Laugh or Cry? Our 4th Winter of 2013

Here is the weather forecast for Dallas, Tx during our upcoming visit:

How is this our 4th winter this year, you ask?

Well, we began the year in (1)Tucson, which albeit does not have the harshest of all winters, but does have cooler climes.  Just as things were starting to get hot, hot, hot in AZ, we headed to (2) Fort, Collins, Colorado, a place that greeted us with two huge snowstorms in MAY.  When we finally got over that and started to bust out our summer finest, we headed to (3) Nairobi, Kenya, which was experiencing it’s coldest winter in recent memory.  (Being in the southern hemisphere means Kenyan winter is in American summer.  You know how it works.)  And finally, we now head to (4) Dallas, TX with the anticipated temps recorded above.  It looks like we’ll eek out the year without any more snow, but for a girl like me who doesn’t even really own proper winter gear, four winters is plenty!

Fetishizing the Poor

When SC and MI visited Nairobi most of our decisions were easy.  Go see elephants at the orphanage?  Heck yes!  Go in search of rhinos in the national park?  Definitely!  Check out the arts scene?  We’re in!  But one question loomed over their visit: How do I show a more accurate portrayal of the true lives of Nairobians if all you are seeing are tourist attractions and my home?  How does a visitor learn about the alternate reality of Nairobi’s slums without turning peoples’ lives into another kind of attraction?  Is there a such thing as an appropriate and respectful way to see how the other half lives?

Well, we hemmed and hawed about this decision going back and forth.  We really wanted to see areas like Kibera, one of the largest informal settlements in East Africa that happens to be located not far from my house.  On the other hand, it wasn’t worth seeing if we were going to be disrespectful.  We knew that we weren’t going to be able to volunteer anywhere in the amount of time we had.  So… I got in touch with a friend of mine who has worked in and around Kibera for the last 10+ years.  She hooked us up with a friend of hers who works in Kibera today and who walked us through, telling us some of the history for a few hours.  (I will tell you more about this trip in another post.)

In the end, did we succeed in sobering our vision of Nairobi while respecting the people who live informally?  I still don’t know.

Here’s what I do know.  The idea of “poverty tourism” is happening in many places in the world and very differently than the way we did it.  A friend of mine recently posted an article about a lodge in South Africa, where companies or individuals can come and “live like they’re in a slum”.  Each home has small quarters made out of rustic materials.  But these visitors don’t actually have to deal with the challenges of living informally; in this lodge there is electricity, running water, and even wifi.  “Pretending to be poor” by eschewing some of your material comforts for a few days does not bring you closer to the lives experienced by people who are actually in poverty.  It doesn’t help you understand how poverty is institutionalized or how it is maintained.  This kind of tourism isn’t respectful of peoples’ homes or lifestyles.

But I’m not sure our visit was either.  I don’t know if we had earned the right to parade through a part of town where there wasn’t anything for us, where we would be disgusted by the open sewage ravines or the rotting fish heads and where we’d marvel at how bustling the community seemed.  I don’t think we did much harm either.  We did donate a little something to the organization whose employee took us around.  So I am left with my original quandary: how does someone get a more realistic vision of a place that is so uneven (like Nairobi) without turning ourselves into voyeurs and into others’ as an object of entertainment for us.

An Honest Conversation on Domestic Wages

As many of you know, I am part of a facebook group of Nairobi moms (called mums here, and don’t you forget it.)  Occasionally, someone will post something to the group that really riles up the crowd and there will be lots and lots of comments flowing from it.  Once such comment was made last night.

To “translate”, the woman above, Sherry, is asking if it is really possible that nannies get paid between $360-$580 USD per month.  She is obviously incredulous.  She clearly has NO IDEA how much childcare costs in the US.  For the record, at the highest, we’ve paid upwards of $1200 USD per month for full time care in CO and that did not include evenings, weekends, date nights, or sick days for only ONE child.  (We only sustained that expense for one month.)  I know friends who have paid much more than that in higher end markets.

But what interests me is that following Sherry’s remark was a fairly honest disclosure from these (mostly) Kenyan mums about paying their domestic helpers.  Many women “liked” a commenter who said that it was true that people get paid terrible amounts (2, 3, 4K) but that it depends on how much the family has to pay the worker.  One woman owned up to paying her nanny 37K ($430 USD).  Many others felt like if you pay your nanny more, then you can depend on them to do more tasks.  Yet others warned that paying your nanny really does not correlate to how well they take care of your kids.  Maintaining a respectful relationship is the only way to ensure good workers.

None of the comments made were anything new to me.  But what did interest me was that it became clear that there are two markets out there for domestic workers.  There are those who work for “peanuts,” as it was mentioned by the commenters, and there are those who work for wages that might be acceptable.  If you were one of those workers in the “peanuts” category, you might not even know that there was another market out there or how to break into it.

Job’s Refuge

I think I’ve always known about domestic violence.  When we were little our clothes that didn’t fit anymore and discarded toys went to Job’s Refuge – a place described to me as a “battered women’s shelter”.  I knew it had nothing to do with making cakes and cookies.  I know that my dad had something to do with the establishment of this important place.  I must have rationalized the existence of a women’s and children’s shelter, and the violence that it implied, in the same way that I understood other crimes.  Some people beat their spouses like other steal and yet others commit other heinous acts.  But domestic violence really goes beyond other crimes.  When women (or men, or children) are assaulted or violated in their own homes by the people who supposedly love them most, the perpetrators take away the very essence of security from their lives.  Stolen from the victims is the notion of trust and of safety.  I don’t know how those feelings can ever be recovered.  How could I have possibly understood this as a child and why didn’t I ask out loud, How can something so terrible exist in our society?

I am thinking a lot about this today because Lydiah, our nanny/housekeeper, has told me that her daughter is being beaten by her husband.  She feels that she must act to defend her daughter and grandchildren.  But what is the right path?  I have told her that in my opinion a man who can beat his wife is a very violent person, and I fear for her safety.  And yet, as a mother, I sympathize completely with her wanting to do something.  So tomorrow she will go upcountry to the village where her daughter lives and determine whether she must collect her daughter and grandchildren or whether she will just show her face as a warning to her son-in-law that she is capable of taking them all away.

As far as I know, there are very limited spaces in shelters in Nairobi for victims of domestic violence.  Without strong family bonds, a person like Lydiah’s daughter would have nowhere to turn, nowhere to go.  Unfortunately, this problem is not limited to East Africa, but it is a global problem that spans race, ethnicity, nationality and class lines. 

How Do You Know….

…. that it’s Christmastime in Nairobi?

Well, they’ve moved the condoms up toward the checkout line at our grocery store.  (They were previously hiding in the alcohol room behind the counter.  Much more accessible here.)

The Visitors

I was totally incommunicado over the last week because of my lovely visitors (let’s call them Santa Claus and Millennium Investors) came to Nairobi.  You have no idea how awesome it feels when people stop their normal and busy lives, get on long-ass flights that are non-too-cheap, and brave travelers diarrhea (yep) just to see say hi in person.  Well SC and MI did the Nairobi whirlwind tour because they were only here for 5 days and there is no way to do everything in that amount of time.  But here are some highlights:

- The giraffe center.  Man, this place never disappoints.  Both MI and SC got giraffe kisses and we left with a new slogan: “No food, no friendship.”

- Since SC is a foster parent of an orphan elephant through the Sheldrick Elephant Orphanage, we were all able to to go the evening, private viewing of the elephants where we put them to bed and sang lullabies.  OK, so there really weren’t lullabies involved, but there was honest-to-god elephant trunk petting and those babies are super cute.    One keeper told us that we needed to have love in our hearts.  Elephants know your intentions, so they have to be pure.  (I think I’m getting the actual wording wrong, but it was something like that.)  Why do baby elephants turn us into mush?

- Some good food, some interesting art, lots and lots of traffic (it is Nairobi, after all). 

And then there were a few hiccups that make great stories.

Like remember the time that we were in the National Park (an area populated with lions, snakes, hippos, flamingoes, scary looking vulture-ish birds, rhinos, etc…) and we were low on gas, and then couldn’t seem to find the gate to exit the park.  And then we hit a rock and the check engine light came on.  And it crossed our minds that we might not make it outta there alive.  Fun in retrospect.  A tad scary in reality.

