Harambee Sat, 5/12 5-9P

What is 65?

I didn’t think turning 65 would bother me, but it has made me pause. I know now that most of my time has been used. I’m ok with that. I have been talking to a few people about how One Village at a Time got started. I pulled out a video that I put together several years ago.

I look at myself, listen to my words and it seems decades ago. I hear my American voice and I know that the people didn’t understand my nasal accent and me. I see that I was the one doing the work and being lady bountiful. I am almost embarrassed that the people in the film had to be the kindergarten where I first learned how to work in Africa. I hope I did more good than harm.

It’s only been 10 years since I started, but what a journey it has been. Learning patience, accepting the vicissitudes of everyday life over there, keeping hope up when you’re about to fall off the cliff.

The first program was in Siaya. I remember I was so proud that we were feeding, clothing and paying school fees for 18 kids for $4000. How naïve I was. We do that now for little more than $100. I had to learn to get better partners, and that you need to pay people over there. Otherwise the money they get is just too tempting to take a piece of.  And sometimes they do even if you do pay them.  I fled that fiasco when I found that the woman who was supposed to be running the program took all the money. Thank heavens for an understanding board.

The second program got better. We went into schools. I counted on a community organizer to help the program go. It was supposed to be cost sharing, but we never got accurate accounts, and they never made any progress. See, I was still seen as Lady Bountiful with unlimited funds. They had no impetus to change. Oh and that leader, he left for Mombasa and never told me.

But today, when I spoke to Monica in Kigali, I knew we were there. Our program is crisp and clean. I am the woman behind the curtain. No longer do the villagers see me as anything more than a curious white girl. Our team in the field is tough and organized. I found out that when the team went to one school and the parents had not put in their contribution, the team packed up and left. Yesssss. Monica went on to tell me of the changes in the team, all of them good.

We work together, she and I. We are on the same wavelength. We share the same vision. Get these communities up and running and self-sustaining as fast as possible. We laugh over the schools we thought would do poorly are now succeeding. We commiserate over a dishonest worker Monica had to fire. We lay plans for the future

I have come such a long way from the skinny woman I see in that old film. I speak Kenyan English, I don’t fall for the pity party, I continue to love and be blessed by what I do. I know 65 is a number, but it is a number I’ve thought about all my life as an ending and for me, I’m still in the middle of something. So I hope there’s no ending any time soon

Vigilante Justice for Teachers

From time to time people ask me about the schools in Kenya. They wonder mostly about things like computers and assume that because the schools we work in are so poor the kids probably don't learn much. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I, frankly, find that the kids know more in more languages than our kids of the same age do.

In November the National Exams take place for 8th graders. These are the most important exams the kids will take until they graduate secondary school. They are called the KPCE's and the marks will be the ticket to a good school, a national school, or not. Parents, who often don't have much to do with the schools until the exams, worry greatly about the exams and the results can be tragic to say the least.

This year a couple of young girls committed suicide because of their marks, and today I read that a headmaster killed himself because of the poor showing of the children in his school.
But instead of my describing it, here's the article from the Nation.

By Nation Team Newsdesk@ke.nationmedia.com
Posted  Wednesday, January 4  2012 at  22:00

IN SUMMARY

• One headteacher commits suicide and others have been assaulted and run out of school as angry parents vent their anger over poor examination results
• Parents protesting against their children’s poor performance in last year’s exam take out their anger on school heads, roughing them up and locking them out of institutions

A headteacher committed suicide and scores of others were roughed up by irate parents protesting against poor results in last year’s KCPE examination.

One school head was badly injured, another was dragged out of his office and warned never to set foot in the school.

Six others were locked out of their offices by angry parents as the new school term started.

In a number of schools across the country, headteachers just went into hiding, fearing attacks from parents after their schools performed poorly, raising serious questions about the safety of teachers and school administrators.

Results cancelled

Police in Narok County confirmed that the headteacher of Kalyet Primary School in Mulot Division, Mr Geoffrey Kiplang’at Sigei, had taken his life after the school’s results were cancelled by the Kenya National Examinations Council over irregularities.

Mr Sigei’s body was found by relatives in a tea plantation in Bureti District on Tuesday.

Before he committed suicide, the headteacher had gone into hiding after learning that all his 38 candidates had failed to obtain their results since their English and Kiswahili scores were cancelled, said Bureti police boss Smollets Munyianzi.

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He initially sought refuge at a relative’s home and then said he was going to visit a friend on New Year’s day, never to be seen alive again, according to the police boss.

The family started looking for the teacher from the time he left the relative’s home until Tuesday, when his brother, Mr Joseph Sigei, reported the matter to Litein Police Station.

“His wife called relatives wondering why the teacher was not communicating to them. It was then that the family started searching for the teacher, only for his mother to find his body in the tea bushes,” said Mr Munyianzi.

The body was taken to Kapkatet District Hospital mortuary for a postmortem examination.

