Wednesday, January 28, 2004
TRIP TO KARATINA [Part I]
Saturday, September 6, 2003, I traveled to Karatina, a small town that lies on the southwestern slopes of Mount Kenya, a little over two hours north of Nairobi. On this journey, I was the guest of the Karingithi’s—host family to my fellow Young Adult Volunteer, Sanford Groff. The Karingithi’s are neighbors to my host family, Mr. and Mrs. Muriithi. Consequently, during the week that our group of Young Adult Volunteers stayed at host families’ houses, I visited the Karingithi home several times.
I was invited to come along on a trip to Karatina to visit both parents’ families. Seeing as I had nothing to lose but time, and everything to gain, including both fun and new experiences, I decided to join them. This was my first trip outside of the city, and my first encounter with settings that would replace expectations with first-hand experiences. Saturday was also the ninth day I had been in Africa, and the end of our weeklong placement with host families.
Upon arrival, we went shopping in town, and walked through an open-air market for fruits and vegetables; the market, incidentally, is the largest of its kind in East Africa. Next, we headed to Mr. Karingithi’s homestead and met his family. We explored the farm, saw various animals, and heard stories about the family’s history. Mr. Karingithi then took us to a tea factory in town, run by the KTDA (Kenya Tea Development Agency). It took quite a while to receive clearance for a tour [I presume lest some valuable tea processing secrets be observed and exported ; )], but once provisions were made, we were in! Before initiation of the tour, we were taken to the supervisor’s room, where the logistics, history, and significance of tea in Kenya were explained. The discussion was laced with superlatives and precedents: this was the first tea factory in Kenya, KTDA is the largest employer of its kind worldwide, and the finest tea in the world is processed here. Needless to say, I was quite impressed! Although a propensity toward bias was undoubtedly present, my cup of tea offered no evidence to the contrary regarding the claim that this was the finest tea in the world. And though I am by no means a tea connoisseur, I haven’t had comparable tea before, or since—so I did all I could to savor every swallow!
The tour covered every stage of the tea making process, from the unloading of tealeaves to the shipping of the finished product all over the world in bags that varied according to quality. Larger particles meant poorer quality, while the best quality tealeaves had been pulverized into a fine powder. After completion of the tour, we returned to the homestead for lunch and a little time to talk. After lunch, several of the Karingithi children took Sanford and I exploring around the house. We followed various roads/walkways, and played in a creek for a bit too. I thoroughly enjoyed this time, and did my best to soak in the amazing surroundings.
…The blue sky, especially blue; the green grass, especially green; and the air…ah yes—fresh and clean. Sensory perception of a high order! Everything had a relaxed, carefree ambiance; even the air had a potent, poetic feeling of lethargy—lazy, languid—and time, seemed to stop. (Excerpt from Alfred Lord Tennyson’s poem, Choric Song of the Lotus Eaters)
There is sweet music here that softer falls
Than petals from blown roses on the grass,
Or night-dews on still waters between walls
Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass;
Music that gentlier on the spirit lies,
Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes;
Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies.
Here are cool mosses deep,
And through the moss the ivies creep
And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep,
And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep.
Why are we weighed upon with heaviness,
And utterly consumed with sharp distress,
While all things else have rest from weariness?
All things have rest; why should we toil alone,
We only toil, who are the first of things,
And make perpetual moan,
Still from one sorrow to another thrown;
Nor ever fold our wings,
And cease from wanderings,
Nor steep our brows in slumber’s holy balm;
Nor harken what the inner spirit sings,
“There is no joy but calm!”
I felt a world away, as if only in a parallel universe could life be imagined to involve pressure…Hearkening to a “simpler” time, a time when the day’s rhythms were in direct accord with the cycles of nature: planting and harvest, light and dark, young and old, innocence and experience, life and death. Pressure is alien to this atmosphere: the world is, you are. Let it be, and you yourself will be. Contemplatively viewed, using objectivity, in reality, this is life. In such order, there is beauty. Extensive beauty…Life is beautiful.
Well, how ‘bout it? What more could we ask for? Hmmm, I’ll just leave the prospect open to expound on the merits of complexity, effort, and action for a little later.
I was invited to come along on a trip to Karatina to visit both parents’ families. Seeing as I had nothing to lose but time, and everything to gain, including both fun and new experiences, I decided to join them. This was my first trip outside of the city, and my first encounter with settings that would replace expectations with first-hand experiences. Saturday was also the ninth day I had been in Africa, and the end of our weeklong placement with host families.
Upon arrival, we went shopping in town, and walked through an open-air market for fruits and vegetables; the market, incidentally, is the largest of its kind in East Africa. Next, we headed to Mr. Karingithi’s homestead and met his family. We explored the farm, saw various animals, and heard stories about the family’s history. Mr. Karingithi then took us to a tea factory in town, run by the KTDA (Kenya Tea Development Agency). It took quite a while to receive clearance for a tour [I presume lest some valuable tea processing secrets be observed and exported ; )], but once provisions were made, we were in! Before initiation of the tour, we were taken to the supervisor’s room, where the logistics, history, and significance of tea in Kenya were explained. The discussion was laced with superlatives and precedents: this was the first tea factory in Kenya, KTDA is the largest employer of its kind worldwide, and the finest tea in the world is processed here. Needless to say, I was quite impressed! Although a propensity toward bias was undoubtedly present, my cup of tea offered no evidence to the contrary regarding the claim that this was the finest tea in the world. And though I am by no means a tea connoisseur, I haven’t had comparable tea before, or since—so I did all I could to savor every swallow!
The tour covered every stage of the tea making process, from the unloading of tealeaves to the shipping of the finished product all over the world in bags that varied according to quality. Larger particles meant poorer quality, while the best quality tealeaves had been pulverized into a fine powder. After completion of the tour, we returned to the homestead for lunch and a little time to talk. After lunch, several of the Karingithi children took Sanford and I exploring around the house. We followed various roads/walkways, and played in a creek for a bit too. I thoroughly enjoyed this time, and did my best to soak in the amazing surroundings.