And remember that other time when we went to Hells Gate National Park and there seemed to be a storm brewing so we rented bikes and hauled ass over gravel “roads” in bikes that didn’t really fit our bodies. Ouch!  And then we went hiking on steep wet rocks (Not the smartest move ever) until we were confronted by a gigantic mud flow.  So we got the hell outta there.  Yea, mud flows are cool and scary.

And remember when we were navigating our way through a city where people drive on the “wrong” (ie right) side of the street and we got so confused by rights and lefts that we just gave up and started pointing this way and that?

And finally, remember the time when we wanted to get some souvenirs from the market and we were so accosted by the “shop” owners (cuz they really were just showing their wares on blankets on the ground, not really in shops) that we started to get all mean and tough saying stuff like, “take it or leave it,” and “I’m walking outta here in 10 seconds?” 

Remember those times?

MI and SC will have to remind me of all the rest that made this an epic trip.  Thanks for coming.  We appreciated it!

A Weekend in Addis–Still Some Jumpy Nerves

First, the jumpy nerves:  Upon return to Nairobi from our weekend in Addis Ababa, we hit the grocery store for a a mega-shop.  After all, we needed the important stuff for our very important visitors arriving tonight.  Well, Sunday is a busy day at our local grocery and just when we were almost finished, the power died… in the busy grocery store.   It was pitch black.  Considering our recent history of an attack in a mall much like the one we were in and in the exact same store across town… I was freaked.  In retrospect, I’m actually disappointed that I didn’t move quicker.  It took me a whole 3… maybe 4 seconds to pick J out of the shopping cart and start moving.  The lights came back on 6 or 7 seconds later; with babe in arms I hadn’t gotten far.   Thankfully, there was no danger.  What would you have done in a similar situation?

All in all, I’m glad to know that my reflexes work, even if not quite as fast as I would have hoped. 

Second, you may have wondered: what the heck were we doing in Ethiopia for a weekend?  Well, we like the food and wanted to get a more authentic taste!  That is both true and insufficient.  It also happened that our visas were set to expire, so out of the EAC we went in order to renew them.  And we had a really lovely time.  The pool at the Hilton was perfect for J (he dipped twice on Saturday), the food was authentic and fabuloso, and the little bit of the city that we actually saw seemed a bit more approachable than the crazy/hectic pace of Nairobi.  The grass is always greener, I guess.  I hope we’ll have an opportunity to return and learn more about Hallie Selassie and the Lucy discovery – two people (or humanoid, in the case of Lucy) who have made Ethiopia great. 

All is quiet on the home front.  J is down to sleep for the night and DW is taking a snooze before he picks up our guests who arrive at the airport just after midnight.  I was told that my bro would, “never speak to me again” if we aren’t there to get him at the airport.  I reminded him that even if we didn’t get him that his trip wouldn’t be wasted because the lions are very hungry at night….

Don’t worry – we’ll be there barring any unforeseen  circumstances.

Life Roundup

My days have been mostly filled with diss writing, reading, and research, but I have other things on the brain too.

- We’re heading to Addis and I need to get USD to enter (how annoying) and updated passport photos.

- Millennium Investments and Santa Claus are headed our way in just a few days – WOOHOO! (not their real names, duh).

- I need to pick up another mosquito net for MI’s bed.

- We’re thinking of putting J in preschool when he turns 2 (with the caveat that if he gets sick like he did in daycare, we’ll pull him out.)  I’m conflicted because I think about how he’ll likely go to school so much of his life, that maybe we should prolong the freedom of staying at home since we can afford home helpers here.  But I also know how enriching, fun, social, and exhausting it will be for him.  Advice on this one would be greatly appreciated.

- I’m getting increasingly worried about our personal safety as the trial of Kenya’s President, Uhuru Kenyatta, gets underway in the ICC in November.  I have been polling cab drivers and any other Kenyan I meet – most believe that he should stand trial.  Some say that it’s because he’s innocent and he should clear his name.  Others think the rule of law must be upheld.  While I totally agree with those sentiments in principle, I am genuinely afraid for what will happen here if he is convicted of crimes against humanity.  First, will he be deposed?  Who will be president in his stead, especially if his deputy, Ruto, is also convicted?  Then, how will the public react?  Will we have 2007-level of violence here?  I hope we see the writing on the wall before any kind of rioting or other mayhem occurs and we get out.  This isn’t my battle to fight and I only wish the best for the Kenyan people.

- The weather is starting to heat up and the short-rains that were supposed to start in October, have yet to fall.  I can’t decide if I should be grateful for the rain-reprieve or nervous for the coming drought if this continues. 

(There are lots of other things to tell you all about: our trip to Amboseli and all the ELEPHANTS that we saw, my new volunteer project with NHC, the things I’m planning to do in the U.S….. and more.)

You Just Never Know…

The Daily Nation is now reporting that Samantha Lewthwaite aka “The Black Widow” was living in Lavington in the Oakpark Apartments just before the Westgate attack…. Although it has not been confirmed that she was part of the attack, she does seem to have a very long history of affiliation with dangerous men.  That, in and of itself, does not condemn her, but man … it’s not someone I really want to hang out with at the grocery store.

Hmmmm…. when I read that, I kept thinking… man, the Oakpark Apartments.  Sounds so familiar.  Lavington is our neighborhood.  And then I walked out of my compound today to run a few errands and BLAMO! there it is.  The Oakpark apartments are basically across the street from our house.  100 feet away maybe.  She could’ve been buying milk for her kids behind me in line at Nakumatt. 

More Westgate Victims – The Journalists

If ….
….you happen to be a city’s police commissioner….
…..and your city’s highest profile mall is attacked by armed gunmen….
….and it is later discovered that your police officers are caught on closed circuit video clearly stealing jewelry, money, and even booze from said mall…
….then, you might consider that an apology, an investigation and prosecution of said police thieves, and a commitment to “do better" in the future *might* be in order.

But that’s not what is going on here in Nairobi. 

Instead, David Kimaiyo, General of Police is attacking the main journalists who have exposed the police bad behavior as “incitement” and “propaganda”.  He first claimed that these police officers were bringing water out of the mall (huh?) and then switched tactics to target the “offending” journalists.  But it seems as though the Kenyan people know better.  News is consumed voraciously by radio and printed paper here in Nairobi.  Kenyans value their relatively open (and somewhat trashy) media coverage.  I doubt the Kenyan people will be agreeing with Mr. Kimaiyo anytime soon.  They can see right through his attempts to divert blame from himself.  Let’s hope I’m right on this one.

Water Issues in the Developed World

…. and just in case you thought that water issues were the domain of the developing world…. think again.

New York City has just completed a huge new tunnel to provide water to the city.  The project began 40 years ago and is just now operational.  See the map below.

And London plans to make a similar investment in a water tunnel to divert their waste from the mainstem of the Thames River.  However, in the London example, we have some pushback from the public because the project is going to be owned by a private water utility, even though ratepayers are baring much of the cost.  We’ll see how that one shakes out.

Water Conundrums

As I mentioned in the last post, I was at a water conference all last week and that’s why I didn’t have time to post.  But I wasn’t without post-worthy thoughts.  Actually I have been stewing quite a bit on some of the contradictions of water highlighted by the conference and the technical visits that I attended on Monday and Friday.

Here’s one to chew on:  Floods and heavy rains make lots of water available.  Hurray!  Places with limited water availability can rejoice that more water has fallen from the sky.  Not-so-fast…. In Nairobi’s water system, surface water (including rainwater) is impounded behind Thika Dam (not actually located in the town of Thika, but rather damming the Thika River).  During the rainy season, the dam fills up.  Cool beans. Sediment in water sitting behind a dam generally has the opportunity to settle out, making the water very clear.  However, water must then be conveyed to the water treatment plant to make it potable.  Between Thika Dam and Ngethu Treatment Plant are first a series of pipes, but then dam water is dumped in to a river that is used as the final conduit to the treatment plant.  Because of this river-stretch, when there are heavy rains, this clear settled water becomes super turbid, meaning when the water reaches the plant in the rainy season, it needs double the treatment to reduce turbidity and render it drinkable.  This all means that water is actually more easily treated and therefore more easily available during the dry season than the rainy season.  How about that?