Lemony Snickets

The blogosphere did indeed go blank from Mama OVAAT for a few weeks. It in no way should reflect the success of the trip. Frankly I’m over the moon over how we are doing. That Sunday, Monica and I went to church and then sat under the trees by Lake Victoria and talked about the way forward. It was a delicious day of friendship and love between 2 kindred spirits who “dream dreams” as Bobby Kennedy would say.

Monday dawned bright and beautiful for our ride back across the Rift. Francis and I drove to KMET for one last visit and thus ensued the “Series of Unfortunate Events”.
Yes fans, I managed to break my leg on the last day, and of course there was no adequate medical care. My fabulous Medical Rescue Card got me nothing and there were no working x-ray machines at Nairobi Hospital. Which was probably ok since I doubt they had a tech anyway.

Determined to get on that plane, we got to the airport, I got a wheel chair and thus began the long, long ride home. 2.5 days travel with an unset broken leg is a bit of a challenge, but I did get home, get it set, and still wound up in the hospital with the creepy crawlies. Then a fall down my stairs a week later got me 16 stitches in my head. That’s what I mean by a series of unfortunate events.

Ok, but here’s the deal. What we are doing in Kenya defies the odds. We are going to run this program for under $30,000. I so want people to know that with the right partners and working with communities to own their programs you can change attitudes and lives. (Y’all know how I feel about the big guys. ) And I can’t wait to get back there.

And the second deal is not to be afraid. Do what your heartsong is. I am 65 years old and I love my work over there. Despite “the series of unfortunate events” I wouldn’t give up one single second of life over there and here. And I wish that more people stepped out of the fear of not being a success, or of getting hurt, or of the unknown, or what people might think and go for it. As my grandmother used to say, “Life is short, eat dessert first”. So go for it with everything you’ve got and believe you can. You’re neither too young or too old, it’s your time. Now get up and do it.

Even My Dirt is Covered in Dirt

15 November 2011
I So Dirty My Dirt is Covered in Dirt
Yeah and I’m a crispy critter too. So much for SPF 30, there’s no fighting the Kenyan sun. You only have to be out in it 15 minutes to fry, so I will be a dermatological dream again.
I am constantly telling my clients that they must surrender ego, that it is always up to the universe to make things happen. Old ego and I had a real smack down today. We were supposed to get to Malanga at 11A, then it was changed to noon, but we didn’t get there until 2P. That made me crazy since I, of course, was on time. But it turns out the KMET van broke down, Monica didn’t really know her way and wasn’t traveling with us and well it’s Kenya. By the tie we got there folks had been sitting waiting since 8A. And to make things worse the headteacher, Maloba, had told the new school we would be there by 11A. So we were pissing people off all over the place. We had to apologize at Malanga, then we had to split up so some of us could go and placate the new schools while the others worked out the exit plan at Malanga. Suffice it to say ego did not like where this was heading. Ego likes things organized, ego anticipates problems and leaves time for them, and ego was really snarky.
I went to the new school ,Nangina. By that time it was 3P and they had been waiting 6 hours. I felt terrible and apologized as best I could but they were still not having it.
So I got Francis to go to the car and get a bag of sweets that I always carry for the kids. In this case I needed to sweeten the mood of the parents and passed out the lollipops. I had to make a joke of it and they seemed a bit better.
But you know you’re in trouble when there are no speeches and few introductions. And the dancing girls were no where to be seen. The KMET team was first up and gave their schpiele for the first 30 minutes. We covered micro-finance, nutrition and partnership. We were missing a lot of the team cuz they were back at Malanga.
And then it was Mama OVAAT time. And something miraculous happened, it wasn’t’ about me anymore. It was about them. It was about building a team, a partnership. It was about telling them how much I believed in them and that with a little push they could make it on their own. I asked them if they would join our team, team Nangina and they said YES!! And then the old cheerleader or preacher in me broke out and I got them chanting yes we can and passed out faith bracelets to everyone of them so they could identify as members of the team and they were united and it was glorious and it was all about God not that dirty little ego. It was truly amazing grace.
We broke for a quick lunch (which I always avoid). I’ve gotten so good at it I take out my diabetic kit and prick my finger at the table, then shake my head and say sorry the number is not right for me to eat that. (trust me I don’t care whether it’s 80 or 180 it’s “never right”). So after a few handfuls of rice I want to see the children. The children breathe life back into me as surely as water lifts a marathon runner. Maybe it is runner’s high.
We finished at 5P and went to the lovely Blue York. Dinner and review of the day followed by no internet and very little electricity. No matter, since I’m so dirty I’m totally ok with washing with cold water. I didn’t have a choice really,
What always continues to amaze me is the teamwork that happens with the KMET crew. As I reflect on the day, and I see how they work as a team, reflect on the good and the bad and plan the next day I know I am with a group of remarkable people. Everyone is equal and respected and while sometimes it is not the most efficient process, their staff is dedicated, inventive, and a delight to work with.
So I end the night in grace and for that I am grateful. I’ll post this when I can.
Keep the faith y’all