…The blue sky, especially blue; the green grass, especially green; and the air…ah yes—fresh and clean. Sensory perception of a high order! Everything had a relaxed, carefree ambiance; even the air had a potent, poetic feeling of lethargy—lazy, languid—and time, seemed to stop. (Excerpt from Alfred Lord Tennyson’s poem, Choric Song of the Lotus Eaters)
There is sweet music here that softer falls
Than petals from blown roses on the grass,
Or night-dews on still waters between walls
Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass;
Music that gentlier on the spirit lies,
Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes;
Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies.
Here are cool mosses deep,
And through the moss the ivies creep
And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep,
And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep.
Why are we weighed upon with heaviness,
And utterly consumed with sharp distress,
While all things else have rest from weariness?
All things have rest; why should we toil alone,
We only toil, who are the first of things,
And make perpetual moan,
Still from one sorrow to another thrown;
Nor ever fold our wings,
And cease from wanderings,
Nor steep our brows in slumber’s holy balm;
Nor harken what the inner spirit sings,
“There is no joy but calm!”
I felt a world away, as if only in a parallel universe could life be imagined to involve pressure…Hearkening to a “simpler” time, a time when the day’s rhythms were in direct accord with the cycles of nature: planting and harvest, light and dark, young and old, innocence and experience, life and death. Pressure is alien to this atmosphere: the world is, you are. Let it be, and you yourself will be. Contemplatively viewed, using objectivity, in reality, this is life. In such order, there is beauty. Extensive beauty…Life is beautiful.
Well, how ‘bout it? What more could we ask for? Hmmm, I’ll just leave the prospect open to expound on the merits of complexity, effort, and action for a little later.
[Part II]
We returned in time to bid the chuchus (pronounced sho-shos)—the two grandmothers who lived there—farewell, and take a group picture. Next, it was off to Mrs. Karingithi’s homestead. Using dusty earthen pathways— sometimes eroded, sometimes steep, sometimes altogether separate for the two sets of tires—as a road, we drove further into the country and tea fields to arrive at the home. Here we received a full tour of the farm, which was quite expansive. We were shown the tea fields, and the manner in which tea is harvested. This particular field of tea blanketed the hillside, and stretched down to the valley below. On the other side of the valley was a similar field, with a homestead from which a loudspeaker could be heard. We were informed that this was a fairly common practice, and that the loudspeaker was used in an attempt to raise funds for attending school in the US or England. By seeming aurally discordant and out of place, this detracted from the overall aesthetic appeal of the scene, but it did nothing to lessen the scene’s picturesque magnitude. This tea field canvassed utter magnificence, a splendidly spectacular scene! Beyond it laid one or two relatively small tea fields, while immediately thereafter came the Mt. Kenya forest, progressing though numerous vegetative zones with increasing elevation up the mountain, and finally, the snow-covered, craggy peaks of Mt. Kenya.
Chogoria Hospital lay on the other side of the mountain. Its idyllic setting on the slopes of Mt. Kenya was no longer confined exclusively to my imagination, as it had been for the months leading up to my departure for Kenya. At the time, I felt I could finally sense the momentous experience I would have during these formative months of my life, which would be spent there, at my placement site…But alas, it was not meant to be! I was destined to walk down a different pathway, and instead of Chogoria, I believe that God led me to Kikuyu Hospital.
But at the time, this change in events remained unbeknownst to me, still three weeks in the future. Again, all was placid and serene. I felt compelled to lie down on the tea plants and relax there indefinitely. Such a course of action would have been safe for a bit longer, but not much—around sunset, leopards emerge; thereby reinstating the natural order, which reigns within the planet’s wilder expanses, and provides a reminder that mankind is not always “master of the domain.” Mrs. Karingithi’s brother told us the story of how he recently lost a dog to a leopard: he had the door open to let the dog in, but the dog didn’t quite make it into the house, because if the door wouldn’t have been slammed at the last minute, both the dog and leopard would have made it into the house. So after looking at the tea fields, we headed back up to the hill and proceeded to tour the local vicinity using various footpaths.
I don’t remember exactly how far we traveled, or how long we were gone. In my memory it seems like quite a lot happened, though events quickly blurred together. People of all ages, but especially children, came out to see the rare spectacle of wazungus (white people) walking around. In the more heavily populated areas, and especially Nairobi, people are more discreet in the way they notice the presence of white people—only at times with long glances, whispers, etc.; but in the country, (where such an event likely occurs at a frequency of once a year, or even less) it’s almost as if the circus or ice cream man is passing through and people make an effort to witness the event so as not to miss out on something exciting.
Many times I wonder what exactly people see when they look at me. Certainly I am seen as an outsider, and most times I feel that I am welcomed as such, but the likely reasons for this welcoming are sometimes difficult to reconcile or understand. All the sensitivity issues relating to human dignity are at work here; one receives the tangible feeling that they are being made into a spectacle whether they like it or not—through overt objectification. At such a time, quite a range of emotions is experienced, and empathy with minorities all over the world and throughout history is felt. But here, beyond simply being in the minority, it is to the point of being an almost freakish, peculiar aberration, and the sole differentiating factor that you possess is made explicitly clear to you.
I am not saying that such a reaction is a bad thing on the part of the Kenyans that I have encountered, or that they are liable for receiving blame. Curiosity precludes such culpability, as curiosity is the natural human reaction when something out of the ordinary or extraordinary is encountered. This reaction is critical to our exploration and development in making sense of the new things experienced throughout life, and finding a way to incorporate them into, or reconcile them with, our existing worldview. But with a lack of exposure comes a lack of understanding, and therefore an increased potential for manipulation. It is here then that the ugly potential arises from this scenario (lack of exposure to diversity in skin color.) Historically, in various forms, a lack of understanding has been used for expressly ignominious ends. Thus, for the delicate matter of race relations to be handled properly, and to avoid repeating mistakes, there must be thoughtfulness, objectivity, and as much empathy and understanding as possible; with reasoned decisions made, free from impulsiveness. I do believe that diversity has strong potential for good, with mutual enrichment. The curiosity exhibited when something new is encountered argues this point. It demonstrates that acceptance, and even inclusion, are almost immediate, and indicates that people are willing to embrace change when they encounter the unknown…even though not only what they know, but also their very being—character, belief system, world view—may emerge changed from the encounter.