Here’s another one:  Water leaving the Ngethu Treatment Plant and making its way via a closed pipe to the city of Nairobi is totally clean, potable, and drinkable.  If this is the water that arrives at my tap, why am I still not able to safely drink my tap water?  Two reasons:  1. Despite the ample rainfall in this part of the world, Nairobi Water is still not able to satisfy water demand.  I heard numbers of around 60% of demand is satisfied.  This means that the utility must shut off pipes to various parts of the city on a rotating basis in order to “equitably” share the resource that exists (I did get into it with some folks about what “equitably” means, but that’s another story.)  Because the pipes are not full of water 24/7, air gets in and so does rainwater and any sewage or urban runoff around, thereby polluting this potable resource.  Also 2.  We do not have significant storage tanks at our apartment, but we manage to always have water flowing out of out tap.  How?  Because our apartment complex (and everyone else of our socio-economic class and higher) has access to a borehole or well on our property.  To supplement our water supply, we pump water directly out of the ground.  This well is on our property.  This groundwater is not treated to the same standards of the piped water from the treatment plant, meaning that we basically supplement our water with a sub-standard quality in order to assure adequate quantity.  How about that?

Water sure is a tricky one.

Still Here, Just Busy

Hi folks… just wanted to let you know that we’re still here… We’re fine.  We’re busy as all get out, and that’s my excuse for not writing in a while.  I promise I will get back to you because I have so much to share:

- About my week-long IWA conference that was interesting, housed in a conference center that doubles as a government building and is truly a horrendous piece of architecture. 

- J is 21 months old – holy cow! 

- Prepping for visitors and our own trip back to the U.S. for Thanksgiving

- My own water-related epiphanies which happened on my two days of field trips from the aforementioned conference.  Dams are cool.  I’m a sucker for waterworks.

- Reflections on the Kenyan holiday celebrated today (Monday).

I hope to get back writing on the blog soon.  Take care, ya’ll.

M

Solitude and the Academic

Before I began my grad school adventure, I met with a friend who is a professor of history in a very prestigious university.  When I asked him what he liked about academia, he answered, “The Solitude.”

Yesterday I chatted with a friend, another grad student spending her year abroad to conduct dissertation research.  After all the howareyous, we both admitted to being a little lonely.  Luckily, I have the benefit of being surrounded by my family and living in a big and rowdy city, but there is something about the camaraderie of students in a graduate school setting that sparks the mind and lights a fire under your butt.  Part of it is that I am a classic extrovert: someone who gains energy by experiencing the energy of other people.  But it is more than that.  When you shoot the breeze in an academic setting, you can’t help but connect ideas (and listen to others connecting them) in new and novel ways.  You happen upon a lecture that makes you go hmmmm…. You dish about the politics of the department that helps prepare you for your (hopefully) future life as a faculty member. And there is the inevitable competition that can productively push you to work just a bit harder. 

Even though I left my academic city 7 months ago, I haven’t had much of that camaraderie since I went on maternity leave in late 2011.  You’d think I would be thriving in the solitary work environment because I’ve had so much time to get used to it.  But solitude is still a really hard place for me to work.  I do not agree with my historian friend quoted above.  I do not look forward to the solitude that is necessary to push out papers, the currency of academia.  Rather I love the dissent of the classroom, the outcomes that happen when minds come together to solve problems, and the knowing rolled-eye look that comes from a colleague who “gets it”.  Every job has aspects that you may not prefer.  I hope that I can make the best of the necessary solitude in order to maximize the social parts of this career choice.  Otherwise….. I’ll be in trouble.

TIA

I really haven’t had much need to reflect on T.I.A (This is Africa) for quite some time.  Actually, sometimes it is hard to remember that I live in a place that others think of in just stereotypes – Africa is poor, disorganized, corrupt, misogynistic… etc.  I don’t live that life here in Nairobi.  My day-to-day is incredibly tidy, efficient, and calm.  My local mall is organized and bright.  Our electricity generator kicks in when the power goes out.  My husband changes diapers.  Apropos of nothing: the coffee is delicious!

But even as I write those words, I reflect on aspects of our lives here that are indicative of the underbelly of Africa.  DW had to pay a bribe to a police officer when he was pulled over in his car.  It is apparent now that the recovery/rescue effort at the Westgate Mall was completely bungled by incompetent forces who, in a powerplay refused to share information, and that shops were robbed outright by police and military forces.  It even seems like the supposed rescuers sat back to drink some beers while armed gunmen (and maybe women) killed and terrified civilians.  Lydiah was pickpocketed yesterday; her phone gone.  VAT taxes were recently hiked by the parliament so dramatically that Lydiah’s regular matatu bill jumped from 500 to 700 shillings a week – a pretty steep increase and one that has caused many to forego public transit in favor of walking long distances.  This will be particularly hard when the rainy season begins soon.  And there are little things too, most that irk rather than bother.  We bought a blender, but when we unpacked it at home, it was broken.  The return took over an hour.  They had no replacement.  Getting Jonah to the pediatrician often takes an hour and a half in each direction.  His ped is only 13 kilometers away.  The internet is usually slow. 

Could all of these things happen anywhere? Sure, probably (although I’ve never heard of anyone in my orbit bribing police for a traffic violation.)  Are these mostly rich-people-problems?  Yes, I know.  And maybe I’m just being cranky because J isn’t getting to sleep well and I have some stomach stuff going on. And reading today in the NYTimes that Kenya is ripe for additional attacks aimed at westerners makes me want to get out.  

And even with the TIA annoyances, I am reminded of all the amazing things that are only in Africa.  For example, DW’s high school buddy, TG, visited last week.  He didn’t have time to go on a full-fledged safari, but I wanted to show him the town, so we went to Nairobi National Park to see what we could see.  And did we ever!  The national park is located just south of the city (not more than 15 kilometers from our house), but it is a full-on African savanna with lions and hippos and giraffes and ostriches and flamingos and zebras and wildebeests and hartebeests (that I now can tell the difference) and antelope of all kinds… and the list goes on and on.  Holy molies!  Lydiah had never been to the park even though she has lived most of her life in Nairobi, so she and Jonah came along.  What an unbelievable day.

Saturday we leave for another trip, this time to Amboseli National Park, which is famous for its herds of free-ranging elephants.  Yea, baby.  I love me some elephants!  We are taking advantage of living here, as long as it lasts. 

Yes, I’m a bit cranky, but it isn’t overwhelming me.  Hopefully J starts sleeping better and this stomach thing goes away, and it’ll be smoother sailing.  Hopefully.

Dear Tova… We need to talk…

Dear Tova,

I don’t usually write blog posts in response to others’ posts.  But yours really pissed me off.  So here goes.  I have two words for you: Don’t Judge.  (Just kidding, have I ever just had two words?  I have a lot of words for you.)

In your cutsie post on Kveller last week, you wrote the super sappy post about this obviously oblivious father who totally ignored his two daughters in Starbucks.  He was engrossed in his iphone and therefore couldn’t notice their demand for attention.  You said that you, “tried not to judge” this father, but you went forward with plenty of words judging him harshly for being “indifferent” to his children and for “falling short of fulfilling [his children’s] emotional needs”.  You feign understanding the situations that make parents act less-than, admitting that sometimes even you are “cranky before coffee”. 

But you, in the most holier-than-thou tone, say that you never succumb to the pressures of life to the detriment of your kids.  Even though sometimes your interest in them is “feigned,” …. “at least it is there.”  What?  Really?  Always?  What are you, nuts?  You even go so far to say that meeting your children’s needs is never “tiresome”.  Really?  Always?  Give me a break! 

A few points:

- Don’t pretend to be un-judgemental when you are doing EXACTLY what constitutes judging.  You looked at a man, with NO IDEA what is really going on in his life, and decided that his behavior was inappropriate.  You JUDGED that he obviously cared about his phone more than his kids. 

