this....i guess you won't know ha! Your trip sounds great!! I am so excited to hear what has been going on. I, like your mom sure miss you. I would love to write something creative and funny, but mostly I want you too know I am thinking and praying for you daily. Keep having fun and let me know all the details. I wish I could write as well as Alex.....what a great writer she is....I am enjoying her blogs greatly....its like I am sitting there listening to her....your writing is the same way so keep it up!! Be safe....Mark

The Rundown

Day 1: As I left the terminal to check my bag, as well as my friends and family, I felt like my trip had already begun. I had that familiar tingling in my stomach from when I made my ventures to find work in Chicago, but much deeper, and slightly more unnerving due to the fact that I hadn't slept more than 2 hours the night prior. I knew I was getting into something big, and to say I was excited didn't do it justice. Either way, I headed to my departure gate with my eyes locked on what was ahead of me. I arrived with plenty of time... plenty of time. My flight ended up leaving one hour late, which set me a bit off kilter to start. Once we were up in the air, I felt it was a bit premature to enjoy my "departure"; once I'm out of the states, I thought, then I'll have something to celebrate. Once I'm in Kenya, then I'll have something to lose my shit over. I was pleased that I paced my mentality because, as it was, the plane did not arrive anywhere close to its scheduled landing time. As we neared JFK Airport the pilot informed the passengers that there was a heavy fog cover that made it unsafe to land and that he had been flying in a holding flight pattern over the airport waiting for it to clear, but to no avail. This cost us a considerable amount of fuel, as well as patience judging from the responses of the passengers, and the pilot was forced to land every disgruntled ass aboard in a small airport in Pennsylvania. While we were there, I rebooked my original flight that was scheduled to leave at 8:30 pm from NYC to 11:20 pm. At the time, it was 9:30 pm and the pilot approximated our departure to landing time at approximately 35 minutes. No problem in being on time, right? AHAHAHA.... We were put into another holding pattern over JFK just as we were about to land, costing me my second booking. I had missed the 11:20 pm flight by about 10 minutes by the time I arrived at the security gate. Tough. Shit. I went to the Delta customer "service" counter to rebook, once more, and was greeted by a man with finely trimmed facial hair, enough jewelry to open a pawn shop, and a plastic smile. He was either Arabic or Indian by descent but, nationality aside, completely incompetent. Within 10 minutes of approaching the counter I was being "assisted" by no less than three agents, all three of them adding to each other's difficulty in handling my problem with any sensibility whatsoever. After a solid hour, I was told that the soonest flight I would be able to take to London would be 6:20 pm the following evening. I shook the hand of the, seemingly, most intelligent agent of the three, grabbed my carry-on and sleeping bag, and decided I would sleep at the airport, considering that one of the agents had told me that "Delta is not responsible for the weather" and, thus, would not cover the cost of a hotel for the evening. I suppose I would have to be, in that case.



Day 2: I awoke with an employee of the airport hovering over me and as soon as I had opened my eyes he asked me "Are you going to move?" I responded curtly that I would as soon as I was rested and, after watching him walk away and feeling as though I had won the bizarrely rude confrontation, wrapped my sleeping bag up, put on my belt and shoes, and walked off to find a different bench. Walking across an airport that you have never been to and do not care to stay at at dawn is a task not done without some internal complaining; however, I arrived in the food court and found a semi-circular bench that looked like it would do well enough, and I passed out again for another hour or two. I awoke this time with many people staring at me, but not for the same reason as the airport employee; I knew parts of my hair were standing on end, and that I had worn my contacts the previous day when I knew I shouldn't have. I looked like death warmed over. So, again, I collected my things and this time headed to the nearest bathroom to take a dry shower, so to speak, and to try to pull myself together a bit. The remainder of the day was unventful, aside from spotting and being received by a Samuel Adams Bar after passing through the security gate. It was like seeing water in the desert and I helped myself to some Summer Ale and Cherry Wheat before I stepped off to my gate, already being half-asleep and feeling half-drunk afterward. I plopped down in a chair at my gate with some makimono, a smoothie with a shit-ton of Vitamin C (yes, mom, I am watching out for my health everyday; still haven't smoked a cigarette!), and my head feeling warm and heavy. After eating, I read another chapter of The Motorcycle Diaries and literally passed out during the last paragraph of the chapter. I awoke with a slight amount of drool on my face and, feeling a bit embarrassed and disoriented, decided to make one last trip to the bathroom before my flight departed. Good thing; I suppose the depth of my sleep dictated how horrid I was to look after awaking, because this time I could barely pick out a patch of blue in my pupils amidst the red haze of the remainder of my eyes. I walked back to the gate and read until we were ready to depart. The flight was, thankfully, nothing to speak of. I met a pleasant, plump man with a fantastic sense of humor named Matthew that was on his way to London, then France, for business. We talked for a bit and I slept the rest of the way.