Overall, we are overwhelmingly alike. Common experiences through our shared life on Planet Earth both merit and demand sincere efforts to learn about our fellow humans around the world—near and far, similar and disparate. Reaching out beyond our comfort zone, and stepping away from what is familiar and known does require considerable effort, especially initially.
But the rewards of this effort for both sides are far too great to be ignored, or knowingly bypassed. It’s just a matter of reaching out to others, recognizing that at times one may be hurt, but in the long run, we have far more to gain from each other than we will lose by remaining separate—allowing such arguably arbitrary xenophobic factors as skin color, gender, age, appearance, education, social class, culture, past misdeeds, sexual orientation, or religion to shelter, segregate, and isolate us from one another—limiting our mutual progress. We all have something to gain from one another. Effort amply rewarded! (Excerpts from Alfred Lord Tennyson’s poem, Ulysses)
I cannot rest from travel; I will drink
Life to the lees. All times I have enjoyed
Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone…
I am a part of all that I have met…
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breathe were life!
…The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
‘Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
…That which we are, we are—
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
I acknowledge that this is a complicated, sensitive issue, with no comprehensive, all-encompassing solution in sight. But I firmly believe forgiveness and acceptance are transcendent factors, which often act as preludes and prerequisites to love. Acceptance of others is an understood, logical, and necessary extension to the type of acceptance we all demand, expect, and need for survival—as I see it, a de facto part of life’s existence. Though it is easy to become discouraged, cynical, and burned out with such hopes in this world, we can always hope for, pray for, and believe in a better place where all is right, just, beautiful, and true.
Chogoria Hospital lay on the other side of the mountain. Its idyllic setting on the slopes of Mt. Kenya was no longer confined exclusively to my imagination, as it had been for the months leading up to my departure for Kenya. At the time, I felt I could finally sense the momentous experience I would have during these formative months of my life, which would be spent there, at my placement site…But alas, it was not meant to be! I was destined to walk down a different pathway, and instead of Chogoria, I believe that God led me to Kikuyu Hospital.
But at the time, this change in events remained unbeknownst to me, still three weeks in the future. Again, all was placid and serene. I felt compelled to lie down on the tea plants and relax there indefinitely. Such a course of action would have been safe for a bit longer, but not much—around sunset, leopards emerge; thereby reinstating the natural order, which reigns within the planet’s wilder expanses, and provides a reminder that mankind is not always “master of the domain.” Mrs. Karingithi’s brother told us the story of how he recently lost a dog to a leopard: he had the door open to let the dog in, but the dog didn’t quite make it into the house, because if the door wouldn’t have been slammed at the last minute, both the dog and leopard would have made it into the house. So after looking at the tea fields, we headed back up to the hill and proceeded to tour the local vicinity using various footpaths.
I don’t remember exactly how far we traveled, or how long we were gone. In my memory it seems like quite a lot happened, though events quickly blurred together. People of all ages, but especially children, came out to see the rare spectacle of wazungus (white people) walking around. In the more heavily populated areas, and especially Nairobi, people are more discreet in the way they notice the presence of white people—only at times with long glances, whispers, etc.; but in the country, (where such an event likely occurs at a frequency of once a year, or even less) it’s almost as if the circus or ice cream man is passing through and people make an effort to witness the event so as not to miss out on something exciting.
Many times I wonder what exactly people see when they look at me. Certainly I am seen as an outsider, and most times I feel that I am welcomed as such, but the likely reasons for this welcoming are sometimes difficult to reconcile or understand. All the sensitivity issues relating to human dignity are at work here; one receives the tangible feeling that they are being made into a spectacle whether they like it or not—through overt objectification. At such a time, quite a range of emotions is experienced, and empathy with minorities all over the world and throughout history is felt. But here, beyond simply being in the minority, it is to the point of being an almost freakish, peculiar aberration, and the sole differentiating factor that you possess is made explicitly clear to you.
I am not saying that such a reaction is a bad thing on the part of the Kenyans that I have encountered, or that they are liable for receiving blame. Curiosity precludes such culpability, as curiosity is the natural human reaction when something out of the ordinary or extraordinary is encountered. This reaction is critical to our exploration and development in making sense of the new things experienced throughout life, and finding a way to incorporate them into, or reconcile them with, our existing worldview. But with a lack of exposure comes a lack of understanding, and therefore an increased potential for manipulation. It is here then that the ugly potential arises from this scenario (lack of exposure to diversity in skin color.) Historically, in various forms, a lack of understanding has been used for expressly ignominious ends. Thus, for the delicate matter of race relations to be handled properly, and to avoid repeating mistakes, there must be thoughtfulness, objectivity, and as much empathy and understanding as possible; with reasoned decisions made, free from impulsiveness. I do believe that diversity has strong potential for good, with mutual enrichment. The curiosity exhibited when something new is encountered argues this point. It demonstrates that acceptance, and even inclusion, are almost immediate, and indicates that people are willing to embrace change when they encounter the unknown…even though not only what they know, but also their very being—character, belief system, world view—may emerge changed from the encounter.
Overall, we are overwhelmingly alike. Common experiences through our shared life on Planet Earth both merit and demand sincere efforts to learn about our fellow humans around the world—near and far, similar and disparate. Reaching out beyond our comfort zone, and stepping away from what is familiar and known does require considerable effort, especially initially.
But the rewards of this effort for both sides are far too great to be ignored, or knowingly bypassed. It’s just a matter of reaching out to others, recognizing that at times one may be hurt, but in the long run, we have far more to gain from each other than we will lose by remaining separate—allowing such arguably arbitrary xenophobic factors as skin color, gender, age, appearance, education, social class, culture, past misdeeds, sexual orientation, or religion to shelter, segregate, and isolate us from one another—limiting our mutual progress. We all have something to gain from one another. Effort amply rewarded! (Excerpts from Alfred Lord Tennyson’s poem, Ulysses)
I cannot rest from travel; I will drink
Life to the lees. All times I have enjoyed
Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone…
I am a part of all that I have met…
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breathe were life!