Well, let me tell you something…. there are lots of times that something happening on a phone might actually be more important than watching my children.  (I know, shock of all shock.)  For example, my husband travels for work internationally a lot.  There are days that we only have a brief (a few minute) window to talk.  And sometimes it is less than every day.  And guess what?  Those windows don’t come conveniently.  Sometimes, it even happens when I’m in line at Starbucks.  And you know what?  Want to hear some heresy?  Talking to my husband for a few minutes IS more important than looking at my kids at that moment.  Because a healthy parenting partnerships is ALSO good for kids.  Here’s another scenario:  perhaps this man in line was in the middle of a business deal.  He agreed to take his kids to Starbucks, but then something happened.  He caught a glimpse of a message that meant that the deal of his life was in the works.  This deal could provide for his kids.  And if he didn’t respond soon, he wouldn’t be able to buy the next Starbucks drink or even put food on the table.  Should that take priority?  I believe, You betcha!

- Also, when did our children have to become THE MOST IMPORTANT THING AT ALL TIMES?  Um, no.  My child is truly a light in my life.  I really feel that.  He’s wonderful.  And he needs me.  But you know what?  He also has to learn that there are instances where he does not come first.  There are times when he needs to learn the all-important skill of self-amusement.  And that is something that will serve him well.  If he masters this skill, he’ll never be bored.  He won’t always need my attention.  He will be able to serve others because he will understand that his own needs are not ALWAYS primary.  If he learns that he is loved and sometimes that love comes in the form of his parents doing other things, this too will serve him well. 

- Parents are under a lot of freakin stress.  Those of us lucky enough to be in partnered parenting arrangements (how solo parents do it, I have NO IDEA), are trying to be the best parents, best partners, best humans we can be.  This means working hard, loving hard, being emotionally available, etc.  And you know what?  Some of these priorities are in conflict.  We working moms are told over and over that having careers is good for our kids.  If we are fulfilled by our work, we can be happier moms (read: parents).  And having enough money to feed, clothe, house our kids… is also good for them.  And sometimes the pursuit of those careers run us straight on into a conflict with our emotionally-demanding children.  We try the best we can to love, give laptime, read, sing, and do everything a good parent should do, and it still isn’t enough.  The last thing we (stressed parents) need is someone judging us over and over about how we aren’t perfect enough. 

So next time… have a little rachmanus on the guy in line.  He might be a jerk.  Or he might just be doing the best he can.

Weekend Roundup

Ah Monday… the sound of jackhammers pounding away on the construction site next door, cleaning up the household detritus of the weekend, and the stress of getting everyone where they need to go….

For this weekend, I thankfully don’t have terribly much to report.  J is still under the weather, so we spent most of the time at home.  Before we knew that he was sick, we went to synagogue on Sat morning.  On the one hand, it is terrible shame that there aren’t more kids who come for J to play with.  On the other hand, since he’s the only one, he gets the run of the place and he’s cute rather than annoying.  So Sat was nice.  And then we had some new friends over for brunch on Sunday, and that was nice too.  For the lack of a better word, the weekend was nice overall.  I could’ve done without J’s nighttime wakings, but other than that, fine. 

I’m getting serious about planning my research trips, which will take me to Israel 5 times this year.  Being in Kenya means that I’m in the same time zone, so I’m hoping the trips won’t be so arduous on me.  I know that they will be hard on DW…. solo parenting is ALWAYS hard.  The evil part of me thinks that he should have the experience of parenting without a partner because this is what I dealt with while he traveled over the last two years.  The kinder side of me knows that we can hire someone to live-in and help DW with parenting during my trips.  The kinder side will win out on this occasion.  It will definitely be a challenge for me to be away from DW and J, but I know that this is what my career choice requires and I am excited to be able to have that focus again.  I miss it.

Guests come this week.  First, an old high school buddy of mine will fly in this afternoon.  Then DW’s close friend, also from a high school trip, will visit for a few days.  We are so lucky to have these visitors and to be able to host them easily.  For those of you who have considered coming, remember that we are still here.  And you are still welcome.

Tooteloo for now.

A Return… to Normalcy?

The last few days have brought a welcome distance from the Westgate attack.  I am no longer reading googlenews like it’s on a slow IV drip.  We aren’t turning on the TV anymore.  (Although a lasting impact of the whole thing is that Jonah now knows the word, “TV”.)  I am attempting to focus down on my research and running out for groceries when I need to.  You know, normal life stuff. 

My brother, GB, asked if it felt here like it did in NYC after 911.  Well, I wasn’t there, so I don’t know for sure.  But I think not.  I don’t feel shell-shocked and terrified.  I am a bit more vigilant when walking into the mall, but I’m not holed up inside my house waiting for the next attack to happen.  Also, Nairobi isn’t my long-term home.  I don’t know if that makes all the difference, but it does give me some aesthetic distance from the attack. 

We are told that some of the attackers at the mall changed into everyday clothing and walked out with the rest of the rescued civilians.  They walk about this city.  They could be buying milk ahead of us in line at the grocery.  This is, of course, unsettling, but it serves as a reminder that this world is full of broken people – for certainly only the most broken individuals could commit such violent and indiscriminant crimes.  Individual trauma is all around us, whether it is in the form of those who experience violence or those who perpetrate it. 

A few friends have asked if we are going to leave Kenya.  No, not for the time being.  If there was another attack, and we are fortunate enough not to be victims, then possibly we might rethink our position.  But we’re staying put for now.

Thank you, everyone, who has been in contact with us over the last week.  We are so grateful for your well wishes.  I leave you with a beautiful poem written by Kofi Awoonor, a Ghanaian poet killed in the attack.  Link here.

 

ACROSS A NEW DAWN

Sometimes, we read the

lines in the green leaf

run our fingers over the

smooth of the precious wood

from our ancient trees;

Sometimes, even the sunset

puzzles, as we look

for the lines that propel the clouds,

the colour scheme

with the multiple designs

that the first artist put together

There is dancing in the streets again

the laughter of children rings

through the house

On the seaside, the ruins recent

from the latest storms

remind of ancestral wealth

pillaged purloined pawned

by an unthinking grandfather

who lived the life of a lord

and drove coming generations to

despair and ruin

*

But who says our time is up

that the box maker and the digger

are in conference

or that the preachers have aired their robes

and the choir and the drummers

are in rehearsal?

No; where the worm eats

a grain grows.

the consultant deities

have measured the time

with long winded

arguments of eternity

And death, when he comes

to the door with his own

inimitable calling card

shall find a homestead

resurrected with laughter and dance

and the festival of the meat

of the young lamb and the red porridge

of the new corn

*

We are the celebrants

whose fields were

overrun by rogues

and other bad men who

interrupted our dance

with obscene songs and bad gestures

Someone said an ailing fish

swam up our lagoon

seeking a place to lay its load

in consonance with the Original Plan

Master, if you can be the oarsman

for our boat

please do it, do it.

I asked you before

once upon a shore

at home, where the

seafront has narrowed

to the brief space of childhood

We welcome the travelers

come home on the new boat

fresh from the upright tree

From “Promises of Hope: New and Selected Poems,” selected by Kofi Anyidoho, University of Nebraska Press and the African Poetry Book Fund, 2014

A Fear of Parents Everywhere…

You never want to hear the pediatrician say the words, “tuberculosis,” “mumps,” or “cancer”…. but that’s what happened this morning.  SPOILER ALERT: J is fine. He has none of those terrible things.  But he does have a hugely swollen gland in his neck, so swollen that his jawline appears lopsided.  Lydia and I had noticed that he hasn’t been his usual bundle of energy for at least the past week.  He’s been a bit lethargic, cranky and basically not himself.  So yesterday when I noticed the enlarged gland, I knew something was wrong.  We decided not to go out right away because the Westgate mess was still going on, but this morning (Tues), I braved morning traffic to get J to the doctor.

Going to the pediatrician in Nairobi is much like the ped in the U.S.  J has now seen doctors in Tucson (2 different docs), Fort Collins (a few different), New York City, Portland, and Nairobi – did I miss any?  His doc here is located at the renowned children’s hospital and I know he’s getting great care.  They took blood to rule out any of those big time illnesses that I mentioned earlier.  Seems as though he has a virus.  We’ll keep a look out for anything else suspicious.  Cross fingers that we don’t have to return to the doc for anything besides the routine checkups and vaccines. 