The Rift

13 November 2011

Today we drive the Great Rift Valley. I don’t remember when exactly I started driving the Rift instead of flying. Probably when I smartened up and realized that a. it was much cheaper and b. it brings me to my heart home as I travel the different climes that are the Rift. First we hit a crest and look down on the long fertile valley, then we pass through miles of tea and coffee plantations, and then into the orange roads that signal the small towns teeming with people, farm animals roaming the streets and mounds and mounds of produce. Potatoes stacked in pyramids, onions, tomatoes. As we move further on we get to the villagers carrying great stalks of banannas and finally pineapples. Poverty abounds, naked children playing in the dirt, tall regal women with huge loads of sticks or water in jerry cans atop their heads, and everyone is walking by the side of the road.

Once in a while we see a private car like our own. But mostly it is the lorries and crazy matatu drivers (these are Toyota fans which are supposed to seat 9 but are often crammed with as many as 20 in them). The matatus are usually the culprits in the horrendous vehicle deaths that run rampant on the roads. A couple of weeks ago 25 people were killed because a Matatu tried to outrun a lorry and didn’t make it. I used to drive in those when I first started here; but even I gave up as they were so incredibly dangerous. Sometimes you see a boda boda (bike carrying someone for money). Life can be very cheap here and it is taken for granted that road deaths occur regularly. I don’t ride boda bodas either.

I am anxious to get going. Francis shall be here fairly soon given the traffic and what he has to attend to at home. I will film some of the Rift and post it for you.

rift click to see the film

I have officially been spooked by the security. I have checked out and had 3 bags. I left my black briefcase on the couch in the lobby while I went to the loo. It was scooped up immediately. Then,I got questioned by the guard as to whether it was mine. And since Francis is late, I decided to go to the ATM to get some cash. Again, I was questioned by 2 guards about my walkabout. And then another at the bank and then I was frisked to get back into the hotel. Yeah, who says they’re not worried?

Catch you in Kisumu

It was a glorious though bumpy ride to Kisumu. I have attached some un-edited film of our ride. We go from the very arid rift where the Masaii tend their cattle to the vast tea plantations in the valley and along the way meet some interesting fauna.

How Things Work..or Not

11 November 2011

I have entered into the amorphous part of travel. I have no idea what time it is. By my calculations I have been traveling for over 24 hours, but I still have a 13-hour flight to Kenya. Security is tight here in Amsterdam with a second screening. The strange thing about my traveling is that I enter into this zone of peace, which carries me through to the end. I have audio books and kindle and movies of my own and so however long it takes is fine.

I know I am on my way home to Kenya because the faces are so different sitting here at the airport. Now I see the faces of Kenya, I see the Kikuyu, the luo and the luya. I actually can pick out the facial differences of most of the tribes now and know Somalis from Ethiopians from Eritreans. A Somali drove me to the airport and we had a cool conversation about El Shabbab. He is from Southern Somalia and I think he daren’t say that he supports El Shabbab, but he wasn’t putting them down either.

It looks to be an interesting trip this time.

Because I am white and don’t belong to any tribe, people from all tribes tell me stuff they would never say aloud with other tribes. So I shall be interested to hear what people’s take is on El Shabbab.

More later when I land in Nairobi. I am looking forward to the warm moist air and the night sky. It is the short rains right now, but hopefully they will have passed for the day and I shall be able to look out onto the endless spectrum of stars that dot the horizon and the moon radiates above.

12 November 2011

It’s the little things that now make me laugh. Americans would really be upset if their phone number changed every 6 months or so. Once I landed I had to tank up my Kenya phone. Because I use it every 6 months or so, and can’t tank it up in the U.S, it means that I have a new sim card often. Which means I must call everyone and give him or her my new number. Which means that I have to buy extra cards so that I can call my friends and contacts here. It’s just part of how it works here.

I got in late, as usual and the lines for customs were long and ponderous. But again, it’s just part of the deal. Folks who were tweaking didn’t get anywhere and I figure waiting in the visa line beats waiting for luggage and getting crushed in the mix. Since my suitcases are all hand painted by me, I know no one is going to take them. And since they both weighed in over the weight limit, most folks can’t even ick them up.

It was great to see Francis waiting, and his son John who has grown exponentially since I saw him last. Francis says things have quieted down here in Nairobi, so we’re going to the Westlands to Masaii market today. I hate shopping and quibbling with the vendors, so I like to get it over as soon as possible. I swear Francis is my Kenyan husband and understands me well. We have our routine down pat and I’m glad we both slip into our easy friendship so quickly.

Ok, I’m hoping to post this now, since I’m in one of the better hotels and they ostensibly have Internet. It wasn’t working last night and there were some pretty angry muzungus. It’s going to be a long trip for them if they get upset about not having Internet. What are they going to do when there’s no power or water?? Oh, no they won’t be staying in those places.

Catch you later y’all