…The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
‘Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
…That which we are, we are—
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
I acknowledge that this is a complicated, sensitive issue, with no comprehensive, all-encompassing solution in sight. But I firmly believe forgiveness and acceptance are transcendent factors, which often act as preludes and prerequisites to love. Acceptance of others is an understood, logical, and necessary extension to the type of acceptance we all demand, expect, and need for survival—as I see it, a de facto part of life’s existence. Though it is easy to become discouraged, cynical, and burned out with such hopes in this world, we can always hope for, pray for, and believe in a better place where all is right, just, beautiful, and true.
[Part III]
From my experience, there is a distinctive feeling, which arises after taking rigorous academic tests requiring intense concentration and focus. This is pretty close to the way I felt. Essentially: “Enough is enough!” Looking back on the day, I felt as if I carried a week’s worth of newfound weight in unprocessed experiences. A good deal of the difficulty involved with attempting to process this new information came from the observation of a life completely different to the one that I had known. Questions arose about how I would fit into the picture, and what I could possibly do to “help” or “witness” to my fellow human beings living this lifestyle when I admittedly understood so little about the lives they led. Now, deeply entrenched in my mission experience, I still firmly believe this to be a question meriting exploration through both thought and discussion, though the answers elicited as a result of this exploration are bound to complex.
At the time, this scenario, and the degree to which it took place, was fairly new to me during the course of my stay in Kenya. I had difficulty synthesizing a clear theme, and one that could be reconciled with what I had known before. Certainly, I had not the assistance of such allies as time, retrospection, and repeated related experiences for use in contemplation of the matter. These complications were compelling, as they were combined with attempts to absorb, grasp, and make sense out of the new experiences. Consequently, sensory overload quickly surfaced, and, before I knew otherwise, became entrenched. Be this as it may…
There is a time to think, and a time to feel. This was a time to feel. Acceptance arrives that sometimes sense and rationality are not rendered readily apparent. Reality is not what you make of it; instead, it simply is what is. The capacity for cerebral contemplation is compromised by a recognizable futility…. A matter of the heart this powerfully becomes.
Stripped of artificiality, with the otherwise potentially compelling complexities broken down to the simplicity of an encounter, I find my place to be remarkably lucid. I go with what comes natural to me. Feeling the gaze of another, I look them in the eyes, and I smile. Most of the time, people smile back.
In such situations, lacking all else, (but arguably missing nothing because of the power and significance contained in this connection and the comparably superfluous nature of extraneous encounters) an indescribable, timeless bond occurs between the two people involved. Logically, as strangers, they understand nothing about one another; yet because of this shared smile, they demonstrate an understanding of life, and our place in it—which thereby includes an understanding of the complicit, reflexive recipient of their gesture. Avoiding all potential for pretense, the understanding is there: I know you, I accept you, and I love you.
Thus is my belief in the power of a smile. Smiles have an unlimited, life-changing capacity, tapping into the realms of inner peace and joy—both intrinsic and exclusive of external surroundings. Our ability to share joy and happiness with our fellow human beings is boundless, ethereal, and readily available at all times: through love expressed in the pure, unadulterated form of a smile. Such potential makes life well-worth living, as we can have an effortless impact on others, which is both positive and profound.
Always, spread love, with a smile. I hope you understand. I believe you can. I think you do.
Soon it was time to head back. We said our Kwaheris—“goodbyes,” and made our way to the main road, before driving the remainder of the trip into Nairobi. Along the way, thoughts ran through my head about the day’s events and experiences. I had a related discussion with Jeremy, the youngest of the Karingithi children, about cross cultural experiences and the benefits of seeing how people live in other parts of the world. To name just a few: objectivity, greater understanding for oneself, new interests, and an enhanced appreciation of the wonderful complexity and diversity of creation.
I believe such matters are worthy of contemplation and constitute an important intercultural dialogue. In addition, seeking the synthesis in each of our individual lives is a critical component of a core human experience: living in the present, while continually exploring where to strike the balance between the old and the new, the past and the future, the known and the unknown.
At the time, this scenario, and the degree to which it took place, was fairly new to me during the course of my stay in Kenya. I had difficulty synthesizing a clear theme, and one that could be reconciled with what I had known before. Certainly, I had not the assistance of such allies as time, retrospection, and repeated related experiences for use in contemplation of the matter. These complications were compelling, as they were combined with attempts to absorb, grasp, and make sense out of the new experiences. Consequently, sensory overload quickly surfaced, and, before I knew otherwise, became entrenched. Be this as it may…
There is a time to think, and a time to feel. This was a time to feel. Acceptance arrives that sometimes sense and rationality are not rendered readily apparent. Reality is not what you make of it; instead, it simply is what is. The capacity for cerebral contemplation is compromised by a recognizable futility…. A matter of the heart this powerfully becomes.
Stripped of artificiality, with the otherwise potentially compelling complexities broken down to the simplicity of an encounter, I find my place to be remarkably lucid. I go with what comes natural to me. Feeling the gaze of another, I look them in the eyes, and I smile. Most of the time, people smile back.
In such situations, lacking all else, (but arguably missing nothing because of the power and significance contained in this connection and the comparably superfluous nature of extraneous encounters) an indescribable, timeless bond occurs between the two people involved. Logically, as strangers, they understand nothing about one another; yet because of this shared smile, they demonstrate an understanding of life, and our place in it—which thereby includes an understanding of the complicit, reflexive recipient of their gesture. Avoiding all potential for pretense, the understanding is there: I know you, I accept you, and I love you.
Thus is my belief in the power of a smile. Smiles have an unlimited, life-changing capacity, tapping into the realms of inner peace and joy—both intrinsic and exclusive of external surroundings. Our ability to share joy and happiness with our fellow human beings is boundless, ethereal, and readily available at all times: through love expressed in the pure, unadulterated form of a smile. Such potential makes life well-worth living, as we can have an effortless impact on others, which is both positive and profound.