(For all you concerned parents out there:  J is vaccinated to the hilt.  We are on track with all his shots and added yellow fever and meningitis to regular American-recommended schedule.  Given our travels and the recurrence of polio, meningitis and other nasties here in Kenya, we are taking all precautions.)

Vulnerability and Security

These past few days have been rough going.  So far, the only person we really *know* who has been injured in the Westgate attack is a New Zealander that we met on our Masai Mara trip.  He was shot in the back, but thankfully the shooters missed his spine and vital organs.  I’m told that he’s in surgery today to remove bullet fragments near his heart, but that his prognosis is good.  We have reached out to his wife. 

I am having flashbacks to when I lived in Israel in the fall of 2000.  I was living blissfully on a kibbutz, harvesting sunflower seeds.  I was working hard, getting fit, getting a tan, and meeting boys.  Not bad.  But that moment didn’t last long.  By October, the second intifada had erupted and there was violence nearby.  We were told not to leave the kibbutz.  Apache fighter helicopters flew ominously overhead.  The volunteers sat around, eating humus, glued to the BBC station in our common house watching soldiers being lynched on repeat.  I was so young, so naive.  I had no idea – really – of what was going on.  I was scared and clueless.

This afternoon we turned on our TV to see the smoke billowing out of the Westgate mall.  Apparently, this standoff has taken longer than expected and, even though Kenyan officials are assuring the public that everything is under control, no one really believes them.  DW came home from work early.  I canceled a doctor’s appointment for J.  It just doesn’t make sense to go out on the roads today.

For better or worse, the whole idea of being secure is an illusion. We make ourselves feel better by putting up walls and gates and guards and systems. We reassure ourselves of our invincibility.  We plan for tomorrow.  But we are raw, vulnerable, flesh and blood beings.  It doesn’t take much to damage our bodies or our psyches. 

This attack feels real to us despite the fact that we aren’t in the vicinity of the mall because people like us were the targets.  The attackers meant to punish Kenya by terrifying those with wealth, those who enrich the country.  Even though we weren’t at the Westgate Mall on Sat, we could have been there, sipping a latte when the gunmen threw grenades and shot innocents indiscriminately.  The veil of safety has been lifted and we are confronted with our vulnerability.  It isn’t pretty.

Answering some questions

1. Are we stranded in our apartment? No.  As I mentioned, we were out and about this morning, visiting friends in another neighborhood.  The city did feel empty and calm, but some folks were at the grocery and going about their day.  We did not go anywhere near Westgate, nor do we have any plans to see that part of town. 

2. How are we feeling? Very much on edge.  I have spent a large part of the day watching news feeds, hoping to see something new, hopeful.   We are still waiting for an end to the standoff.  There are rumors flying around that the gunmen have rigged the mall with explosives and will make a big final exit.   But those seem like just rumors.  The State Department's advisory recommends staying away from malls and crowds over the next few days and we intend to take their recommendations seriously.

3. What's in store for us tomorrow?  Who knows? Let's hope that the police are able to rescue the hostages before morning and then we'll go about our day as planned.  DW will go to his office, which is south of the center city, far from the Westgate area.  I will stay in and work from home.  I plan to try and give blood tomorrow because the Red Cross has made a public plea for more blood reserves to treat the wounded.  

Sending love and hope.

That Elusive Feeling of Safety

Dear Readers,

This has been an emotional and difficult last 24 hours here in Nairobi.  As of last night (Sat), we were still waiting to hear from a friend (she’s fine) and we heard this morning (Sunday) that our nanny’s cousin was rescued at the mall at 9am unharmed.  Without a doubt, it was the scariest night of her life. So many people dead.  So many injured.  The city is reeling.  As far as we know, at this moment (3pm Sunday), the standoff continues between police and the Shabab terrorists.  It is rumored that they have hostages.  Just awful.

One small spark of light from this horrible situation:  everyone we know has been really great, being in touch, trying to comfort one another.  We attempted to give blood, but the line outside the hospital was too much for J.  Hopefully I will go tomorrow without him.  It is the only thing to do.  Considering we arrived in this country only 2 months ago, it feels like there was an entire community of people concerned about us and we about them. 

Whether it’s the guards at our complex, our electrified fence, or our distance from the mall that was attacked, we feel safe.  We went out to the synagogue sukkah today and visited with the rabbi and his family.   The streets were eerily empty.  Our local mall and grocery are still shut. 

When I start thinking too hard about the attack, I wonder if I , in a similar circumstance, would act fast enough to protect myself and J.  I wonder if I would make the right decisions – run or hide?  DW reminds me that this is ridiculous thinking, that one can never know what will happen in life and that there is no real way to be prepared.  I suppose he’s right.  After all, in this day, you can be the victim of random violence in a mall or school in the U.S. just as commonly as you can be the victim of terrorism here or anywhere.  That lack of control is disconcerting, but uncertainty is part of life, right?

We appreciate all the kind words that came from Israel, Jordan, the U.K, Mexico, both coasts of the U.S. and places in the middle.  We’re doing OK and are praying for the lives of the hostages to be spared. 

Keep them in your thoughts,

Love, M/D/&J

We’re fine.

For those of you following the news, there has been an attack with a number of gunmen opening fire on civilians at a very popular mall in Nairobi called Westgate.  My understanding is that there have been 20 casualties and at least 50 people are hurt.  We are following the news closely while trying not to go crazy.  We are, thank god, fine, having gone to see the studio of a local artist this morning to the south of the city rather than heading north toward the mall.  We know people who work there and are very concerned about them. 

Update: Kenya’s New Water

The NYT Editorial Board chimed into the Kenyan water story that I wrote about here with a bit of weird but very upbeat article today.  First off, the title is strange, “Where Water is Gold”.  What exactly do they mean by that?  That water is valuable?  Isn’t it valuable everywhere?  Is Kenya unique in any way, besides lacking adequate clean water resources? 

For the record, I’m not sure Kenya actually lacks water resources.  It certainly is not an arid climate like some of the other places I study.  The lack of water in Kenya is because it lacks the infrastructure to store and then deliver the right quality and quantity of water to those who need it, not because adequate supplies don’t exist within its borders.

But the NYT article is strange for other reasons.  The basic gist is to laud those parties - UNESCO, Kenya’s central Government, and Japanese donors – who participated in discovering the water and then caution them that the Kenyan government can’t really be trusted because the president in on trial with the ICC.  Um, non-sequitor much?  What does the human rights record of the president have anything to do with the distribution of new water resources? 

As I wrote before, I too think that a cautionary stance is the appropriate one.  But I am more concerned with the governance rules that are put in place in order to actually distribute the water – not usually the purview of a country’s President or his deputy.  The devil is (potentially) in the details: what are the rules that are set up to determine pricing, ownership, extraction rates, etc?  Those will be set by the ministry in charge and will likely have no input from the head of state. 

What’s Your All-In Price?

What does it cost to hire you?  Would it matter what you are doing? 

What would it cost to hire you to work where there was no additional payments for overtime, no health insurance, no employee insurance of any kind?  Your salary would have to cover you for all those “extras”.  What is your all-in price?

Some new friends recently asked their house helper this exact question.  They didn’t want to hire someone and then have to pay them more for overtime.  They aren’t paying health insurance.  This domestic worker will live in their house and work at their pleasure.  What does it cost to purchase a person’s labor “all-included”?

I bristled a bit when hearing this story.  After all, I certainly wouldn’t agree to a job where I wasn’t properly compensated when I worked above and beyond.  Sure, I’ve been in “exempt” positions where I was not eligible for overtime pay but was expected to perform it, however I received health insurance and a host of other benies. 

I have been thinking about this in the context of the new U.S. legislation that (finally) includes homecare workers in the protections legally afforded other workers. By 2015, they will receive minimum wage and overtime pay.  Why do we have to wait until then?  I don’t know.  Since having a kid, I am intimately aware of how demanding domestic labor is. (And I have it easy.  I know that.) 

So what is your all-in price?

Update on the Munchkin

Some of you blog readers (and there are a surprising lot of you) are not that into Geography (can it be?!).  No, seriously, you just want to hear about our life here without all the academic commentary.  Ok, to satisfy those of you who are just wondering how J is doing… here’s an update on him. 

