Uganda Threatens Death to Gays

I was so aghast at the headline I couldn't believe it. Yes, Uganda is working on legislation that will make homosexuality not only illegal (with jail up to 7 years) but may be punishable by death. Are you kidding?
No unfortunately they are not. Uganda where wife inheritance is common as are second wives, mistresses and general scallywag sexual behavior wants to outlaw what they deem deviant sex.

For those who know me, my faith is integral to who I am. I wear the sign of the cross always as a means of identifying and being proud of my faith. However, when sanctimonious Christian groups go over from the U.S to stir up trouble and help enforce laws Christ himself would not approve of, I want to tear my hair out. I totally understand why Christians in this country have such a bad rep.

I am also a shrink as many of you know. It seems (if you read the article) that there is still a group of people who think that counseling will "cure" homosexuality. OMG! That is as backward as leeching people to get out the evil humours.We haven't had that diagnosis since the 80's. That's like calling TB consumption.I know that Ugandans are using the latest Anti-Retrovirals to treat AIDS and that they have a rather good medical school in Kampala.

It seems to me that Uganda, Nigeria, Kenya and the rest of the African nations who want to hang, torture, jail or other punishments too unspeakable to mention here would be better served feeding their starving children and worrying about the widows.

The saddest thing for me is that when I return to Kenya in a couple of months, this subject is just not open for discussion. Worse still is that I will keep quiet about it (unless asked) because it would distract from my mission over there. I am a child of the 60's. I still want to fight back, but I am also older now, and I pick my fights more judiciously. So I put it here, and hope that those of you who read this will at least care and maybe write your congress people or newspapers and not let this story die.
It's going to be a long time before Gay Pride comes to Africa.

KAMPALA, Uganda - Proposed legislation would
impose the death penalty for some gay
Ugandans, and their family and friends could
face up to seven years in jail if they fail to report
them to authorities. Even landlords could be
imprisoned for renting to homosexuals.
Gay-rights activists say the bill, which has
prompted growing international opposition,
promotes hatred and could set back efforts to combat HIV/AIDS. They
believe the bill is part of a continentwide backlash because Africa's gay
community is becoming more vocal.
"It's a question of visibility," said David Cato, who became an activist
after he was beaten up four times, arrested twice, fired from his
teaching job and outed in the press because he is gay. "When we come
out and ask for our rights, they pass laws against us."
Story continues below ↓
advertisement | your ad here
The legislation has drawn global attention from activists across the
spectrum of views on gay issues. The measure was proposed in Uganda
following a visit by leaders of U.S. conservative Christian ministries that
promote therapy for gays to become heterosexual. However, at least
one of those leaders has denounced the bill, as have some other
conservative and liberal Christians in the United States.
The Ugandan legislation in its current form would mandate a death
sentence for active homosexuals living with HIV or in cases of
same-sex rape. "Serial offenders" also could face capital punishment,
but the legislation does not define the term. Anyone convicted of a
homosexual act faces life imprisonment.
Anyone who "aids, abets, counsels or procures another to engage of
acts of homosexuality" faces seven years in prison if convicted.
Landlords who rent rooms or homes to homosexuals also could get
seven years and anyone with "religious, political, economic or social
authority" who fails to report anyone violating the act faces three
years.
The bill is still being debated and could undergo changes before a vote,
which hasn't yet been set. But gay-rights activists abroad are focusing
on the legislation. A protest against the bill is planned for Thursday in
London; protests were held last month in New York and Washington.
Influenced by Western lifestyle?
David Bahati, the legislator sponsoring the bill, said he was encouraging
"constructive criticism" to improve the law but insisted strict measures
were necessary to stop homosexuals from "recruiting" schoolchildren.
"The youths in secondary schools copy everything from the Western
world and America," said high school teacher David Kisambira. "A good
number of students have been converted into gays.
Uganda's ethics minister, James Nsaba Buturo, said the death sentence clause would probably be reviewed but maintained the law was necessary to counter foreign influence. He said homosexuality "is not natural in Uganda," a view echoed by some Ugandans.

"I feel that the bill is good and necessary, but I don't think gays should be killed. They should be imprisoned for about a year and warned never to do it again. The family is in danger in Uganda because the rate at which vice is spreading is appalling," said shopkeeper John Muwanguzi.

Uganda is not the only country considering anti-gay laws. Nigeria, where homosexuality is already punishable by imprisonment or death, is considering strengthening penalties for activities deemed to promote it. Burundi just banned same-sex relationships and Rwanda is considering it.

You can read the whole article on MSNBC/Africa

The Tree That Ate MotherMadrigal

Tree Owning Car

Christmastime is upon me, and concurrently on some of my friends and the cats. Last night was the tree trimming party, an annual occasion of mirth, ornaments and a bit of alcohol.
This year, as each guest entered they remarked on the size of the tree sitting on my car. One person actually asked if the tree was going to keep the car. Yes, it was huge, it was beyond any adjective one could think of for it's girth, it's breathtaking limbs, or the size of the double trunk. Since I am the weasel that gets other people to put the tree up, I failed to notice that the trunk of the tree might present some engineering difficulties. Oh, well, there were several engineers coming, they could surely handle it.

Tree Owning People

With much grunting, pulling, swearing, wetness and scraped open skin, the tree was launched into the main parlor. The smell of fresh pine was delicious, the cocktails made everyone's spirit bright, and we were into it. The struggle was only beginning. I had gotten the Green Giant of tree holders online. I knew that I had to have something to hold a 12' tree and this promised to be tip proof. They struggled, they cajoled, they used any available tool and finally the tree stood. Frankly it was so unbelievably large I feared that it could swallow a small child. It spread itself out into the room such that it felt like it had gone from owning a car to actually owning its own home.

It's Alive!!!

Hundreds of lights were strung, ornaments galore were placed on the outreached boughs, gold ribbon twirled around the tree and glass icicles gave the treat the verisimilitude of an outdoor tree. It was beyond a creation as we stood back to admire it. And then came Boomer; one lap around the tree for good measure and all of a sudden this behemoth came crashing towards the floor. Richard, who perhaps had more good spirit than most of us, made an amazing catch as the sound of glass reverberated in the air.

 And So This is Christmas

This was the time when most of the guests had either left or were leaving. Only Richard, Megan and myself remained amid the shambles. But Richard and Megan have such phenomenal spirit that they would not let this Goliath go. At 8P, while the flakes were falling Richard went to Home Depot to get a saw (Mother just doesn't have those things, they were taken away from me long ago). I ordered pizza for all of us and wondered if the tree could be salvaged. Undaunted Richard returns with a small saw and begins the task of trying to saw off some of the gynormous trunk so it could stand again. We were all stone cold sober by now. Richard sweating away with the saw, my wondering if this was a good idea and Megan throwing in ideas for how to wrestle the puppy into order.

And Just What Did I Do You Fools!!

By 9:30P the tree, now 5 feet shorter, stood with its outstretched arms once again enticing us to decorate it again. And so we did..but for good measure the tree is also bolted into the walls in case Boomer wants to make a return lap.

Ahhhh Jello

I wish I had some small marshmallows, and maraschino cherries. They would have been perfect for the jello I just made. Jello; the mere word makes most young people including my children shiver in disgust and hit the highway as soon as possible. It quivers, it is clear and I have missed it. I have not made jello in 30 years, but one of the boxes for the Thanksgiving baskets got left on the counter and I couldn't resist.

I started the kettle to boil the water, got out the right princess bowl (from the 40's of course) and cleaned the little aluminum molds that helped entice an entire generation to eat something even my late basset hound wouldn't touch. (Trust me I tried. She didn't like marshmallows either)

Jello was fun! It was what was for desert most nights. And oh the combinations of things one could put into the shimmering dish. Chopped celery, raisins, mandarin oranges, minced pineapple, shredded carrots, the list is almost infinite.It could be used for a salad with the peas and carrots floating in a sea of green goo, for a fun side dish with olives and pimentos carousing with red jello. or jumpin and jivin with the myriad of fruits, nuts and sweet nothings that one could mix into it before putting it into the refrigerator to let it cool and get that gelatinous touch needed to make it wiggle.