Always, spread love, with a smile. I hope you understand. I believe you can. I think you do.
Soon it was time to head back. We said our Kwaheris—“goodbyes,” and made our way to the main road, before driving the remainder of the trip into Nairobi. Along the way, thoughts ran through my head about the day’s events and experiences. I had a related discussion with Jeremy, the youngest of the Karingithi children, about cross cultural experiences and the benefits of seeing how people live in other parts of the world. To name just a few: objectivity, greater understanding for oneself, new interests, and an enhanced appreciation of the wonderful complexity and diversity of creation.
I believe such matters are worthy of contemplation and constitute an important intercultural dialogue. In addition, seeking the synthesis in each of our individual lives is a critical component of a core human experience: living in the present, while continually exploring where to strike the balance between the old and the new, the past and the future, the known and the unknown.
Sunday, January 25, 2004
Review--Arrival and Host Family Week
Our flight landed in Nairobi on Friday morning, August 29th. The next two days were spent settling into our apartments, meeting people, gathering a few supplies, and resting up a bit from our long journey. For various reasons (reverse jet lag?, bad pollution in the morning), I did not sleep well on Friday and Saturday nights, and even woke up early in the morning without being able to fall back asleep.
On Sunday morning, we traveled to St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church in downtown Nairobi, where Phyllis Byrd Ochilo, our site coordinator, is a minister. During the service, our group was introduced to the congregation, along with a mention about the reasons we were in Kenya. We were to be split up immediately following church and depart with our host families, with whom we would spend the next week. For 8 out of 10 cases, this scenario came to fruition. For myself and one other Young Adult Volunteer, things had changed. Apparently, my original host family had left the country recently, meaning that arrangements had to be made for a new host family. The afternoon and early evening were spent waiting for the overdue departure. After dropping off the other YAV at his host family’s house, I finally met my host family on Sunday night.
Mr. and Mrs. Naftali Muriithi, an Organic Chemistry Professor and his wife, a retired teacher, were my surrogate host family. Especially considering the circumstances, they were very generous for taking me in and providing for me. That said, with the last-minute arrangements, there seemed to be an important lack of understanding about the circumstances surrounding the expectations for the week with the host family. Namely, the stated, expressed purpose of this week was for our group to get a feel for life in Kenya through the eyes of a family. This essentially was to involve continuation of the settling in to Kenya that we had experienced during the first two days, only this time with an authentic, exclusively Kenyan perspective. There would be plenty of time to rest and catch up on sleep, relax, read, and talk to our families. Such were my expectations, but disappointingly, they were not met. During this week, I got my first heavy-dose of exposure to the prevalent scenario of people eagerly and ardently seeking the chance to get to know a white person, which can be wearisome to the point of exhaustion. By the end of the week, I felt about as tired and worn out as I had at the beginning of the week.
There were bright spots though. I enjoyed visiting Mrs. Muriithi’s father, who was staying at Kenyatta Hospital, which I believe is the largest hospital in Nairobi. It was good to see the inside of a hospital in Kenya and to run through the thoughts related to discrepancies in international health care and considering my position in all of it. My host mother very sweetly asked me what some of my favorite American foods were, and made spaghetti one night for dinner. I was also able to visit a couple of my fellow Young Adult Volunteers during the week, which effectively served to preserve some sort of sanity, or connection to what was familiar. We actually watched the Lion King at the Karingithii home (see journal entry, Trip to Karatina) during this week too. I thoroughly enjoyed this experience. It’s hard to describe the feeling of being immersed in this familiar movie, with its African themes, and then making the connection that this is actually where I’m at—Kenya, I’m here! Wow! That’s neat!
Another bright spot was that I was able to use the periods of down time to get in some much needed reading and writing. I did about 50 pages of journaling in a few days, much of which was later used in the first set of journal entries (way back in mid-September!) Unfortunately, this amounts to more journaling than I’ve done since then, though I still have strong aims on soon changing this. On the reading end of things, my small book, Immortal Poems of the English Language, proved invaluable as a rich source of diversion and happiness. Bits of Shakespeare, along with the following excerpts, were especially helpful in getting me through this difficult time, and I enjoyed memorizing them…
Kubla Khan
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
…A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw,
It was an Abyssinian maid
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora,
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song
To such a deep delight ‘twould win me
That with music loud and long
I would build that dome in air
That sunny dome! Those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes! His floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread
For he on honey dew hath fed
And drunk the milk of paradise.
Epigram
Sir, I admit your general rule
That every poet is a fool
But you yourself may serve to show it
That every fool is not a poet
My Heart Leaps Up
William Wordsworth
My Heart Leaps Up When I behold
A rainbow in the sky
So it was when I was young
So it is now that I am a man
So it shall be when I am old
Or let me die!
The child is father of the man
And let each of our days be
Bound each to each by natural piety
Being newly away from home, and with the entirety of a year away facing me, homesickness was an important consideration, and something I was wondering when, or how powerfully, this feeling would strike me. Ironically, the first time I got tears in my eyes wasn’t thinking about home, but instead when I got a piece of chicken meat stuck in my throat on Saturday night. Eventually, peristalsis performed its expected role, but for a time I was quite worried, and that was maybe the first time I thought I would seriously have to perform the “Heimlich Maneuver” on myself! The next day, tears came to my eyes at a more “appropriate,” and less worrisome time, when I was reading emails from loved ones at home.
Reunion with the other group members was an intense experience. It seemed like we had all missed each other greatly and been through a lot. Thus concluded my first days and host family week. It felt like a month had already gone by, and that I had been on a roller coaster. I had a strong feeling that I wanted to leave negative things from first week behind, move on, and use the experiences to make me stronger and more appreciative of some specific things, but also life in general. In an interesting juxtaposition, I felt like after what I had been through, I had grown to possess a stronger appreciation for new things, places, and people; along with familiar things, places, and people.