He’s great.  Such a resilient kiddo, especially considering the amount of change in his life.  Lydia, our nanny/housekeeper extraordinaire, is primarily responsible for J during daytime hours M-F.  She plays with him outside most of the day, kicking a ball around, letting him run like a lunatic, listening to him laugh out loud like a hyena (he gets that from my side of the family), enduring him pointing at every car and yelling, “CAR!” as if it’s the first one he’s ever seen. J has gotten very into “cooking” that involves much banging of pots and pans.  Lydia sings lovely Swahili songs to him.  I hope he’s picking up the language.   J plays with another kid his age named Noah and his older sister, Isla, when she’s back from school and whoever else is around.  This could be other kids from the complex, the guys who  maintain the building and wash cars (Abdi and William), the guards, this random Chinese lady who lives in the complex (Terry), or the building manager (Lois).  All these people are looking after J on a regular day. 

J cooking and eating:

He comes inside around noon.  Usually I make lunch.  Then he takes a nap for no more than an hour and a half.  He’s never been a good daytime sleeper.  You know, regular one-year-old stuff. 

I have considered that he probably really benefitted from all the songs, games, and activities that he participated in at daycare.  He doesn’t have much of an organized life here.  He draws when he wants to, eats when he asks to, and has his diaper changed when it’s apparent that it needs to happen.  I don’t have a strong sense of which lifestyle is better for kids’ development and it probably depends on the kid.  All I know is that he’s happy, far healthier than he was, and his needs are taken care of. 

On new tricks: He does prefer holding crayons and markers with his right hand and is now able to draw, “read”, or otherwise occupy himself for 15-20 minutes at a time.  This is an important development, as up until now he didn’t want to be alone at all.  J’s language has exploded.  I can’t count the number of words he knows anymore, there are new ones every day.  He uses both nouns and verbs although not together yet.  He still eats most everything.  

It isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, though.  Getting J to sleep at night has become a challenge, sometimes requiring me to strap him to my back and do laps around our livingroom coffeetable.  He has the full range of emotions and can be obstinate and sad in particular when saying goodbye to his daddy in the morning.  But as I said, normal one-year-old stuff. 

Here’s him wearing daddy’s shoes.

It’s hard for me to believe that he won’t remember anything at all about this year.   Even so, I’m hoping that certain things imprint even if they are beyond his conscious memory.  I hope he will always know that people come in a range of colors, even if we live in a primarily white place after this.  I’m hoping some of the Swahili sticks.  I hope he gets it that even places across the globe can be part of his concept of home.

A New Project Brewing: Memory-work and Memorials in Kenya

As I've written about before, I just finished reading Elkins' Britain's Gulag.  It is such a hard book to read as it documents torture and death at the British camps implemented in the 1950s "Emergency" period when the British were exterminating Mau Mau sympathizers.  Also, as I've mentioned, it doesn't seen as though there are any memorials that commemorate this period in Kenyan history.  Both the construction and the smoothing over of history are active choices, worthy of investigation.  

In my masters work, I looked closely at the building of a memorial in Oregon, the Afghan-Iraqi Freedom Memorial.  (If you are wondering who Afghan-Iraqis are, then you'll have to read my masters thesis, which will probably leave you with more questions than answers.)  That memorial commemorates those fallen American soldiers with ties to Oregon who died in the Afghanistan and Iraq war theaters.  But importantly, the memorial was built in 2005, long before those conflicts were over.  (Are they over yet?)  In academic-ease, we might say that there is important "memory-work" that can occur after the end of an event and before its commemoration/memorialization.  This "work" usually takes the form of public discourse in the public sphere where a community works out a kind of consensus opinion on the meaning of the war/person/historical event.  Because sometimes this consensus is hard to achieve, you find that there are all sorts of conflicts over memorials.  Think, for example, about the recent hubub about the Eisenhower memorial that is currently being built (has been built?) on the Washington, DC mall.  Or more famously about the intense emotions stirred up when the Vietnam Memorial was being built.  Since the Afghan-Iraqi Freedom Memorial was built so early, it cut short this required period of memory work.  There was no consensus on the meaning of those wars sought.  

In my Oregon case, the advocates for the memorial, who were mostly a small coterie of fallen soldiers' parents, played on the veteran sympathies of the Governor and managed to bypass the usual rules for building memorials.  The final product was... um.... let's say.... strange.  Built in the memorial garden behind the veterans association building on the Oregon State Mall, the Afghan-Iraqi Freedom Memorial consists of a large (out of scale with the rest of the memorials in the garden) fountain.  It sprays water 20 feet up so that it cascades down over a large convex map of the world.  From North America, a 4 foot tall platform emerges, atop sits a larger-than-life bronze lifelike American soldier, reaching out towards the rest of the world.  Back when I last saw it in 2010 or so, it was showing considerable wear.  

Anyway, where were we?  It does seem that there is some important memory-work that must occur here in Kenya about the meaning of "the Emergency" and the implicit meaning of independence that came from it.  This is, after all, the Jubilee Year of Kenyan independence and a perfect time to get cracking on it.  I am in no position to comment as to whether this kind of memory-work has taken place.  But I do know that the official government policy since the days of Jomo Kenyatta, has been to obliterate the past and focus on the future.  That was an expedient policy in the 1960s and allowed Kenyatta to move forward without dealing with the nasty parts of historical reckoning.  It also allowed him to take advantage of the power structures that the British put in place, rather than reapportion political power.  And therefore, there are hardly any memorials on the landscape.  But there is something majorly lost and maybe even majorly perverse about repurposing a retired work camp into … something else.  It negates the horrendous situations that many Kenyans endured. 

There is definitely much more work to be done on this topic.  Perhaps a side project while I'm here in Nairobi.

Discovering Kenyan Artists

We’ve been so busy over the last month and a half getting our lives together plus working plus some travel plus the holidays that we haven’t had much time to dig into the local arts scene.  Thankfully some art was brought to us. 

On a street that we take often there has been an exhibition of a local artist named Michael Soi.  His work totally caught our eye and now I’m scouring the internet looking for other venues to see his paintings.  Check his work out here.

I love this one: Popcorn Love by Michael Soi

“Kuku” For Chicken

 

Mmmmm… does this ad on facebook look appetizing?  Makes you want to buy chicken, right?

 

Lesson Learned: Pay Electric Bill PRONTO

When the electricity turned off in our apartment this morning, I must admit, I barely even noticed.  It was a sunny morning, so the house didn't seem dark.  Using a laptop with plenty of battery meant that I just kept typing away.  When I attempted to go to wikipedia to look something up, I realized that the power and internet were out.  How long it had been that way, I'm not sure I could say.

I swung open the window in Jonah's room and asked the guard (the station is right there) what's the deal with the electricity?  He said: they are disconnecting people right now!

Egads!  

I threw on some proper clothing (as I was still in my bathrobe... it was the morning, no judgments) and rushed out to figure out what was going on.  As I raced down the stairs, I was pretty sure that the building manager had only handed us the bill on Sat (as we hurried out to schul).  Certainly, we weren't late, *yet*.

Sure, enough, the bill was due yesterday - that is, Sunday.  One day after receiving the darn thing.  And today, Monday morning, our electricity had been disconnected.  To fix this, I was told, I would need to go into town, pay a reconnection fee plus the bill in order to have power.  I pleaded with the guy who was weirdly wearing a white lab coat, as if disconnecting peoples' power was like brain surgery.  Please don’t do this to us.  I'll pay right now.  I'm new to town.  I have a small child.  I was trying to come up with any excuse at this point.

Apparently, my pathetic pleading worked.  I called Daniel who has MPESA set up on his phone.  He sent over money electronically to pay the bill.  He sent me the confirmation and in less than 20 minutes, we had electricity in the house.

We are the lucky ones.   I am told that the power company turns the electricity off in the slums too (wherever there is electricity.  Not all slums have it), with little or no notice and the electricians at the helm have far less sympathy for lifetime Nairobians who haven't paid their bills - regardless of how essential electricity may be.  The whole thing is a racket to get people to pay the reconnection fee.

I understand my privilege in this case.  I am white.  I had the money ready to pay.  I was working from home and therefore able to address the electrician directly.  Someone with fewer resources at their disposal would've been way worse off.