There was, however, one dish of jello I refused to eat. It was called tomato aspic. My grandmother, a lovely gentlewoman from the South, had very fixed ideas about what was acceptable or not acceptable to eat at lunch. Chicken salad, egg salad, tuna, or a delicate sandwich with the crusts trimmed off were a yes, hamburgers or spaghetti were for truck drivers and definitely no. What was considered the queen of luncheon fare was her favorite... crab meat in tomato aspic. There was a special aluminum mold for this frightening dish. It was circular so that the tomato jello made a circle around the unsuspecting crab meat ("always leave a little shell in it dear, then they know it's fresh"). Mayonnaise was placed in the well first and then the crab meat. It was a horror to me and a disagreement my grandmother and I never resolved although I still have the aspic mold. Hmmm...I wonder what I'm doing with that.

So tonight I shall have a small cup of orange jello. No fruit cocktail handy I had to chop up some lychees to put in, I couldn't let the little fellow go naked. And I will remember a time when we had everything with butter, we dressed for dinner, and there was never enough whipped cream on top of the JELLO.

P.S So I go on the web to find a good photo of jello and I get this one. I hope you can read the writing. This confection is made with jello, yogurt and gummy bears. OMG!

World AIDS Day

Tomorrow is World AIDS Day. It is no day of celebration for me. I remember my best friend dying of it 7 years ago, and my heart still aches. I see the children with eyes yellowed by the disease, a headmaster shriveling away under my gaze and I pray that some people will remember that AIDS is not over. So many here in the U.S don't think about it, don't see it. People are living longer, getting better medications, but folks still don't want to talk about it too much.
The headmaster at the rural school in Kenya reeked of AIDS 5 years ago:I knew just by
looking at him. No one wanted to talk about it, no one would let me talk to him. I would have supported his medication...but no, no one not even the headmaster himself would allow the help. That to me is the greatest part of the heartbreak with AIDS. Just like here in the 80's and 90's we couldn't talk about it. In Africa to go get a test means infidelity, which of course is real and happens "in the best of families". But it seems that folks would rather die than talk about the consequences.

So this World AIDS Day, talk about it. To my African friends, speak out, speak up. I'm looking forward to the day we don't have to have World AIDS Day!

Sometimes the News is Good

Here in the U.S people are recovering from Black Friday. I read that one woman missed Thanksgiving entirely so she could be first in line at a Best Buy; however her family did bring her turkey and pie while waiting in line. Here in D.C the town is abuzz about the couple who sneaked into the White House State Dinner, seems in their climb to notoriety has revealed their rather shady past. Ah, small news day today.

However, the Daily Nation did have a great story about kids in Kogelo part of the area we work in. They have fired off their first email to President Obama asking him to do something about global warming. I'm delighted to see that progress, though, it is a school supported by the Obamas. In any event I give you today's good news from Kenya.

News
Kogelo learners send first email to Obama

Pupils and students at the Senator Obama schools in western Kenya on Friday sent their first emails using solar energy to United States President Barack Obama. Photos/DAN OBIERO

Pupils and students at the Senator Obama schools in western Kenya on Friday sent their first emails using solar energy to United States President Barack Obama. Photos/DAN OBIERO
Posted Friday, November 27 2009 at 16:32

Pupils and students at the Senator Obama schools in western Kenya on Friday sent their first emails using solar energy to United States President Barack Obama.


The messages appealed to the president to champion renewable energy at the Copenhagen climate summit in 10 days.

“Please President Obama do some­thing. We just want to ask you to help other children all the over the world to access solar power. Teacher Ann sees a connection of climate change and the drought in Kogelo village and said that solar power is a solution to climate change. Help protect the climate, this is our future,” read the message from the excited pupils.

Simple request

They told him that had it not been for solar power, they would not have afforded to reach him.
In a separate email, secondary school students had a simple request. They asked Mr Obama to use his “great office to encourage the utilisation of renewable energies such as solar power.”
“We want other students in communities similar to ours to enjoy their education like we do here in Kogelo,” they said.
Solar power at the schools, Senator Obama Nyangoma Primary and Secondary in Kogelo, was installed in August 2009. The schools are a stone’s throw from President Obama’s grandmother Mama Sarah’s house. She also has a solar panel and charges the mobile phones of her young neighbours. (Agencies)

Peacekeepers 2009

Many of you know about the Peacekeepers. Some of you don't and if you don't know them it is entirely your loss. I write about them from time to time. They grace my home and this world. Their generosity of spirit and conviction that the world should be a better place helps me know that I'm heading in the right direction. We have been gathering for about 7 years now to do Thanksgiving Baskets. At first it was for another agency, but we found that we had enough folks in our group who had dedicated their lives to helping in some of the roughest parts of our city and knew many families who would benefit from the largesse. We made 3 baskets our first year and did 20 this year. Everyone gets into the spirit.

I have been rather busy this past month. There is a group of Peacekeepers who have been writing grants to help change health care in Kenya. Sometimes I look at these people and wonder how did I get so lucky to find them and that they want to work with me. Their drive, inovation and enthusiasm, to say nothing of their vast knowledge is going to change this world, it already has. And aren't I lucky that they want to help One Village. So with the grant and the visit to Philadelphia to meet Monica from KMET, as well as the running of home and practice I wasn't sure I was up to the baskets.

Ha ha, how can I ever not respond to the call of the PK's themselves asking "Are we going to do it this year??", and of course we do. They sign up quickly as the emails go around, they gather their offerings, the peacelings come with them and once again we know that we are joined together in grace and love.Maybe next year you'll join us to.

Thank you Peacekeepers, and here's the video. See You Soon.

In Case You Didn't Know

We traveled a long time for our 2 hour meeting. And we weren't in Africa. I was greatly heartened that so many of my board and one of our research team was willing to journey to Philadelphia, by train and plane, to meet for 2 hours with Monica Oguttu my counterpart in Kenya. Mama KMET, as she is called, is an impressive woman overflowing with ideas and ways to help the disenfranchised women of Kenya. She also spends a good deal of time in the Sudan.
It was good to see my Dada (sister) again and we laughed when we were alone. We laughed for the joy of seeing each other, and for the knowing that Americans know next to nothing about what happens in the place she and I call our heart home. Just going to the bathroom is an experience which we take for granted. Everything here is automatic, the flusher, the amount of soap, the amount of water, the towels.Our obsession with cleanliness is no better showcased than in our public toilets. In Kenya there are no public toilets, there's rarely soap or towels, and frequently the flushing of the toilet is accomplished by pouring water into the back of the john, if there is even a receptacle other than a hole.
The gathering was quite successful and I believe we have a better understanding of where we want to go next. How we shall fund it is still in God's hands.
So this morning I was reading the Nation and saw this article, and I wondered if anyone knew about this. 10 years ago it was quite chic to care about Darfur and the Sudan, now they are just part of the abyss of suffering and drought that is called Africa. However, in my eternal desire to keep at least my readers up to date, read on McDuff.
The Nation
By WALTER MENYAPosted Monday, November 16 2009 at 12:44

In Summary


The government of Sudan has now opened voter registration centres in three Sub-Saharan countries previously left out by the National Elections Commission.

Sudanese nationals in Diaspora will now be able to register and participate in the 2010 elections from South Africa, Kenya and Uganda. Another centre has also opened in Malaysia bringing the countries identified by NEC for the exercise to 14.

And on Monday, hundreds of Sudanese nationals living in Kenya thronged the country’s embassy in Nairobi to beat the November 30 deadline set by the National Elections Commission.

Speaking after launching the exercise, Sudan ambassador Mr Majok Guandong denied the opening of the centres was a response to the pressure from the South.