On Sunday morning, we traveled to St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church in downtown Nairobi, where Phyllis Byrd Ochilo, our site coordinator, is a minister. During the service, our group was introduced to the congregation, along with a mention about the reasons we were in Kenya. We were to be split up immediately following church and depart with our host families, with whom we would spend the next week. For 8 out of 10 cases, this scenario came to fruition. For myself and one other Young Adult Volunteer, things had changed. Apparently, my original host family had left the country recently, meaning that arrangements had to be made for a new host family. The afternoon and early evening were spent waiting for the overdue departure. After dropping off the other YAV at his host family’s house, I finally met my host family on Sunday night.
Mr. and Mrs. Naftali Muriithi, an Organic Chemistry Professor and his wife, a retired teacher, were my surrogate host family. Especially considering the circumstances, they were very generous for taking me in and providing for me. That said, with the last-minute arrangements, there seemed to be an important lack of understanding about the circumstances surrounding the expectations for the week with the host family. Namely, the stated, expressed purpose of this week was for our group to get a feel for life in Kenya through the eyes of a family. This essentially was to involve continuation of the settling in to Kenya that we had experienced during the first two days, only this time with an authentic, exclusively Kenyan perspective. There would be plenty of time to rest and catch up on sleep, relax, read, and talk to our families. Such were my expectations, but disappointingly, they were not met. During this week, I got my first heavy-dose of exposure to the prevalent scenario of people eagerly and ardently seeking the chance to get to know a white person, which can be wearisome to the point of exhaustion. By the end of the week, I felt about as tired and worn out as I had at the beginning of the week.
There were bright spots though. I enjoyed visiting Mrs. Muriithi’s father, who was staying at Kenyatta Hospital, which I believe is the largest hospital in Nairobi. It was good to see the inside of a hospital in Kenya and to run through the thoughts related to discrepancies in international health care and considering my position in all of it. My host mother very sweetly asked me what some of my favorite American foods were, and made spaghetti one night for dinner. I was also able to visit a couple of my fellow Young Adult Volunteers during the week, which effectively served to preserve some sort of sanity, or connection to what was familiar. We actually watched the Lion King at the Karingithii home (see journal entry, Trip to Karatina) during this week too. I thoroughly enjoyed this experience. It’s hard to describe the feeling of being immersed in this familiar movie, with its African themes, and then making the connection that this is actually where I’m at—Kenya, I’m here! Wow! That’s neat!
Another bright spot was that I was able to use the periods of down time to get in some much needed reading and writing. I did about 50 pages of journaling in a few days, much of which was later used in the first set of journal entries (way back in mid-September!) Unfortunately, this amounts to more journaling than I’ve done since then, though I still have strong aims on soon changing this. On the reading end of things, my small book, Immortal Poems of the English Language, proved invaluable as a rich source of diversion and happiness. Bits of Shakespeare, along with the following excerpts, were especially helpful in getting me through this difficult time, and I enjoyed memorizing them…
Kubla Khan
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
…A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw,
It was an Abyssinian maid
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora,
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song
To such a deep delight ‘twould win me
That with music loud and long
I would build that dome in air
That sunny dome! Those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes! His floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread
For he on honey dew hath fed
And drunk the milk of paradise.
Epigram
Sir, I admit your general rule
That every poet is a fool
But you yourself may serve to show it
That every fool is not a poet
My Heart Leaps Up
William Wordsworth
My Heart Leaps Up When I behold
A rainbow in the sky
So it was when I was young
So it is now that I am a man
So it shall be when I am old
Or let me die!
The child is father of the man
And let each of our days be
Bound each to each by natural piety
Being newly away from home, and with the entirety of a year away facing me, homesickness was an important consideration, and something I was wondering when, or how powerfully, this feeling would strike me. Ironically, the first time I got tears in my eyes wasn’t thinking about home, but instead when I got a piece of chicken meat stuck in my throat on Saturday night. Eventually, peristalsis performed its expected role, but for a time I was quite worried, and that was maybe the first time I thought I would seriously have to perform the “Heimlich Maneuver” on myself! The next day, tears came to my eyes at a more “appropriate,” and less worrisome time, when I was reading emails from loved ones at home.
Reunion with the other group members was an intense experience. It seemed like we had all missed each other greatly and been through a lot. Thus concluded my first days and host family week. It felt like a month had already gone by, and that I had been on a roller coaster. I had a strong feeling that I wanted to leave negative things from first week behind, move on, and use the experiences to make me stronger and more appreciative of some specific things, but also life in general. In an interesting juxtaposition, I felt like after what I had been through, I had grown to possess a stronger appreciation for new things, places, and people; along with familiar things, places, and people.
Review (Orientation) September 7-26, 2003 [Part I]
Following the reunion after the week with host families, we reconvened as a group. The first order of business was to share our stories and experiences with one another. We all had a lot to tell! Our group stayed with quite a range of families, and in the process did a wide variety of things. We looked different, dressed different, and a few even were given Kenyan names. Sunday was used for catching up on new stories, but on Monday, we resumed orientation business and the various preparations for our placements. This period lasted for approximately three weeks before we separated and departed on various dates in late September and early October.
The schedule for orientation usually began early in the morning. The guys’ and girls’ apartments were relatively close to each other in terms of distance, but with early morning city traffic, it took a considerable amount of time to complete the pickup process. We were driven around in a vehicle owned by the All Africa Conference of Churches for the duration of orientation, which was approximately the size of a small bus. Most days, by mid-afternoon, we were finished with the scheduled activities, but with the logistical complexities of ten people having various needs, a great deal of time was spent discussing what to do next and waiting around for undetermined reasons.
Topics for our Orientation sessions varied considerably, but fell under the general theme of introducing us to life in Kenya, into which we were theoretically prepared to effectively integrate ourselves. We had six lessons to cover the basics of Swahili. On September 11, likely not coincidentally, we had security training, and then a free afternoon in the apartments for precautionary reasons. For exposure to social issues, we visited an HIV/AIDS orphan home and a refugee camp predominantly for Sudanese refugees. At the orphan home, we had the opportunity to play with and feed the wonderful little babies.
