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

Jambo Sana!

This is just a quick post to tell you all how happy I am to be here and, simultaneously, how much I miss you guys. I could not feel anymore that this is exactly where I need to be and exactly what I need to be doing at this point in my life. I am growing so much everyday and am in love with how much I get to learn simply by being in a different place in the world. I will be sitting down for a good hour before this Friday and update you all on everything, from the fiasco of trying to get out of the states, to working in the largest urban slum on the African continent, to getting into a game of basketball with another (white) volunteer and three Kenyans and beating a full team of Kenyans, and everything in between. Each of you guys gave me so much to get where I am, physically, mentally, financially; I am very appreciative and want to give you as much of my experience as I possibly can in return. Take care, and check out the blog soon; I want to include a short lesson in Swahili when I make the next entry. Oh, yeah, that's right... I speak Swahili now. Kenya dig it?

Kwaheri ya kuanana!
(Goodbye, until I see you again!)

dude, i dont really know how this all works... im just jumpin right in to say hey, im bored in kc... ur savin lives, you win.. nuff said, next topic, i miss you, thats right i said it, and i meant it, nuff said... on to the next, im danicing all the time, ur saving lives, u win nuff said


i love u man cant wait to see u

Sing a song of cigarettes (and kitties).

Jambo!  That's Swahili for "hello," which is news to me, but probably not to you.

About an hour ago, something got into me and said, "Alex, go smoke a cigarette!"  The only one I had to smoke was that Newport that Nick so generously left for you at your party.  So I sat out in the rain and puffed away at it like I didn't notice how nasty it was.  And now my chest and I are regretting that decision.  Blech...Newports.

On my way home from jazzercising this afternoon, I realized that I don't have anyone with whom I can drive around and sing extremely loudly...not until July, anyway.  And so, in your honor, I put on a Weezer song and 'belted it out', as they say.  When I got bored with that, I put on "Jesus Walks" and really belted it out.  Because sometimes a girl like me just has to shut off the NPR and let out the large, soulful, black woman that lives deep within.  I know you know how that goes.

Edgar's just sitting by the side of the bed, watching me type and telling me with his saucer-like eyes that he misses you (that's what I assume he's saying, anyway).  So here's a picture I took of him to include in this post for you--per his request, of course.  It's sort of arty, which was also done by his request.

All right, Bro, it's off to bed for me so's I can wake up muy early tomorrow and give a presentation at 7:00 AM.  I hope everything is going amazingly well and that you're taking care of yourself.  Till next time.

xo, Alex

Zack, I don't know if you know about this yet, but.....what a great idea.

I guess you've been really busy. I can't wait to hear how things are going for you, so 2 days is long enough to keep me guessing. Call already would you? This week has been busy, on purpose. Thank you for the message. You know I'll save that for a very long time, maybe forever. Can cell phones save messages forever????? OK, enough babble. Call me. Love you. Mom