“The Sudanese in Diaspora have a right to take part in the elections which the government and NEC recognise,” said Mr Guandong.

The Government of Southern Sudan had two weeks ago threatened to boycott elections if certain conditions were not met.

One of the conditions according to the head of mission of the Southern government in Nairobi John Duku was opening registration centres in Kenya, Ethiopia, Uganda, Congo-Brazaville and the Democratic Republic of Congo where Mr Duku stressed hosts many South Sudanese refugees.

Mr Duku had said the South was unimpressed with the way the North was conducting the voter registration exercise that started November 1 to run for 30 days.

The list of eligible countries initially distributed to Missions abroad included Kuwait, United Arab Emirates, Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, Egypt, Qatar, Sultanate of Oman, Bahrain, the UK, Belgium (for all Western Europe) and USA.

Sometimes the Newspaper is Enough

Often I am asked to describe conditions in the part of Kenya where I work. I'm not saying that Nairobi doesn't have some swanky hotels (which this E.D can't afford), but once you get out to Kisumu anything that can go wrong will. It's a total inevitability.
As a longtime lover of trains, I thought taking a train through the Rift would be delightful. Of course all my Kenyan friends thought I was nuts. Hmmm, I'm beginning to get the picture.
As you all know I feel compelled to read the Nation every day, even while visiting the new grandchild. Sometimes the Nation brings me to despair, but today it was just so funny I had to publish it whole. The words in bold are my comments, otherwise it's right from the Nation.
"The Lunatic Express"

By PAUL JUMAPosted Wednesday, November 4 2009 at 22:00
In Summary
• How a promotional train ride to western Kenya turned out to be a scary trip
So, when the train finally set off in the wee hours of Monday, it was a relief, especially for the “wananchi”. Those that had slept on the floor got up took up their seats.
But the relief would be short-lived. Around 8am (Monday), the train ground to a halt after Fort Ternan station, at a section where the railway line lies at the bottom of a valley, with a forest escarpment on either side.
Passengers tried making phone calls but the area did not have any mobile network coverage. (and this happens all the time folks i keep trying to explain this to people back home who want me to keep in touch)
After hours of hopelessness in the middle of the forest, an official on aboard informed the Nairobi station that the train had stalled; and another engine was sent to the rescue from Fort Ternan.
But the rescue did not come that fast. When it finally arrived, it was attached at the rear end and started pulling the train back to where we had come from!(yeah directionality is not a strong point over there_
Passengers were told that the replacement engine could not haul the train all the way to Nairobi and could only tow it back to Fort Ternan where another engine would be fixed.
And the journey took reverse gear. At Fort Ternan, the engine that had returned us was removed, another one fixed and the forward gear was engaged.
Misfortune struck (Oh yes this is Africa)
On reaching Molo, another misfortune struck. The replacement engine had “poured out all the water” and it had overheated. The remedy initially meant simply waiting while the engine cooled off. Later, it was decided to despatch another engine from Nakuru station.
That was around 3pm, and another round of waiting. Some passengers who were transporting sacks of fresh farm produce decided enough was enough.
They alighted and intercepted Nairobi-bound matatus from the nearby road, loaded their wares and jumped in.
When the new engine from Nakuru arrived and got fixed to the train, it was around 5pm. The new leg of the journey form Molo started.
It was around midnight when the tired passengers reached Nakuru, and another six hours before the weary souls woke up at the Nairobi Railway Station around 6am, Tuesday. That was 25 hours after departure from Kisumu, not counting the initial eight-hour delay.

That's why I tell people never to worry about being late, because if you get to my place within a day or so, it's just fine.

One Way to Cut Costs

I try to check the Kenyan papers every day. Frequently I learn something about the U.S. However, reading the Nation and the Standard also depresses me enormously. There is no escaping the corruption, famine, drought, and poverty that abide in Kenya. Today was no exception. It seems that there are now new rules for children entering first grade (standard 1). They will all need birth certificates. Wow, now there is a great idea to cut costs. Primary and secondary school are now supposed to be free. This did tend to put pressure on the education budget (and then there would be all the graft that takes place in each area of government) and you can't really tax the villagers since they don't make any money. So the answer clearly is make sure the kids don't go to school. Reminds me of the poll tax we had in this country before Civil Right.

So here it is, taken from the Nation Newspaper today. My heart sinks.

By PAUL JUMA Posted Wednesday, October 28 2009 at 20:18

A birth certificate may soon be a compulsory requirement for admission to Standard One. The government plans to issue the directive that may be effective next year. The move could bar about 60 per cent of children who are estimated to be without birth certificates from joining school.

The proposal is among some drastic changes which the Ministry of Immigration plans to make as it implements its 2008-2012 strategic plan.

“We are in the process of negotiating with the Ministry of Education to make it mandatory for all children joining standard One to have birth certificates,” Immigration minister Otieno Kajwang’ said on Wednesday at the launch of the plan.

A Good Dog Day

On Friday I was interviewed by a writer who rode his bike across the U.S with a charity called Go the Extra Mile. I had watched him interview another young woman who clearly struggled with her life, but loved what she did. She even cried a little while describing her work with autistic children and horses. It was heartwarming in that way that news people love and cameramen want to poke mikes in your face.

I was next up. I had been having a very busy but good dog week. Just back from Puerto Rico, busy with clients and readying for back to back meetings for One Village on Sunday. I bellied up to the table, even spoke French to the cameraman (he was French) and answered questions. “Had I ever been afraid for my life?” Yes.
Why would I think of going back…blank stare from me..see this where I just don’t fit in I guess. It never dawned on me not to go back, One Village is what I’m supposed to do. He asked me if I’d always been such a maverick and I had to say yes..it would be one of the main reasons my marriage to Dr. Conservative failed. Then the final question, “How would I describe my life?” to which I answered “I’m dancing in the light. It’s as sweet as life could get.” And he was done. I was of no interest to him.

Here’s the deal, I get to work with the most amazing people on this planet. The research team who is writing a grant to improve healthcare in Kenya, came together 4 weeks ago. They are cranking out a grant with the grace and style of a finely honed surgical team. And they only met each other 4 weeks ago. As I watch the emails fly past me, everyone helping each other, I can get incredulous that I get to be part of this, or just downright joyful that somehow I get to put people together and get to watch them be the very best of who they are.

I’ve got a Board of Directors that any E.D should kill for. They are bright, creative, enjoy each other and really dig in. I think I told the bike guy this in the context of what’s wrong with most charities today. Most charities have people my age on the board. They sit on lots of boards, each other’s boards blah blah blah. They do it cuz it makes them feel important. However they don’t change things, they don’t think outside the box, they don’t challenge the E.D to be the very best she can do for fear she will let them down. If you get to be the very best of who you are, if you get to watch people gel and become friends and make a difference in this world, what’s not to love?

So what I’m sayin’ is that it’s pretty cool to be me, and I’m having a really really good dog day.

Lillian

It's been a while since I've checked in. I read in the Nation and the Standard, Kenya's papers that there are "rumors" that youth are arming themselves for the 2012 elections. I know they're not rumors since I've heard what the tribes say about each other. However, it's 2 years away and the folks don't want to scare away what tourist bucks they can get.

In the North of Kenya there is drought while where I work they are preparing for floods and cholera. Famine continues in Masai land while the Sio threatens to overflow it's banks next to Manyole and Malanga School. And the beat goes on.

We're working on a grant to bring micro-computers to rural Kenya and change the way health care is done over there. We have an amazing team putting that together. One of the members donated a cow to one of the schools. While I can't find a photo of her, I did come across this movie of Lillian that I made 3 years ago and decided it's time for you to meet Lillian.

I know the accents are hard for American ears, but do try. The story is quite compelling.
And in the meantime, keep the faith y'all.

Go Up the Mountain and Beg

This is almost too painful to write about. It's like that time in Mt. Elgon, I don't like to think about it. Inside I howl in pain, how is this so? The land I left only 3 months ago is dying. The places mentioned in the New York Times no less are not foreign to me, I have been there. I know these people, I have seen these children. How did it get so bad? How did I miss it when I was there in June?