Day 3: I awoke to a child having a less than pleasant experience being stuck on a plane for approximately 8 hours and looked over to find my new friend awake. He stated that he never did sleep well on international flights, adding to the effects of jet lag. I felt rested, but still a little fried from the happenings of the past few days, as well as having my legs cramped from all of the sitting on planes and half-crunches I was doing in sleeping on a bench at JFK. Regardless of how my body felt, it was now hovering over England and preparing to touch down at Heathrow Airport; finally something to take some stock in. I left the gate in a hurry, remembering how close I had come to catching my initial flight in NYC to London and making an internal promise that I would not let the same happen again. I took care of a couple of tasks that could not be done without; obtaining some coffee, taking my second dry shower, and attempting to make a call home and to the volunteer agency in Kenya to arrange for a new pick-up time from Jomo-Kenyatta airport. The latter of these three tasks took the longest time and proved to be the biggest waste of time, simultaneously. Even with an internation calling card and the slight assistance of an operator I found myself incapable of contacting those who needed to be contacted. Somehow the 110 minute layover had expired in almost no time at all, and I boarded a coach that would take me to the gate for my final departure: London to Nairobi. I saw a girl who I would later come to know as Clair standing across from me on the coach that I knew, with 99% certainty, was a fellow volunteer. She was wearing an expression of steady eagerness and looked externally the way that I felt internally. I didn't buy into my intuition, as I thought it was probably compromised from the lack of sleep, and the remaining 1% uncertainty made it such that it would be wholly uncomfortable if I were wrong. However, I found out later I was dead on the mark, as we both ended up meeting the first day of orientation and recognized each other from that day on the coach. But, back to the present... We arrived at the gate and I stumbled across the rows to my seat near the middle of the plane. I found myself sitting next to a girl who had been offered work in Kenya traveling to Kerichio to establish intellectual property rights for a tribe that was developing a specific brand of tea; a sort of economical Gregor Mendel. On the other side sat Clifford, a native of Kenya that was on his way home to visit his family after working on developmental projects in D.C. for a little over 9 months; needless to say, his eagerness outweighed my own, bordering anxiety if he weren't so happy to be on his way home. Cliff was gracious enough to teach me some useful phrases in Swahili and give me a rough guide to Kenya's culture. The girl, Charlotte, was very pleasant and had a fantastic sense of humor, but her extroversion was stunted by the fact that I was far too exhausted to be flirtatious. Either way, it was a good flight to end my journey on. Cliff and I exchanged emails and Charlotte and I agreed that we would purchase our visas and collect our luggage together: friends made. While the visas were fairly straight forward, the luggage was not. As of now, I am still waiting on a bag that contains my first aid kit, CLIF and granola bars, and some very useful shit when it comes time to go on safari. As for that night, I was missing all three bags. I filed a report with the baggage department at Jomo-Kenyatta airport and decided that I would not allow my lack-thereof to keep me from enjoying the country that I had dreamed of being in for the past two years. I walked out front and was pleasantly surprised to find a driver from my volunteer agency, accompanied by four or five other volunteers. I greeted them all, exasperated but trying to hide it, and the driver escorted us to a conversion van that would take us to our respective accommodations for the night. We all made fairly generic conversation about where we were from, what our projects were, and what made us want to volunteer; what's important is that I arrived at my accommodation, with another volunteer named Erik, and was greeted with smiles food. I had made the mistake of not requesting ahead vegan meals on the plane and, as such, I had eaten two CLIF bars and two rolls with Italian dressing the entire day. As soon as I sat down I felt I had something in common with the hyenas I knew to inhabit my new home country. I managed to put away four slices of bread and three apples before feeling as though I would burst at the seems with fiber and carbohydrates. I spoke to my host family long enough to not appear rude and asked to be directed to my room. I. PASSED. OUT.