To fill out our passport paperwork, we visited the new US Embassy (moved away from downtown after the major bombing of the US Embassy in 1998.) We also attended a picnic hosted by the Embassy, at which I participated in a tug of war, and won a T-shirt for accuracy in Frisbee throwing.
Another Young Adult Volunteer and I attended a two-day session hosted by PACANET, the Pan-African HIV/AIDS Network, which was a pre-conference meeting to the major international AIDS Conference in Nairobi. It was amazing for me to be a part of such a gathering. The attendees broke up into various theme groups to draft portions of the document, which would be submitted to the larger conference as representative of the specific views Faith-Based Organizations had on how to address the issue of AIDS. I was a part of the subgroup that dealt with Stigma and Discrimination faced by people living with HIV/AIDS (PLWHA.) The chance to dialogue and discuss this hugely complex issue with representatives from across the continent of Africa who specifically dealt with the people living with this disease as their profession was, quite honestly, humbling. Contemplating policy issues, and deciding on appropriate approaches, which would ideally translate into direct action related to treatment—Wow! I’m actually a part of this? How did this happen? There is no greater weight to place upon the outcome of a decision than life and death, and I’m sure this was a unique experience/first-time situation in which I found myself.
The schedule for orientation usually began early in the morning. The guys’ and girls’ apartments were relatively close to each other in terms of distance, but with early morning city traffic, it took a considerable amount of time to complete the pickup process. We were driven around in a vehicle owned by the All Africa Conference of Churches for the duration of orientation, which was approximately the size of a small bus. Most days, by mid-afternoon, we were finished with the scheduled activities, but with the logistical complexities of ten people having various needs, a great deal of time was spent discussing what to do next and waiting around for undetermined reasons.
Topics for our Orientation sessions varied considerably, but fell under the general theme of introducing us to life in Kenya, into which we were theoretically prepared to effectively integrate ourselves. We had six lessons to cover the basics of Swahili. On September 11, likely not coincidentally, we had security training, and then a free afternoon in the apartments for precautionary reasons. For exposure to social issues, we visited an HIV/AIDS orphan home and a refugee camp predominantly for Sudanese refugees. At the orphan home, we had the opportunity to play with and feed the wonderful little babies.
To fill out our passport paperwork, we visited the new US Embassy (moved away from downtown after the major bombing of the US Embassy in 1998.) We also attended a picnic hosted by the Embassy, at which I participated in a tug of war, and won a T-shirt for accuracy in Frisbee throwing.
Another Young Adult Volunteer and I attended a two-day session hosted by PACANET, the Pan-African HIV/AIDS Network, which was a pre-conference meeting to the major international AIDS Conference in Nairobi. It was amazing for me to be a part of such a gathering. The attendees broke up into various theme groups to draft portions of the document, which would be submitted to the larger conference as representative of the specific views Faith-Based Organizations had on how to address the issue of AIDS. I was a part of the subgroup that dealt with Stigma and Discrimination faced by people living with HIV/AIDS (PLWHA.) The chance to dialogue and discuss this hugely complex issue with representatives from across the continent of Africa who specifically dealt with the people living with this disease as their profession was, quite honestly, humbling. Contemplating policy issues, and deciding on appropriate approaches, which would ideally translate into direct action related to treatment—Wow! I’m actually a part of this? How did this happen? There is no greater weight to place upon the outcome of a decision than life and death, and I’m sure this was a unique experience/first-time situation in which I found myself.
Part [II]
Take ten missionaries from all across the United States (six from the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America and four from the Presbyterian Church (USA); five male and five female), with different educational backgrounds and career aims, put them on a plane to Kenya for a year, mix them together, and what do you get? You get us! The 2003-04 group of PC (USA) Young Adult Volunteers in Kenya…and just who are we? Well, it would be difficult to synthesize a distinct pattern based upon our outward appearance, and even our individual approaches to life, our habits, and our demeanor are quite diverse. Some might say we have a peculiar mix; without a doubt, we are all characters, and unique in our own ways. With this much variety, inevitably there is plenty of latitude, providing interesting group dynamics.
For myself, I know this was a period of fascinating and often unprecedented experiences. This was also the likely case for my fellow missionaries. Together, we were going through an important, formative time period in our lives. In some ways, we became very close, and bonded because of our shared growth. We offered each other a sense of familiarity and understanding through our similar backgrounds, as compared to the completely different lifestyle and surroundings in which we found ourselves.
But in other ways, the fact that collectively, we were still new acquaintances, and getting to know each other after many of us met for the first time only a couple of weeks before, was quite obvious. The distance between us most noticeably manifested itself when the entire group was together. Whether as individuals, or in smaller, amorphous groups arranged according to the situation, we needed our space to process what was going on away from the group at large. The group offered a security blanket, but this security blanket was understood to be only temporary; the comfort of being with a group of Americans you understood and who understood you was short-lived and ever decreasing.
For the time being though, this was orientation, and we were together. We participated in several group-bonding activities. On a Sunday afternoon, we traveled to Paradise Lost, which even included a reference to John Milton, author of the famous work by the same name. Here we had a cookout, played Frisbee, rode a camel, and explored ancient caves beneath a waterfall. The Thursday night before Friday departure to placement sites for some group members, we ate at a restaurant called Carnivore, which I believe is listed as one of the top 50 restaurants in the world. I had wonderful fresh orange juice, bread, cream of spinach soup, a bunch of salad to begin with. Then, for the main course (as the name implies—meat!), a bit of each of the following: Zebra, Ostrich, Crocodile, 2 kinds of lamb, beef, pork ribs, chicken, sausage and meatball, and even a tiny bite of chicken liver. Dessert was a really good fruit salad with ice cream. It certainly was an experience, and I enjoyed trying new things. To facilitate group bonding, plans were that we would share our personal stories with the group at large. Six group members shared their stories, but for four of us, myself included, history is shrouded, and remains a mystery to the rest of the group.
For myself, I know this was a period of fascinating and often unprecedented experiences. This was also the likely case for my fellow missionaries. Together, we were going through an important, formative time period in our lives. In some ways, we became very close, and bonded because of our shared growth. We offered each other a sense of familiarity and understanding through our similar backgrounds, as compared to the completely different lifestyle and surroundings in which we found ourselves.