The land we traversed in June, Kisi, the Rift, the Mara, was green. It rained a couple of times, we slopped in the mud, we romped in the river with the hippos (ok I did to get my feet clean and paid for it later on). But now there is dying.

I tell my clients sometimes about the dying time. It comes every year around this time and doesn't end until Jan. 15th. I have noticed it over the years. I wonder if Judaism got it right when the priest would go up on the mountain during Yom Kippur and beg for the lives of the people to be inscribed in the book of life. I wonder is there no priest to beg for the lives of the Kenyans and Tanzanians and Somali's who are starving. If there is no priest to beg for your life, or you don't get written into that book, then you die. It's what I have seen anyway. If you ask yourself when most of the people in your life have died it's between Sept and Jan 15th mark my words.

The schools sent me reports today. My heart sinks. They are incorrect,the receipts laughable, the forms made up, the school reports show that the majority of the scholarship money is going to boys instead of girls. I know I must hold the line, but these children God gave to me. I am glad I have Monica whom I shall call tomorrow. I have a world I shall share this article with. And I pray if you are reading this you will either go to our website or to www.KMET.co.ke and give whatever you can. We must feed everyone, we must be the priests who go up the mountain and beg for these lives. I know I shall.

Article Tools Sponsored By
By JEFFREY GETTLEMAN
Published: September 7, 2009

LOKORI, Kenya — The sun somehow feels closer here, more intense, more personal. As Philip Lolua waits under a tree for a scoop of food, heat waves dance up from the desert floor, blurring the dead animal carcasses sprawled in front of him.
Skip to next paragraph


Children waited in Lokori for aid last month. Communities are fighting over the few remaining pieces of fertile grazing land. More Photos »

So much of his green pasture land has turned to dust. His once mighty herd of goats, sheep and camels have died of thirst. He says his 3-year-old son recently died of hunger. And Mr. Lolua does not look to be far from death himself.

“If nobody comes to help us, I will die here, right here,” he said, emphatically patting the earth with a cracked, ancient-looking hand.

A devastating drought is sweeping across Kenya, killing livestock, crops and children. It is stirring up tensions in the ramshackle slums where the water taps have run dry, and spawning ethnic conflict in the hinterland as communities fight over the last remaining pieces of fertile grazing land.

The twin hearts of Kenya’s economy, agriculture and tourism, are especially imperiled. The fabled game animals that safari-goers fly thousands of miles to see are keeling over from hunger and the picturesque savanna is now littered with an unusually large number of sun-bleached bones.

Ethiopia. Sudan. Somalia. Maybe even Niger and Chad. These countries have become almost synonymous with drought and famine. But Kenya? This nation is one of the most developed in Africa, home to a typically robust economy, countless United Nations offices and thousands of aid workers.

The aid community here has been predicting a disaster for months, saying that the rains had failed once again and that this could be the worst drought in more than a decade. But the Kenyan government, paralyzed by infighting and political maneuvering, seemed to shrug off the warnings.

Some government officials have even been implicated in a scandal to illegally sell off thousands of tons of the nation’s grain reserves as a famine was looming.

So far, a huge, international aid operation to avert mass hunger has not kicked in, or at least not to the degree needed. The United Nations World Food Program recently said that nearly four million Kenyans — about a tenth of the population — urgently needed food.

“Red lights are flashing across the country,” the agency said.

But donor nations have been slow to respond, and a United Nations-led emergency appeal for $576 million is less than half financed.

Part of the reason may be the growing disappointment with Kenya’s leaders. They have been poked and prodded by Western ambassadors — and their own citizens — to overhaul the justice system, the police force and the electoral commission. The outcry followed a widely discredited election in 2007 that set off a wave of violence, claiming more than 1,000 lives.

But Kenyan politicians seem more preoccupied with positioning themselves for the next election in 2012 than with cleaning up the mess from the last one. Few reforms have been accomplished and corruption continues to flourish, as the grain scandal currently under investigation has made painfully clear.

“At a time like this, we need donor confidence,” said Nicholas Wasunna, a humanitarian adviser for the aid group World Vision. But he said that donors might be put off by “the politics of what’s happening in the country.”

The arid lands of northern Kenya have been the hardest hit. In some villages, it has not rained in years. But the drought has become a problem nationwide.

In Baringo, in the Rift Valley, people are eating cactus because corn and wheat have gotten so expensive. In Nyeri, in central Kenya, some have turned to pig feed. In Nairobi, the capital, even the fanciest neighborhoods often go without running water for a week. And it is dark too. Kenya relies on hydropower for electricity, so less rainfall means less power.

The Kenyan government has begun to respond, organizing some highly publicized food deliveries to famine-prone areas. But many Kenyan officials almost seem in denial.

Chaunga Mwachaunga is the acting district officer in Lokori, an especially parched town in northern Kenya. He bristled when presented with reports that dozens of children in his area had recently died of hunger.

“Hunger? How do we know they died of hunger?” he said. “I know there’s not enough food for people, but we can be sure that nobody will die of hunger while the Kenyan government is here. Show me the death certificates.”

It is hard to find any death certificates when there are few hospitals. Entering this area is like stepping back in time.

Lokori is home to the Turkana, who cling tightly to their traditions. The women wear wreaths of beads and shave their hair into Mohawks. The men scar their backs in puffy patterns and wear disc-like bracelets that double as razors. They live in gumdrop-shaped huts scattered across the sandy plateau and herd animals to survive.

Even in a good year, life here is extremely precarious. But this year malnutrition rates among the Turkana have soared way past emergency thresholds.

Turkana children, dressed in little more than a sheet, are hiking 20 miles for a gallon of water. Turkana men are abandoning families, simply vanishing into the desert because they cannot face the shame of being unable to feed their children. Many people here now have nothing to eat but the chalky, bitter fruits that grow wild in the desert. They smash them open with rocks to get at the barely edible part inside.

World Vision is distributing emergency rations to the worst-off areas. The other day, Mr. Lolua, who said he lost his 3-year-old son in June, waited with a group of men under a thorn tree for a scoop of porridge.

Another whisper of a man named Ekitela was so skinny and his hands shook so much he could barely hold the cup he had been given.

“I’m not as old as I look,” he said. “It’s just I don’t have any food.”

He then started choking on the porridge, which was the color and texture of sand, and was rescued by a capful of water from his granddaughter.

Perhaps equally worrisome is the rising ethnic conflict. The Turkana call their neighbors, the Pokot, ”the enemy” and said intense clashes recently broke out because of the shrinking amount of grazing land. One Turkana woman said “the enemy” had killed her son, stolen all her animals and driven her off her land.

Meteorologists predict rains will be coming by October, and they may even bring the other extreme from present conditions. Another El Niño cycle is forecast, which after years of drought and earth baked to a rock-hard crust could bring the opposite problem: floods.
Sign in to Recommend More Articles in World » A version of this article appeared in print on September 8, 2009, on page A1 of the New York edition.

Tomatoes

Growing up I was used to seeing endless green pastures and fields of corn, soy, wheat. I even knew how to milk a cow, though the only pets we ever had were dogs.
Well, we had a goat for a few days, but it ate my mother’s prize roses and she sent it packing. I was very much in sync with harvest times back then.

Now I live in a city full of buzzing cars and screaming sirens. Even on my roof deck I don’t see the stars as I did when I was a child. There is no smell of new mown grass, or large green and yellow rectangles spreading for miles reflecting the crops that were growing. And so it was when I left Cape Charles I happened upon workers harvesting crops.

At first I saw a field with lots of old school buses and passed it by. But then, I saw the migrant workers a few yards down the road going into green fields and I had to stop. I wanted to see what harvesting looked like now.

