Nakuru

The 8 hr time difference really messes with my sleep, because I woke up at 5am and couldn’t fall back to sleep. I read for a bit, and started to wonder where everyone was by 9am. I wandered into the office and it was empty, except for Danny, who was playing on facebook. I asked him what the agenda for the day was, and he said “Oh, well we’re going to send you to Nakuru to see the projects close up there for the year”. I was totally caught off guard, and began to pack a bag for my 8-10 day stay in Nakuru. He told me to leave my passport and valuables in the base safe in case I get mugged (all in a matter of fact tone, like it was no big deal that people get mugged a lot in Kenya), so I just packed a small bag and left everything else at the base. Since it was my first time in Kenya, the head office had Khadija accompany me to Nakuru. But first, I went with her to her boyfriend’s house where he records his hip hop albums that are apparently very popular in Kenya.
Then we hopped into a matatu toward the city. Okay, let me explain matatus. They are old Nissan minivans that hold about 14 ppl, but the drivers always pack it up past capacity. The drivers are INSANE, swerving from lane to lane, almost hitting people (sometimes they actually do hit people). There are places along the road called stages where the handler sticks his head out the window and waves down people, those people pile in, and then the matatu drives off in a rush to the next stage. And they always try to rip off mzungos (foreigners) but because Khadija was with me, I paid the same as all the locals.
Once in the city, we had to walk to the bus stage, so Khadija took me past the former place of the US Embassy before the bombings. It’s now a garden with a wall of all the people who died in the bombings. I don’t know if people realize how many Kenyans died in the bombing, because not only did the building explode, but debris fell on people driving or walking by on the street. It hurts to know that the US brings its problems to other countries, like the bombings in Mumbai.
The ride to Nakuru was about 2-3 hours, so Khadija and I killed time by talking about the work she wants to do with Eyepoke (reducing HIV by working with commercial sex workers), listening to some of her boyfriend’s music, and looking through the pictures on my camera from home. The ones of the Aussie in Lewisburg came up, and Khadija asked if he was my boyfriend (some of the pictures were suggestive of some kind of romantic relationship) and I didn’t know how to explain our situation – Khadija’s English is good, but when getting into complicated topics much is lost in translation and I didn’t want her to take anything the wrong way. So I just told her yes. Eeek! Minor freak out. Okay, over it.
We passed the Great Rift Valley, which is GIGANTIC but no picture will ever do it justice. It’s hard to believe that people live in the valley, because it looks uninhabitable, but people do! We passed Mount Longottot, which once was a volcano I think. Nakuru is in the valley, and once we got into the town (I think it’s a little city but they say it’s a town) I was overwhelmed with the tacky buildings. I think Kenya is stuck in the 80s. The clothing is a few decades behind the US, and Khadija says it always takes a long time for anything like clothes or technology to trickle down to Africa. Khadjia took me into the office where I met Sophie, Mary, Ann, Maurice, and a VERY tall Masai client. Khadija had to head back to Nairobi, so Sophie took me down to the café in the building for some rice and meat and soup. The portions were so huge, and so cheap, but I couldn’t finish it. Sophie said that I have to learn to eat like a Kenyan! Then we were off to the chemist to get malaria drugs. Sophie held my hand the whole time because she was scared I was going to get hit by a car or something. Larium pills are about $4 here because the government wants people to be able to afford it since the disease is endemic. The other intern James, who’s been there for two years, has gotten it twice since he isn’t taking the pills, but his body is building immunity to it. Most Kenyans don’t even realize that they have malaria – it’s like second nature to them or something.
When we got back to the office I met James, who has a very strong Irish accent but speaks Kiswahili very well. Ironically, he’s 25 and a former teacher, here to do volunteer work (sound familiar??). He’s incredibly passionate about Kenya and helping people. He organized a soccer tournament for the street boys with Mary and Sophie, and gives them all the clothes that his parents send for him. I caught a matatu home with him, and we walked down a dark ominous street which I swore was out of a horror movie. But Upper 58, the area where the Eyepoke guest house is, is quite safe. The landlord, Phyllis, rents out her servant quarters to Eyepoke for 4,500F/month ($60). A divider makes the one room two sections, and it has a small kitchen. Not many of the kitchens in Kenya have stoves; instead they use mini gas cookers because it’s cheaper in the long run. We sat around and James filled me in on life in Kenya, like looking both ways when crossing a one way road because matatu drivers don’t follow road rules (oh yea, and people drive on the left side here). We also had a lengthy discussion about the corruption of Eyepoke – I won’t get into all the details but basically I do not think I can work for Eyepoke in the future. Funds from donors are being incredibly abused, and the only reason Eyepoke is afloat in Nakuru is because of Sophie, Mary, and James, as well as the solar disinfection project that isn’t even Eyepoke’s… it’s some scientist in Ireland that is running the research program in several countries. So I’m glad he filled me in, because I had my suspicions about the way things were being run at the head office. It’s complete bullshit what goes on, and the only reason Eyepoke can still function is because of the little people that the organization abuses and takes advantage of. But I will stay away from the base and just work in the field for the time that I’m here.
James gave me some bread and soda, such a nutritious dinner, and I passed out, only to be woken up at 4am by Phyllis calling James from the other side of the house gate because she had lost her keys. I couldn’t fall back asleep, so James and I watched CNN which plays in the early hours on KTN (Kenyan television network), which gave me a little taste of home even though I’m not craving American life at all right now. This was followed by the ghetto Kenyan news where a lady LITERALLY reads right from the morning’s paper. Yea. I’m not in America anymore.