But in other ways, the fact that collectively, we were still new acquaintances, and getting to know each other after many of us met for the first time only a couple of weeks before, was quite obvious. The distance between us most noticeably manifested itself when the entire group was together. Whether as individuals, or in smaller, amorphous groups arranged according to the situation, we needed our space to process what was going on away from the group at large. The group offered a security blanket, but this security blanket was understood to be only temporary; the comfort of being with a group of Americans you understood and who understood you was short-lived and ever decreasing.
For the time being though, this was orientation, and we were together. We participated in several group-bonding activities. On a Sunday afternoon, we traveled to Paradise Lost, which even included a reference to John Milton, author of the famous work by the same name. Here we had a cookout, played Frisbee, rode a camel, and explored ancient caves beneath a waterfall. The Thursday night before Friday departure to placement sites for some group members, we ate at a restaurant called Carnivore, which I believe is listed as one of the top 50 restaurants in the world. I had wonderful fresh orange juice, bread, cream of spinach soup, a bunch of salad to begin with. Then, for the main course (as the name implies—meat!), a bit of each of the following: Zebra, Ostrich, Crocodile, 2 kinds of lamb, beef, pork ribs, chicken, sausage and meatball, and even a tiny bite of chicken liver. Dessert was a really good fruit salad with ice cream. It certainly was an experience, and I enjoyed trying new things. To facilitate group bonding, plans were that we would share our personal stories with the group at large. Six group members shared their stories, but for four of us, myself included, history is shrouded, and remains a mystery to the rest of the group.
Part [III]
Tuesday, September 23, 2003. A day of change. On this day, we traveled to a place called Resurrection Gardens, which is a Catholic retreat center. There is a huge church on site, where several years ago, Pope John Paul II dedicated the first of its kind in Africa (may have been parish?) There is also a pathway, where various Biblical passages are written telling the story of Christ’s life, death, and resurrection in pictorial succession. The purpose of this outing was to allow our group of YAV’s time for reflection and prayer about the upcoming departure to our sites. I spent probably close to two hours reading, reflecting, and praying during the walk through the gardens. It was an intense time. I was the last to depart from the gardens back to the main compound, where the others were having lunch. When I sat down to eat, my site coordinator informed me that we needed to have a talk after I was finished eating. ??? Didn’t sound good. So I ate with a lump in my throat, not knowing what to expect.
After eating, I went to meet with her in a separate room. Immediately, she informed me that I would no longer be going to Chogoria Hospital. The explanation was that they no longer could provide housing for me, due to a last-minute influx of Americans helping out at the hospital?? So, that’s that. What next? Phyllis said that there were openings in either Mombasa or Nyanza (on the shores of the Indian Ocean and Lake Victoria in Eastern and Western Kenya, respectively) for me to be a teacher. At first I tried to grasp the first statement, and its significance for the rest of my plans in life, but the implications of the other factor—what I would do in the coming year was about to be decided in this very discussion—immediately rose to the fore as carrying greater importance. (Thoughts running through my head: “Mombasa…beach, hot, beautiful…yeah, that’d be great!…Nyanza…hot, remote, poverty-striken…truly a mission experience, that would be wonderful too!…But wait!!! Hospitals, neither one would involve a hospital…”)
So I said sure, both of those would be fine, but that I still felt like I should be around a hospital setting, and wished those possibilities to be exhausted first before I decided on something else. She mentioned Kikuyu Hospital. I mentioned Tumu Tumu Hospital, which had a nursing school, and could possibly offer a smoother integration for finding a role for me to play because my initial proposed placement was teaching nurses as Chogoria Hospital. She said she’d let me know. That was that. Everything was up in the air. Depending on a few phone calls to be made in the near future, what I would be doing for the next year would be determined. Possibilities abounded, both regarding location and activities, which I would be asked to do. Unsettled, to put it mildly, was how I felt for the next few hours.
Phyllis called and talked to me at the apartment later that afternoon. I would be going to Kikuyu Hospital, with an open-ended placement, essentially: to be determined once you get there. Instead of traveling to Chogoria early the following week, I would be going to Kikuyu Hospital in a little over 48 hours, on Friday afternoon. OK. What else is there to say? All in a day…
After eating, I went to meet with her in a separate room. Immediately, she informed me that I would no longer be going to Chogoria Hospital. The explanation was that they no longer could provide housing for me, due to a last-minute influx of Americans helping out at the hospital?? So, that’s that. What next? Phyllis said that there were openings in either Mombasa or Nyanza (on the shores of the Indian Ocean and Lake Victoria in Eastern and Western Kenya, respectively) for me to be a teacher. At first I tried to grasp the first statement, and its significance for the rest of my plans in life, but the implications of the other factor—what I would do in the coming year was about to be decided in this very discussion—immediately rose to the fore as carrying greater importance. (Thoughts running through my head: “Mombasa…beach, hot, beautiful…yeah, that’d be great!…Nyanza…hot, remote, poverty-striken…truly a mission experience, that would be wonderful too!…But wait!!! Hospitals, neither one would involve a hospital…”)
So I said sure, both of those would be fine, but that I still felt like I should be around a hospital setting, and wished those possibilities to be exhausted first before I decided on something else. She mentioned Kikuyu Hospital. I mentioned Tumu Tumu Hospital, which had a nursing school, and could possibly offer a smoother integration for finding a role for me to play because my initial proposed placement was teaching nurses as Chogoria Hospital. She said she’d let me know. That was that. Everything was up in the air. Depending on a few phone calls to be made in the near future, what I would be doing for the next year would be determined. Possibilities abounded, both regarding location and activities, which I would be asked to do. Unsettled, to put it mildly, was how I felt for the next few hours.
Phyllis called and talked to me at the apartment later that afternoon. I would be going to Kikuyu Hospital, with an open-ended placement, essentially: to be determined once you get there. Instead of traveling to Chogoria early the following week, I would be going to Kikuyu Hospital in a little over 48 hours, on Friday afternoon. OK. What else is there to say? All in a day…