These are a few of my favorite things: Kenya and New Water Sources, that is

Yesterday was a big day for Kenya and its water budget.  As the NYTimes, NPR, and Kenya’s Daily Nation reported, there has been a big discovery of underground water, an aquifer, in Turkana County, located in the far north-west corner of Kenya.  The thing is massive, supposedly holding 207 bill cubic meters of water.  Considering the entire country uses about  ________ cubic meters per year, that’s one heckuva lot of water.  It seems that they were able to discover this aquifer through remote sensing, which is pretty cool, in and of itself, and then was only confirmed through some limited drilling.  Check out these awesome images care of RTI Exploration, the firm that did the remote sensing work.

And Turkana could really use it.  This is a very poor and very drought-prone region, rife with ethnic tensions.  So, yay!  Let’s crack open the bubbly, do a gig! Celebrate Good Times, Come ON!

And while I hate to be a Debbie Downer, I think a not-so-fast attitude is probably in order.  There are still LOTS of unanswered questions.

Here we go: 

Ownership:  Someone commissioned the remote sensing exploration in the first place.  And this kind of awesome imaging and interpretation doesn’t come cheap.  So who paid for the exploration?  And what does that entitle the person/group/country who did?

Governance: Someone is going to be given the go-ahead to distribute this valuable resource.  If an organization like USAID has a hand in it (which it likely already does) then there will be a strong push to have full-cost pricing involved and likely a fully privatized water utility at the helm.  Now, I don’t actually know whether a privatized corporation would be better or worse for the local folks, but it does seem clear to me that the poorest people in Kenya are in no condition to pay full-cost recovery pricing.  If they can’t pay, they may not be able to benefit from this resource at all.  Let’s hope that the governance regime is better thought out than that.  UPDATE:  I’ve now read that they are handing this resource over to the Rift Valley Water Services Board to manage.  I have no idea what this means in terms of pricing.

Ethnic Conflict:  As I mentioned before, this region of Kenya is home to a variety of ethnic groups and has seen its fair share of conflict.  The assumption made by lots of folks is that the presence of water will dampen those conflicts.  But I’m not really sure that this bears out in real life.  Think of some oil-rich locations, such as, say… Nigeria.  Michael Watts has made much of his career about explaining some of the ethnic clashes that are exacerbated by the oil industry.  I’m not sure where the assumption of reduced tensions with the presence of resources comes from, but it doesn’t necessarily hold water to me. 

Recharge Rate:  I saw that the aquifer might hold 207 bcm,  but underground resources like this in arid areas tend to recharge very slowly.  Like,  painfully slowly.  I read that this particular aquifer recharges at a rate of 3.4 bcm/y.  That’s cool.  Actually faster than I would have expected.  (It’s an estimate, of course, because deciding for certain how quickly water recharges is hard to predict and depends on annual rainfall and other climatic conditions that vary over time, etc, etc.)  But it means that you can only withdraw that amount each year without depleting the aquifer over time.  And what happens kiddies when you deplete an aquifer?  A whole host of negatives:  saline levels go up, pollution of all kinds become a problem, potential for sinkholes or other ground subsidence, crops that do grow now have to be irrigated instead of tapping into that ground source and last but not least the aquifer disappears over time.  So it’s a good idea to think about extraction sustainably.

Water Quality:  Just because water exists does not mean that it is certainly H2O in a pure sense.  In fact, that hardly exists on Earth.  Instead groundwater is often laden with metals, sometimes ones that are very hazardous to human health.  And even if the water quality is awesome today, it must be protected so it doesn’t suffer in the future and render the whole aquifer useless to human consumption.  One of the news outlets said something like they wanted to create a man-made lake on top of the aquifer.  This is just not a good idea.

Water-Energy Nexus Concerns:  This is a pet issue of mine, something I think about a lot, so please hear me out.  Water and energy (especially electricity) are intimately linked.  Water is used in the extraction of electricity resources (think hydrofracking) and water is used to generate other types of electricity (such as hydroelectric power).  Water cools power plants.  Electricity is frequently used to get water to where it needs to go (such as pumping it uphill to a place like Tucson or uphill in the case of Israel’s National Water Carrier) and electricity is also needed to get water out of the ground in all but the most artesian wells.  So when you think about water, it’s best to also think about electricity.  So, where is the energy to come from to get this water out of the ground.  Well, it just so happens that oil was recently discovered in Turkana County as well.  How about that?!  Case closed.   Well, not really.  I don’t know enough about the water and energy management in Kenya, but they are often in the hands of different utilities and sometimes even different ministries, oftentimes at odd or in competition with one another.  I just raise the specter of a water-energy conflict without knowing enough to say that there is one or not.\

 

Whew.  These are just open questions to me, many of which can be solved.  But the news hasn’t reported on these satisfactorily, so I’ll keep digging and let you know what I find.

Update: Reading Kenya's History

I asked Lydia if she knew of any places that commemorate Britain's camps where Mau Mau sympathizers were imprisoned.  Do any of the camps still exist as museums?  Or transformed into something else?  She said that the only place that remains (that she knows of) is Kapenguria, which is the location where Jomo Kenyatta and five other Mau Mau leaders were imprisoned at the outset of The Emergency.  They were known as the Kapenguria Six.  (It's far away, but I am curious enough to want to see it.)

If the name Kenyatta rings a bell, well it should.  Jomo Kenyatta became the first president of Kenya and his son Uhuru Kenyatta is the current president.  Neither one is known for a stellar human rights record.

Interestingly, in the epilogue to Elkins' book, she reports on a meeting between Jomo Kenyatta (after he had ascended to the presidency of Kenya) and Evelyn Baring who had been the chief British official in Kenya during the Emergency and was directly responsible for the imprisonment of Kenyatta.  I have to quote directly from Elkins because it is so.... so... terribly classic.

There was no avoiding the subject, so after some initial pleasantries the former jailer turned to his onetime captive, gestured, and said, "By the way, I was sitting at that actual desk when I signed your detention order twenty years ago."  "I know," Kenyatta told him.  "If I had been in your shoes at the time I would have done exactly the same."  The nervousness evaporated, and the room erupted in relieved laughter.  With everyone still chuckling, the new president chimed in, "And I myself signed a number of detention orders sitting right there too" (354-355).

Nothing is black and white.  I have a whole series of critiques of the Elkins book (including her lack of nuance), which I will save for another post, but neither the Mau Mau leadership, nor the British colonial authorities come out as heroes.  Revolutions are ugly but sometimes necessary.

Reading Kenyan History… (slowly by slowly)

When I arrived in Kenya, I knew shamefully little about Kenyan history, politics, geography, and culture.  Bad geographer, bad geographer!  (Notice one hand slapping the other.)  And now, after living here for five weeks, I know just a tiny smidge more than shamefully little.  Since I am absolutely powerless to the pull of the purchase in bookstores, I found myself at the BookStop in Yaya Center chatting with the owner about which history I should read.  He lifted a tome called Kenya: A History that he insisted was obligatory reading.  But I demurred: let me dip my toe into Kenyan history with something a bit…. uh… smaller?  Never fear, I didn’t leave the shop empty-handed.  I picked up the Pulitzer Prize winning history by Caroline Elkins that details the brutal period at the end of British reign in Kenya, titled Britain’s Gulag.

Let me start by telling you that I don’t read Holocaust books and I don’t watch Holocaust movies.  I just don’t go there.  My grandparents were German refugees and I can’t handle it.  I don’t feel like a better person watching humans do terrible things to other humans, in the context of the Holocaust or any other situation.  I also don’t want that era in my family’s history to define me.  So, by my own choice, it has been a long time since I read anything as horrifying as Elkins’ book. 