It will come as no surprise that the workers were all Mexican. They reminded me some of the sugar cane workers in Kenya. And then I saw their faces and no one was smiling or laughing. In Kenya there is always time to laugh and joke while harvesting because there is much more equality among the farmers. They don’t import people to do their dirty work. Everyone does the dirty work.

These lean, sweat stained men, here on Cape Charles were out picking green tomatoes and piling them into baskets which went onto a truck. They were serious and strained.The truck then took the tomatoes to a processing plant where they are gassed and saved for distribution in 2-3 months. How do I know this, because I stopped to take this photo and the overseer looked at me suspiciously as if I were a reporter for a newspaper or someone from INS. I quickly flipped into my Kenyan English explaining that I wanted to take photos to send back to the workers in Kenya to see how we farm.
It did the trick, I got the photos.

Later on, as I left the fields, I began to think about farming more. How odd it would seem to an African to harvest green tomatoes and use gadgets and processes to turn them an unnatural red. I kind of felt that way too. While I can see so many advances that would help my Kenyan friends, i.e. silos, I wouldn’t want all of our advances to get over there. Most certainly I wouldn’t want to lose the flashing white smiles and laughter that their harvests bring…and I kept on driving.

Silos

I drove down to Cape Charles on Friday. Cape Charles is an old railroad town on the Chesapeake Bay. Its homes are neatly stacked next to each other, shining pinks and greens, wide verandas with old wicker rocking chairs. The nights are sultry and soft.

It was while driving through the farmland on the way down, that I found myself caught in thoughts about here and Kenya. When I come home from Kenya, since I live in the city, while it’s difficult to adjust, there is little similarity to disarm me, so it’s not too bad. Driving on the smooth, straight roads, flat and wide I found myself startled by the rows of crops. Cornfields stretched along side of me, clipped and watered by a system that hung overhead. Next to the corn was what looked like my old friend millet and soy. Crops are rotated, fed well and watered. Next to most farms stood a large building with a circular roof. I remembered them well from my childhood. Silos! Silos hold the harvested grain, keeping it from rotting and allowing it to be sold at the best times. Those farms, which don’t have silos, have the convenience of either having a shared one with a neighbor or one less than a mile away at a crossroad or a small town.

What a vast difference from what I see in Kenya. It is not that the rows of corn are messy, just a bit haphazard. Dust from the unpaved roads blows over it willy-nilly. There is no irrigation system, so the stalks open their mouths to the sky hoping for a drink of water, or bend down with rot when too much water beats them into the ground. When farmers harvest the crop they must take it right to market. There are no well-kept farms with silos to hold the crops; in fact there are no grain storage facilities for miles and miles. It is almost impossible for a farmer to get it to a silo and so the grain must be sold immediately or they risk the probability of rot.

As I drove along I also saw livestock. Goats frolicked on verdant grass, kept safe by clean white fences. These were not the exhausted goats I saw on the roads or in the towns of Nambale, Kisi, or Busia. Chickens were kept in gynormous air-conditioned coops, out of the sun and resting until their ultimate demise. No working for living for these animals

It set my mind to thinking about so many things. The abundance of facilities and mechanisms we have to make farming easier was everywhere. What it would mean to a farmer in Africa to have a watering system which would help him tame one of the elements. It would literally change his world. But even more than that, a silo to store the grain in each village would allow the farmers a cooperative and a way of helping them climb out of poverty.

As a child a silo was a magical place where I would watch them pour the grain from a long shoot into the top of the roof. You always fill from the bottom up. The smell around them was warm with the scent of the wheat or the corn. I would stand there with my father and watch them fill. He would always warn me that they were dangerous places as well, since if you fell into one, you could literally drown in the grain. Now they take on a totally different meaning for me. Now I know that silos would mean a new beginning for the farmers of Nambale, a new way of life and as I slide down to road toward Cape Charles I wonder how we could make that happen.

MudMudGloriousMud

Last night was the annual pulled pork party. It was pretty sweet having the peacekeepers on the roof. Some have been here since 2000, some are new this year. But all of them have a global view of the world and I am blessed to know them.

The real reason for this post is for you to view our new video. Hopefully the copyright gods won't get me. Brett and I danced to this music on a bridge overlooking this river where the hippos swam. Unfortunately so did some other creepy things I'm still taking medication to get rid of. I guess hippos don't suffer from rashes or if they do no one gets close enough to take a look.
So do check out the video.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6rrw5HFhsU
Keep the faith y'all

RepublicansAreLikeFireworks

I must say I am deliriously happy with the state of affairs the Republicans now find themselves in. I missed a couple of scandals while in Kenya (they have their own but I won't report them), but I did get back in time for Mark Sanford. Wow, what a story, the man definitely crossed the vaginot line (look up Maginot Line for the analogy all you young 'uns). Talk about oversharing, I didn't really need to know how far he went and I'm not alluding to frequent flyer miles. Although a trip to Argentina without telling anyone on his staff or his wife is a really impressive way to screw yourself over.Another presidential candidate bites the dust.

And Friday oh the joy of it all...Sarah Palin resigned! Seems she's already got lawyers threatening any bloggers who speculate about Sarah's resignation, her family, or anything else they don't consider flattering with slander. I hope they don't mean me because I plan on slandering her right here right now. Sarah Palin is the bossy fat kid who hits another girl and when she gets clobbered she whines that it's not her fault. She's the teenager that had to belong to right clique so she could diss on all the other girls. Any red-blooded American woman knows or knew a Sarah Palin. So she quit, wa wa wa. How do you quit being a Governor? I betting the scandals are going to break soon. She was caught in a compromising position with an elk (not of the brotherhood but of the horned headed elks), or Todd is really gay or .... it doesn't really matter. Another Republican blew himself/herself up and that delights bomb throwing liberal Mother Madrigal enormously.

Hooray for the 4th of July and Republicans blowing themselves up like Roman Candles. If you go to the fireworks store in N.H starting today you can get them 2 for 1, Roman Candles that is.

Keep the faith y'all.

TheWayForward

6 June 2009

It is time to return to Nairobi. Neither Brett nor I had any idea how long it would take to get there. The roads were their usual bumpy, dusty selves and the track seemed as if it would never end. It was the first time I heard Brett complain about anything. He, like me, was tired of the amount of travel it takes to get anywhere. I also was really feeling it in my whole body, the weariness, the aches and pains of hard roads and endless travel. But the Mara spread out before us and the skies reminded us that when we returned to the States this broad expanse, this life changing trip would be over and we would slip back into the fast passed, technological lives we had left. Definitely a mixed bag.

We traveled a different way home, so instead of going through the Rift I got to see Central Kenya. We surely had seen a lot of different terrain. As we passed through the land of the Masai, past the Kisi and into Kikuyu land I had a good deal of time to think. I still couldn’t bring myself to grasp all that had happened. I couldn’t wrap myself around the joy and satisfaction of a job well done. I couldn’t quite see that all had been accomplished despite no real plan when we left. It is almost a week later now and I’m still perking all of it.

What I do know is that it has taken so many people to get to where we are. I received a lovely email from one of the committee members for the Harambee and I had to tell her, that if I succeeded it was that so many people were holding me up. This remarkable board who believes so strongly in what we are doing and are willing to work hard so that we can raise the money to move forward. All the countless folks who have donated small amounts of money, to the one donor who carried me for 4 years with his contribution of most of our budget kept me returning.. I think of boards past and their work, and the people in my church and the one totally clear thing I know is that it takes a village here to help a village there. We are truly One Village at a Time and we’re walking towards that endless sky that encompasses all of us and unites our humanity. I am grateful and proud of that.
And God said it is good.

TheMara

4 June 2009

The Mara


We are up early to leave for the Mara. We know it will be an 8 hour drive, but it doesn’t dawn on us until fhe 5th hour how truly long the drive shall be. The landscape passes, ending green,, vast skies that 4 June 2009

stretch to eternity. However, we have traveled so many miles during the trip that it is beginning to wear on us.