Day 4: The next morning I awoke with sleep almost sealing my eyes shut and a familiar, wet feeling against the side of my cheek; I woke up smiling. Not only had I finally gotten the sleep I needed for the past 72 hours, but also managed to completely eliminate any chance of jet-lag setting in whatsoever. Coming in at a close second was a hot shower, and I felt right as rain. Breakfast was fantastic, and very vegan-friendly on account of the frugality that must be practiced by most Kenyans. Animal products are used sparingly and foods are not prepared or processed with eggs, milk, or butter to nearly the same ridiculous extent as what is found in the U.S. I helped myself to bread with vegetable margarine, mixed fruit (pineapple, mango, passion fruit, and watermelon), fruit juice, water, and tea. Erik, as well as another volunteer I had the pleasure of meeting the night before, Danny, and I thanked our host mom for her hospitality and prepared to leave for our first day of orientation. We were greeted by the same driver that had dropped us off the previous night, James, who constantly looks some strange combination of hungover and strung out, but is by all indications mentally stable. The drive through our neighborhood was endlessly interesting and a 15 minute drive to some other volunteers' home-stay felt like 2 minutes to my brain. Elly and Trish hopped in the van and greeted us smiling; Elly, being from Australia, had an accent that was interesting to listen to, which helped to supplement what she was actually saying. Trish presented herself within 2 minutes as motherly, stubborn, and smart; qualities I typically appreciate, if not for her presenting overwhelming tones of obsession and compulsion. Regardless of my opinion, I knew she would be, holistically, a fantastic nurse at the volunteer she would be volunteering at. After about a 20 minute drive we arrived at the Harlequin Suites Hotel in Jamhuri Estate, a hotel that I would find out later was no longer than a minute walk to my permanent home-stay. The orientation was informative and strict, being instructed on the rules of our volunteering and being coerced to sign a Masonic code of conduct during our stay here. I have every intention of holding myself to more stringent rules than what V.I.C.D.A. could put into effect for me, but the notion of "agreeing to behave myself" by signing a piece of paper is a ludicrous notion for someone over the age of 16. After arriving back at my temporary home-stay my host brother, Derick, invited Erik and me to a game of basketball about 5 blocks from our neighborhood of Langata. We gladly accepted, changed shoes, and headed out to meet his friends with him. I was happy to have to race some Kenyans across a basketball court that evening, as I had been without any exercise for 3 days and felt like I was forming some half-assed clots in my legs. My enthusiasm, as well as my teammates', paid off and two white boys and three Kenyans managed to beat a team composed of nothing but natives, including a guy my own age that had a good 6-8 inch height advantage (not jumping; probably a good foot if we were both in the air) that Derick saw fit to assign me when we played man-to-man defense. It was a good night, and we were invited to come back anytime we wanted to repeat it. Once we arrived back home my host mom, who behaves much like my grandmother, verbally forced me to take a shower before I was allowed to eat. I agreed, and found myself at the dinner table shortly there after. The remainder of the evening was used to organize a couple of things for day two of orientation and to learn more of the Mau Mau Rebellion, an 11 year war that spurred Kenya's liberation from Britain and current democratic disposition, from the mouth of a native Kenyan, being my host mom. I fell into bed, again, happily having my brain overloaded with information and knowing sleep would help to absolve most of it into long-term memory.