As I have the time to be still and watch out the window I think of the plight of women here. They are really, for the most part, no more than beasts of burden. The rights they have, they are mostly too afraid to exercise, and if they do they ri8sk ostracization from the community. Women are the ones who carry the water, the sticks for firewood, the sugar cane on their heads as well as countless other things. I see small girls no more than 5 carrying loads on their head. I try to think what this is comparable to. .Francis and I launch into our usual discussion of this. He comes at me with the same arguments men have used since time immemorial. 1. Women don’t have it so bad. 2. Some women have it better, they have formed some groups, 3. It is our Society (and with this I get a nervous laugh).It’s the way it has always been. (and I think to myself and how’s that working for your country?) . I give up because I remember this discussion from 45 years ago. My heart sinks. It is the same argument women in my country have had since we struggled for the vote and I know I am not here to change their political system

For a comparison t I go to what I know, the deep South during the time of slavery, but the analogy won’t work. There even under slavery, men and women were slaves, not just women. And then I realize that the society here is more like feudal China where men were all powerful and women were powerless to be sold, worked to death, pushed aside for a newer wife, girl children were considered a misfortune at best and a curse most of the time. I wonder if it will take a Mao Tse Tung here to bring about the change necessary for Kenya to come up to modern standards.

What I do realize is that someone like Monica or Miriam must fight even harder than I did. During the 60’s and 70’s at least I didn’t have to worry about dying for my beliefs. But AIDS ravages people in their prime. Since women are so devalued, they are used to being abused, raped, or girls going into prostitution right out of junior high because there is no other way for them., How do you fight with an army that is crippled by a disease they can’t even feel comfortable getting tested for. And if they have no reproductive freedom then where does one begin if they are either, pregnant, mothers of many children, or dying of AIDS or widows because of AIDS. The mind boggles and I must remind myself that God sends many angels and this is not my fight.

The landscape changes dramatically as we begin to enter the Mara. The terrain is more of a savanah than the the fields of Maize, and coffee and sugar cane which we have seen for hours. The people are elegant robed in bright red and purple. We have entered the land of the Masai. One cannot help but be overwhelmed by the vastness of the terrain, or the dust that blows through the windows as we traverse an unending road of sand and rocks. However when we first spot a herd of Zebras it is an incredible sight.

I suspect I have never gone on Safari because I have never dreamed of it as others do. That I guess and I don’t like to rough it in hiking gear and sleeping in tents nor rising at the crack of dawn to tick off my list seeing the “big 5” animals as t those who become dreamy eyed when they hear I am going on Safari. I’m much more of a pool and spa girl if I’m not working.

We arrive at the Balloon place first. I have graciously offered to take everyone since Francis told me it was about $50 US. I doubled that and figured even at $300 for all of us it was worth it. Wrong, seems the going price is $350 per person. And the guy just isn‘t going down on the price. He remains firm. It‘s way out of Brett‘s budget and I’m still mulling it over as we pull up to the lodge. There as we arrive are groups of baby monkeys and some other animal having the time of their lives chasing each other. One really understands the saying “monkey business”. I am enchanted and when we go to our rooms, I am giddy with delight..

How cool is it to walk out your front door of your room and have an elephant grazing less than 20 feet away, or have baboons frolicking on your front porch? Or a path of 300 meters that will take you to the Hippo pond? Yes folks we’re in the Mara where the exotic is everyday and most people are here to spend thousands of dollars to see the wild animals. .

The place is sensational with all the things MM needs to be refreshed and clean. It is a charming place, built by the Brits in the style of the Awanee in Yosemite if you know of that place. Definitely a lodge with fab cabins, a place of peace and serenity with hot and cold running water. Sweeeet!

The guy from the balloon place comes over that night. I have decided to go for it and take the balloon myself. That is until he tells me I have to be ready at 5:45A. Freaking M. Ah no, I’m all set with that. Not even the promise of floating over the Serengeti can get me up at that hour.

So it looks like we’re driving the Mara. We leave the next morning at a leisurely 9:30 which is just fine.
We do get to see more hippos and gazelle, huge giraffe and a few birds, no rhino’s or lions. Again you have to get up EARLY for that, so it’s an opportunity I can miss. We are back at the hotel by 2 ish and get ready for our massages. I trot off to the pool which is under renovation, but still great. I must admit hearing the hippos make flubby noises and having monkeys run across you as you lie down is alluring, but the massage is even more so. We are coming to a close. Tomorrow we shall drive unending miles in more dirt and bone racking hours in the car to get back to Nairobi tomorrow to leave. For now, though, I reflect on where I am and what we have accomplished and I secretly smile to myself. Today it’s good to be me

AndGodSaw

And God Saw It and It Was Good

This is not an easy journal entry to write. For so long I have had a dream of what could be, how the schools of Nambale could grow…how I wanted to help the women and children to be empowered and feed themselves. It has been 7 years since I started this journey and today I finally know we are planted firmly on the way forward.

We went to the Malanga school early so that I could meet with the parents, children, and teachers before KMET was to arrive. We were surrounded in a sea of children chanting welcome, clapping of parents, teachers. I am used to it, but to have Brett with me to see how the people respond made it far more special.

As always it is good to get back to my hone schools. I know the teachers and families and we know the roads we have traveled. It was made even better because the Manyole parents came as well as two vans of parents from Khwerila school where Miriam was the new headmistress.

I described what we wanted to do in partnering with KMET and all the opportunities that lay ahead of them. It was still difficult to get away from the donor mentality and the men surely were not n favor of empowering the women. But all sides needed to be heard. I was amazed at the progress they had made even in the time since my last meeting and several women had set up cooperative businesses. I saw that what I had planted over the past few years was really growing.

You know, I never know what I have accomplished when I finish a trip. I generally think it went well, but because I only see them every 9 months I cannot know all that they have done. I was so proud of all of them I was grinning and trying not to cry.

Finally at 2P KMET came in to talk to everyone there. They are beyond descriptio, but everything I had dreamed of. They can unite the people, empower the women, help the girls and truly raise up the community, Together we shall make a big difference. However, I have turned over the running of the feeding program and micro-finance to KMET. And in so doing I knew that I was giving my children to the care of another. While I felt such a great accomplishment, I must admit that I felt a bit sad and somewhat at a loss as to the way forward.

What I do know is that the opportunities to help through KMET, Millenium project and my incredible board much shall be accomplished. And like a good Mother I must know when the chickens can leave the nest. So it was a happy sad day, but I know I shall see more when I return and I also had tomorrow to look forward to . I was returning home to Manyole, my secret favorite of the group.

We could hear the singing as we turned up the dusty road, the women were dancing and the children were lined up singing. I had to get out of the car and dance with the women all the way up to the school. There was wild excitement as I entered the grounds . It is always overwhelming when that happens and I think even Brett was a bit taken aback.

The children did their usual dances and poems. I am always amazed at their awareness of the world around them. They sang a song about the problems of Kenya and it covered everything from the fighting in the government to AIDS to the Mungiki to child abuse. They know so much more about their country than their agemates do in the U.S.

Once the festivities were over the speeches began. As always they were gearing up for the ask.Seems that we have been helping the parents save their money because of what we have given. That wasn’t the intention, By now they were supposed to be feeding all the children, not just 7th and 8th grade. Even the Headmaster had a hard time wrapping his head around our desire to feed the entire school. However they are a faithful group and their Christianity is very powerful, so I’m afraid I used all my skills to figure out how to get the point across that all children must be fed.

I asked on of the teachers to fetch me a 1st grader, 3rd grader and an 8th grader. Then I lined all the children up and asked the parents which child God loved the most. They were astonished and quickly answered that all are equal in God’s eyes. So I said if they believed it then why were only some children getting fed. It was a showstopper and they are now ready to feed all the kids by digging deep.