Day 5: I awoke the next morning slightly less drunk from sleep and hopped into the shower before the other two volunteers even had a chance to roll over out of bed. There are few things that I enjoy more than taking my time in the morning before what I know will be a long day and was pleased that I had haphazardly awoken with enough time to do so. The breakfast was similar to the previous morning's. James, however, arrived 30 minutes later, and when he began to show signs of being late I used the extra time to make a small entry into my video journal of my current surroundings and host family. The time was well spent and every member of the family was pleased to know that my family would inadvertently meet my host family. The second day of orientation was spent performing some obligatory tasks, such as purchasing a cell phone, taking note of important facilities, and acclimating ourselves with African cuisine. The highlight of the day, however, was a visit to an animal orphanage in which I was able to see lions, leopards, lemurs, monkeys, and buffalo, even managing to pet a cheetah under some careful supervision from some of the orphanage employees. By mistake, I introduced myself for a second time to a volunteer that I had met the night I arrived in Kenya, only to be met by an uncomfortable stare and an awkward voice saying "We already met. I'm Karen." Woops. While she may be a bit of a wallflower I still knew it was my mistake, nonetheless. That evening we were taken to our permanent accommodations and Danny and I learned that we would be staying together for our 3 month placement in Jamhuri Estate with a nice woman named Monicah Getonye (gay-TONE-yay). Fine by me; he's a southerner, living a lifestyle I have always been partial to, and we've been getting along swimmingly ever since. We both seem to find a lot of humor in how incredibly insane nearly every non-native woman we've met is, to one extent or another; Danny is 50, and I am 23, making our collective perspectives more factual than not. He speaks broken Swahili that always makes Monicah and me laugh; we're half-sure he does it on purpose, but he never lets on if we're right or not. Imagine hearing an African language with a southern accent, rarely placing consonant and vowel combinations in correct sequence, and tell me if you don't start laughing out loud.

Days 6-8: My days begin around 7:00 at which point I perform the necessaries and go for a 2 or 3 mile run along the foothills of Ngong Road, a busy spans of highway that is bordered by equally long dirt paths perfect for running and noticing the sights from a safe distance. Some of the morning showers make it more difficult, as I'll have to dodge puddles composed of what could either be mud or crap (public defalcation and urination are both legal here), but nothing difficult enough to keep me from runnign altogether. After arriving at home I'll take breakfast and a shower and collect my things to go to work for the day. The project site is called Mama Tunza Children's Center, an orphanage and school collectively located in the same "compound" on the outskirts of Kibera. Some fun facts about Kibera: it is the largest slum in East Africa and also takes home the medal for largest urban slum on the African continent. It is approximately 75% of the size of Times Square and is home to about 1.2 million people. Of all of the people infected with HIV in Kenya, it is estimated that 20% of those infected live in Kibera. It is small, and huge, and dense, and sparse all at once. The children at Mama T's, an affectionate nickname developed by Danny, typically come from one of three backgrounds: either they cannot be financially supported by their parents or guardians, they have lost their family to HIV/AIDS, or they are abused and, as opposed to taking to the streets, they are taken in by the staff at the home. There are currently four volunteers there. Nathan and Hannah, volunteers from the U.K., Danny, and I come in around 9:30 and stay until about 2 or 3, performing tasks such as playing with and mentoring the kids at the center and, in my case, teaching. Today I cleaned up three classrooms, preparing them for the students after they return from holiday next week, and then taught a math and a science lesson. Following work I walk 30 minutes back to my homestay and drop any number of items off and take to tasks such as returning emails, doing laundry, and reading: relatively normal for being in another country.

So, that's life for the past week or so. I'll have to wait until next time for the lesson in Swahili, as Danny's computer is about out of battery power. Until then, thank you all for keeping in touch, and I will continue to do the same. Take care.

Zachary