This is not to say that there were not some major improvements by the parents.
Their progress in income generating projects was nothing short of miraculous. . They had taken the teaching of last October and really run with it. They had formed groups themselves and had begun micro-finance without us! The women who were running a very successful poultry business proudly gave me a bowl for eggs, many eggs and a live hen.
(I must admit Mother does not like live chickens). However Brett was beside me and after I had taken it he quickly hid it where I could not see it. They were also lending each other money and they had a group for grains and one for dairy all of which were making progress.

It was then that I was truly struck with how far I had come on this journey. It is painful to know that I am giving them over, mostly now, to Monica and KMET. I know it is best, but I don’t know what my role shall be with the schools now, and there was a lump in my throat as I bid mbuela (goodbye) to them. I know I shall be back, but it the road is not so clear.

We left Nambale and traveled back to Kisumu and I got to meet with Monica one last time. She told me I had done a great job and when she sees Manyole she will be blown away. Her words meant so much to me. She is a woman I admire and know is doing great things. I needed to hear that what I had done helped. I guess we all need applause.

Transitions are not easy, but they are needed for something to be organic and grow in ways that I cannot even think. So I think about Genesis and how after each thing God created He smiled and said it is good, and I felt on our way out of Kisumu that God was shining down and smiling offering me encouragement that this what He had in mind all along. I just had to find the way myself. It was good to be home in Nambale.
And God Saw It and It Was Good

Thank God for Cipro

31 May 2009

Thank God for Cipro! Yesterday was spent close to the room and the loo for both of us. However we rallied in time to get off to Nambale by 4P.About an hour outside Nambale I could feel my spirits sing as I knew I was nearing home. I watched the fields change and the shambas start to show up on the side of the road. I watched as the towns grew sparser and the sky became enormous. There is nothing like an African sky, I can assure. I hoped when we got to Nambale Brett would totally fall in love and leave a part of his heart here.

We had dinner with the teachers from the 2 old schools we had been partnering with and Miriam‘s new school. I knew I needed Miriam as part of whatever team I was on. I spent a bit of time catching up on how the schools were doing, since the reports I got were so bare as to be non-existent. I then sold them on KMET and I think they saw the virtue in the partnership. I know both Manyole and Malanga are government or Anglican schools and I am not truly convinced that they own this program. I know the headmasters of those 2 schools were expecting checks.

I explained the program for Tuesday for all 3 schools and told them to come prepared to give an accounting of the progress of the program. I do know that they spent what I gave them in October by December and did not budget so I shall be curious as to what they tell me. I have had mixed feelings about what I should do about money for their feeding programs since they are in non-compliance, and finally at the end of today I figured it out. We shall match shilling or shilling what the parents put in. I‘ll let you know later how much we have to shell out.

This morning we went to Miriam’s school. This is the worst school I have seen so far in terms of what the children have for structure and supplies. However it was built and paid for by the parents and that thrills me. There are no desks or chairs, no books, no windows. There is not cook hut to prepare the meagerest of meals. Miriam has no office, she must sit outside under the veranda. It is the typical Kenya shaft job on Miriam. She was supposed to be headmistress of Manyole which is a large well equipped school, but another teacher from Malanga got the posting so Miriam now has to commute 60km back and forth on a Matatu (van crowded with people) for 15 Km and then rides the second 15 Km on the back of a boda boda (bicycle).

Today was a holiday here in Kenya, so when I saw the one real room packd with parents and teachers, I was extremely impressed. They are serious about working together.. There were the usual songs and dances, the children are quite small and not as polished as the other 2 schools but that lends them a certain charm for their effort.Onec the speeches were over it was my turn and I tried to steer them away from the idea of a donor and towards a partnership. I explained what KMET did and how it helped to empower women. I may have been a bit strong on that idea and shall have to back track. Francis told me on the way home that if the men feel pushed aside they will scotch the entire venture. So with that in mind, while sweating here writing I just sent a message to Miriam that I would also pay for a van of men to come to the shindig tomorrow. No point is pissing people off, which is something I am prone to do from time to time.

Brett was wonderful as he explained about building a bridge from Kenya to America and back. That was a real touch of genius because it once again emphasized we are not donors but partners. I suspect as long as I come here I shall have to do that educating thing. The reassuring part for me is to watch a pro like Monica struggle with the same thing. She, too, is constantly talking about teaching how to fish not giving a fish. I know it is the only way we shall succeed in truly changing the lives of the people here. But I am hopeful.

Doom did not occur. Miriam got everyone in shape, Francis’ car is working well, and tomorrow is the big meeting of the 3 schools and KMET. It is always a walk of faith for me. God wants it that way. However in the end it all gets done and I remember why I was called here. I remember the amazing people and connections that I have made. I see that Miriam belongs at that tiny school since it is only she that can bring it to fruition. They shall be the model. It always goes back to that day outside of Debra Libanos, Ethiopia 7 years ago. There I felt it, be a raindrop, God will bring the rain.

And on that note dear reader I close for today. Tomorrow shall be an eye opener and I hope I am up to the challenge.

I Am Sigourney Weaver

We have now finished our first week here in Kenya. If, dear reader, you have actually been following this
blog you know that we have accomplished a lot. However, time in Kenya does take its toll on those who are used to a more fast paced life. Brett alternates between silent resignation and beaten down resolve in trying to use the internet to conduct his regular job. The food is its usual monotonous self and one already longs for different tastes. My American companion grows misty eyed over a recognizable Italian taste which simply cannot be had over here.

Today we took the day to sleep in. Evidently the 2 Bretts and Francis had quite the night since I was up earlier than they were.For those who know Mother in the flesh you know that rising early for me is as common as a white lobster. Nevertheless, we decided to opt for a pool day which turned out rather splendidly. However imagine if you will the theme from Jaws distantly whispering in your ear. We are going back to the hell hole know as our hotel. Da dum da dum…..

Upon arrival back at the hotel I try to straighten out the bill and get credit speaking a language never heard by human ears. Whump out pops Sigourney and we are off to the races. (You do remember her in Ghost Busters). Trust me I put her to shame. I am so pissed that I am crazy angry and there is no turning back. What Kenyans do when faced with Nasty American Bitch is fix their eyes on my cross and pray for a miracle. It usually starts with the innocent question “Are you a Christian?” Yeah and what’s that to you?
Now we’re on a roll. What does my religion have to do with their crediting my account? Are they saying that if I were a Muslim or a Jew they wouldn’t even try? You get my drift. I am now in C above High C and still ramping up. Since I have just finished the fundraiser I know how to credit a credit card. In fact I did it just last week for a person. I explain how to find the merchant I.D. a miracle they never knew of. I am also threatening total annihilation to this establishment and anyone ever connected with it. The desk guy now looks totally terrified. Hah, I have done my work. I leave him to contact whatever invisible person he must call. I flounce up to my room and wait to hear from him.
I return to my room muttering don’t mess with Nasty American Bitch and take a shower to cool down. When I have finally have let off enough steam to let the man at the desk live I go downstairs and try a new tact.I can see that there is no way he can figure out how to credit an account, so I explain to him that what he can do is comp all the meals that we have eaten in this dreary place. The bills for all 3 nights amounted to $41US. I told him that could be a Christian challenge to him to get that through to his boss and left once again to refresh my soul with a little blood letting by Dexter. Upon returning to the desk, Ken (the desk guy) says that his boss is offering to comp our dinner tonight. Blam Sigourney is back full force. I can see her needing all the thorazine they can throw at her so she doesn’t rip this guys tongue from his quivering lips.
No that won’t do I said. I could see the dodge and finally worked my way through it. They were trying to keep all the charges they had made on the bill so they would not have to issue a credit. But Nasty American White Woman would not be beaten. I told Ken that he hadn’t put through this evening’s bill for lodging and that if he did he would not see the sunset at the Sunset Hotel tomorrow. He got my drift and we were all done. And tomorrow it’s on to Nambale.

The Good , The Bad and the Really, Really Ugly

30 May 2009
We went back to KMET to visit their nutrition center and another few women who were benefitting from the micro-finance work they were doing. The most intriguing woman was an elderly lady with large sagging breasts, and few teeth. However she was the Warren Buffet of the slums. She was on her fifth loan with KMET. She had a tailoring business, a small shop, she grew vegetables on a tiny plot of land in the slums. But the coolest thing was the pond she had dug with help from KMET. There she was growing small fish called omina. Over the pond she had built a chicken coop with the chicken droppings going directly into the pond. That way the chickens fed the fish and she only had to feed the chickens. Totally one of the smartest and coolest ideas I’d ever seen. And all this for a couple hundred dollars!

I won’t detail all that we saw, suffice it to say it was exhilarating and I felt as if I had found a true partner and sister in the fight. We returned to KMET for me to do an AIDS training which I always like doing. At first people are reluctant when they hear it is 2 or 3 hours, but it is such an effective tool and people have so much fun with the games (the condom relay race is always hysterical) that in the end there is laughter and learning and everyone feels better for being together.
We finished the day with a frustrating time trying to use their internet. It is so much a part of Kenya that their internet is used with satellite and cell phones, that it is not truly wireless. It is true that I am well plugged into the electric teat, but not as badly as Brett, so he really had a tough time.

We finished and went out in a group for dinner. We were meeting my beloved Daniel a young man who has counseled me, watched over me, taught me and I have watched grow. He is now assistant bureau chief of the Nation and I was most anxious to see him again. I was also anxious that the Bretts and others from KMET meet him. The best part of the evening is that he agreed to come to Nambale and cover our partnership with KMET and the passing of the baton. And it will be featured in the Nation. Sweeeeet!
The young’uns were going dancing. That would have been everyone but me, so Francis returned me to the hotel and he went off to join the revelry. Now this white girl had gone 2 nights without air conditioning in the hottest part of Kenya. I had traipsed through fly infested slums, shaken hundreds of children’s hands and allowed them to touch my hair (always a fascination for them). I was hot, dirty and looking forward to writing this journal and watching Dexter. Aha, no.

They had changed my room, but the air conditioning didn’t work in the second room, nor the 3rd or the 4th. Ok..Watch out now, here comes the Bitch. I had had it. I try not to get American nasty but by the time I finished with them, I was threatening to destroy them on the internet if they didn’t get me a room with BOTH air conditioning and hot water. 1 hour later, this ugly, hot, tired bitch had a cold shower and set down to write this blog. At least there is air conditioning and a cold shower I can deal with. Tomorrow we have a blessed day off before we take off for Nambale.
As I reflect on this time with KMET, I feel incredibly lucky and blessed that I get to do the work I do. Keep the faith y'all

Time Goes Before the People

25 May 2009
I have returned to my heart home. The plane ride was its ususal aerobics in hell type of trip, though not as bad as many I have taken. I noticed it took a bit more of a toll on Brett than me, but perhaps that is only because he had been doing so much before we left. It’s wonderful to see this place through fresh eyes, and Brett’s quiet calm and easy going ways. It promises to be a delightful adventure.
I start all my trips with a visit to my home church St. John’s on the grounds of KARI (Kenya Agricultural Research Institute). This is my friend Evalyn’s church, and it is where my journey really began 7 years ago. So much has changed. There were so many fewer people there,the result of several things. Evalyn now lives in Nairobi and is not there as much, and of course so many fled after the terror of the elections and long nights lying over their children in the corn fields to keep them safe. The assistant vicar gave a wonderful sermon on whom we should count on.
It seems that the Standard has been publishing stories that the only one who can save Kenya from their economical disasters is Uhuru Kenyatta. Kenyans are clearly fed up with the dreadful state of politics here. But, as David pointed out, it will not be a man who can save this country. He went on to talk about an announcement that had been made in church about registering for exams for teachers. It seems that you must return to your home province to register. Again David reminded us that anyone in Kenya can take a course in the U.S no matter where he comes from, but in Kenya you are still made to go to your tribal land. This continuation of tribalism continues to split the people and the country. This is something that has been readily apparent to me since I first came here. Nothing has changed. On the ride home I was talking to Francis and Brett and explained that all the tribes see me as white and not part of any tribe so they talk about each other with reckless abandon since I am nothing. It does provide an interesting perspective.
Right after church we went to see my nieces Rhoda and Rowena. I love these young women, they have become my second daughters. They are such remarkable women, and I hope One Village can support them in some way as well as the poorest of the poor. I believe we must encourage the brightest children as well as those who shall never leave their village. Rowena wants to come to the U.S to be a doctor and somehow we shall have to figure that out. The trick is to send these bright people home to Kenya instead of keeping them in the U.S.
From KARI we traveled to Evalyn’s new home in Nairobi. It is a grand affair compared to the housing at KARI. The choir was visiting her to sing for her. I could not help but notice the differences in the attitude of the choir towards her. It was not as open and loving as when Evalyn lived there. Changes have come, things are not the same. Evalyn is also a bit reactive about her school. I am not sure why, but I shall see her for dinner tonight and learn more.
Brett and I returned to our hotel blearily weary. We both fell asleep immediately and slept till morning.
It was neat to hear Brett’s take on the day before and I am truly looking forward to his assessment of the dinner tonight. Sam and Evalyn shall be joining us.
Today the weather is damp and cool, but I suspect before te end of the day, it shall change. Tomorrow we drive the Rift. I’m excited to do this. I have never done it before, but with Brett’s enthusiasm and my desire that he have some fun, we’re going to do it. And Brett even suggested a balloon ride over the Mara and I think we shall.

26 May 2009

Today was one of those insane days that happen in Africa. It began with an ominous statement by Francis that “Time goes before the People”, indicating that we were going to be later than Bush’s apology to the Dems for Iraq. Yeah, we were driving the Rift. Now Francis had indicated it would be 5 hours to get there, that was confirmed by Evalyn’s husband Sam. So if we left at 9A I figured we would be in Kisumu by 2:30. Can you hear the reindeer on the roof Virginia??? By 2:30 we were still an hour and ½ away. And by 3 the car had broken down so badly we had to call Monica who generously came to get us. We did not get to KMET until 5P at which time most of the people had gone home.
The Rift itself is beyond my ability to describe it in a fashion befitting the beauty and awe of it. Can you imagine tooling down the road and looking over to see Zebra walking on the side? How about stopping to photograph a tiny church and having to lock the doors to keep the monkeys out? Or looking out at this enourmous lake and seeing it carpeted in pink only to find out they were flamingos? We sped past large fields of soft green plants shiny with new growth. The fields were speckled with what looked like white flags, but instead they were the workers hunched over the plants picking each leaf by hand. It was then that I think Brett got more of a feel for how far Kenya has to grow to catch up. The fields looked just like the cotton fields of the South 150 years ago.
All through the drive people were walking, herding cattle by the side of the road, statuesque women with large containers on their head marched straight ahead , and the ever present stacks of bananas and potatoes being sold at every market. This is my Kenya and my heart skipped a beat as we were nearing Kisumu. What owns me is the people in the rural areas: their broad smiles, their simple prayers, their kindness, the big eyes of the children seeing a Muzungu. It is the smell of the rain and burning trash all at once. It is the red clay that covers me the moment we strike out for wherever we are going. It is the endless sky promising a day’s story of weather in the clouds and colors that are ever changing.
Tomorrow we shall arise early and get going. Francis will be working on his car all day, so it is quite fortunate that we have a vehicle through KMET to use. I know Monica does not know that I have seen the slums and poverty, the schools and orphanages, the bedridden oozing open sores, but that is fine because Brett will see it and that gives me new perspective and new thoughts. I am so grateful to have found Monica. She is a woman after my own heart, deliberate, organized, no nonsense and dedicated as a mother is to her infant child. In fact, just as they call me Mama Susan, they call her Mama KMET.
It was a good day after all. As Brett and I sat having dinner under the trees with the monkeys swinging above us, it just felt like it was such a victory about to unfold. So yes time does go before people, but in the end, I think we catch up.