Elkins’ main premise is that this period, called “The Emergency,” (1952-ish to 1963) when the British were routing out Mau Mau oathtakers from the Kikuyu tribe in Kenya, was as systematic, as horrifying, and as violent as any terrible genocide the world has known.  Responding to the Mau Mau uprising, the British developed a “pipeline” of camps wherein men and women with Mau Mau sympathies (or those who simply didn’t side with the British, there could be no middle ground) would be detained, robbed, questioned, shamed, tortured in every gruesome way, killed, raped, and exposed to extreme famine, disease, and unsanitary conditions.  If these Mau Mau detainees renounced their oath, they might be transferred to less-strict camps.  If they stayed committed to Mau Mau or increased their devotion, they would be transferred up the pipeline to harder camps.  (It wasn’t as simple as renouncing an oath, however.  If an individual did renounce to save him or herself, he or she might face death from Mau Mau compatriots.  It was basically a lose-lose for a suspected Mau Mau person.)  Even when people were “released,” it was into Kikuyu reserves where their land had been confiscated and enforced hard labor was required.  Basically, at times it resembled the camp system that the Nazis developed, against which the British had just fought a major war.  Then the Brits turned around and instituted a similar kind of camp system in Kenya.  (There is also mention of a camp system in Malaya, but I know even less about that.)  Needless to say, this has been a hard and yet necessary book to read. 

I think Elkins is responding to a general sentiment that the British weren’t that bad in Kenya.  I mean, they weren’t as despicable leaders as the Nazis or the Khmer Rouge.  And hey, maybe Kenya is even better off than other post-colonial places because of the legacy of British rule.  But this book basically says: let’s put any of these cutsie British ideas aside once and for all.  The British were brutal colonial leaders, as brutal, as vicious, as any of ‘em out there, willing to stop at nothing to hold on to their colonial territory. 

Well, we all know how that turned out.  The Brits lost Kenya. 

Nerd Geographer Alert:  The weird thing is, I have yet to see anything on the landscape that commemorates these Mau Mau fighters who suffered mightily at the hands of the British.  For example, we live right near Dagoretti Corner.  And in the book, there is a significant camp at Dagoretti.  I tried to find out where the camp actually was.  Is there any remnant?  Is there anything marking the place with its historical significance?  Not that I’ve seen.

The first time I experienced this kind of landscape commemoration absence was in China.  It was 1998 and I had gone to China with a friend as a post-high school graduation trip.  I knew desperately little about China, basically had only seen the footage of “tank man” at Tiananmen Square.  In fact, I think that protest might be my first political memory.  So when we got to Tiananmen Square and there was NOTHING to memorialize the people who died in the 1989 protests (and then my Chinese government tour guide had the gall to say that no one died in 1989 in the square… which I found out later, actually may be technically true because everyone who died was just outside the square), I was just stunned.  The whole square just vibrated to me with the absence of voices.  The place had meaning to me, but it was paved over, covered up, and negated rather than addressed.  I had to get outta there.

I wonder how many places here, in Kenya, memorialize the British brutality.  I’ve looked around to find any traces, but haven’t found them yet.  Anyone who knows something more about this.. I’m all ears.  Did the British destroy the physical camps, like they set fire to so many of the records that chronicle their maniacal control over Kenya?  I haven’t quite finished Elkins’ book, but I hope she tells me.

As my mom repeats, moving to Kenya has sure stretched my understanding of the world in new and unpredictable ways.  This is surely just the beginning.

Six Day Itinerary

If you needed any more enticement to come and visit us, here is the rough itinerary that I’ve put together for my bro and S.C. (she was our babysitter when I was 2 and basically part of the family now).  They are only in Kenya six days, so we have to make ‘em count.

Day 1 (Sunday): Chill
Play it cool because guests arrived around midnight.
Driving tour of the city
Blankets & Wine.  African Music

Day 2 (Monday): Karen
National Park of Kenya has the elephant and rhinoceros sanctuary within it. 
Giraffe Center
Lunch at Talisman, Osteria, or other delicious Karen location.
Karen Blixen Museum

Day 3 (Tues): Downtown/Kenya History Day
Kenyatta Mausoleum
National Museum
Uhuru Park
Markets
Railway Museum
(Maybe get an urban guide for this)

Day 4 (Wed): Naivasha Day
2 hour drive up rift valley to Naivasha.  Famous for hippos and other animals.
Rift valley viewpoint
Maybe stay overnight.

Day 5 (Thurs): Reality Day
Kibera tour
Masai Market at Junction

Day 6 (Fri): Whatever we missed or want to return to.
Brown’s Dairy?
Possibly stop by synagogue for services?

Depart Fri Late

They’re gonna have a blast!

Rosh Hashana in the Heart of East Africa

So, you might have wondered what happened to me… no, I didn’t fall off the planet.  I’ve been busy with the Jewish New Year, a couple of migraines, a sick hubbie (who seems be on the mend) and you know… life.  But a lot has gone on over the last… nearly week.  On Wed evening we began the celebration of Rosh Hashana here at the Nairobi Hebrew Congregation.  A few mitigating factors made the evening a bit less-than… if you know what I mean.

First, I was working on my first migraine headache of the last few days.  Two more would follow.  Also, J was in rare form, too excited to sit and listen in services and so we did much more admiring the synagogue grounds (which are lovely, BTW) than sitting inside.  Then, DW arrived directly from Mombasa and so he was hassled by the guards a bit more than was deserved.  Luggage will always spark the security-conscious mind.  He was not in the mood.  And finally, the communal dinner, for which we had paid ahead of time, seemed too much like a show for the Israeli Ambassador, who was in attendance, than a true coming together of the committed synagogue attendees.  We were asked to move twice to accommodate different groups that had to sit together.  Ugh.  I have no patience for that kind of B.S.   When I finally threw up half way through dinner, we hit the road.

Thurs morning was much more enjoyable.  Leaving J at home with Lydia was a god-send.  I was finally able to concentrate on the prayers and even meet some new people.  DW was fully-rested and in a much better mood.  NHC is an Orthodox congregation which I call Orthodox-lite meaning that the place is set up with women sitting to the sides and women don’t have any formal participation in service leading.  But you can tell that the community itself isn’t orthodox-observant.  Married women do not cover their heads and many men had their cell phones visibly strapped to their belt loops during the service.  One man even answered a call on the Bima!!  (OK, so he’s a cardiologist and it might have been important, but still.)  The community is bound by the architectural decisions of 50 years ago and by a (in my mind, false) sense that orthodox services are the most authentic way to pray. 

The liberally-minded Orthodox rabbi who has newly arrived in Nairobi asked me to offer a few words to enliven the service.  At first, he encouraged me to stand at the center bima to deliver them.  But after another woman had done exactly that, the rabbi took some flack and asked me to stay in the women’s section and speak from there.  I get it.  There’s always going to be a proverbial Mr. Cohen in the back protesting any type of change.  (No offense to any progressive Mr. Cohens out there.)

Anyway, by Fri morning’s service, I had definitely gotten my groove on and was fully in the New Year swing of things.  I had eaten my fair share of apples and honey and was starting to feel really settled here.  The services weren’t exactly as I would have hoped.  The shofar-blowing was probably the worst in all of Africa.  I never like to feel like a second class member of the community.  But with the familiar words of the piyyutim flowing over me, I felt at ease. Hopeful. Thankful. Calm.

What Are We Eating in Nairobi?

Today marks four weeks since arriving in Nairobi and as any reader of this blog knows, I’m quite pleased with our life here in the city.  If you come from my family, I’m sure the number one burning question is: what are you eating?

Here’s the truth: we’re eating a lot like we ate in the U.S. with far fewer salads.  Our house is vegetarian + fish with tilapia being the mostly readily available.  We are eating rice and vegetable stews of various types.  We eat tofu in stir frys and variously concocted soups based on whatever looks good in the store.  I made a veggie lasagna that lasted a while.  Breakfasts consist of eggs or oatmeal or yogurt or Kenya-ized cheerios (not the same as the real deal).  I roast veggies.  The shops are well-stocked with TVP and other meat substitutes, catering to the huge Indian population that eschews meat products. 

As for local foods, I’ve had ugali once with Lydia and I hope she’ll show me how she makes it the next time.  Ugali is a congealed maize block that is eaten with seasoned beans.  It’s more of a canvass for whatever else you are having, but it certainly sticks to your ribs.  Indian food is also “local” given the long history of people here from the subcontinent.  But I can’t say that we’ve experienced too much of it given time and money constraints. 

Eating out for dinner is generally tough because it requires braving the streets, dealing with a tired kiddo, and by the end we wonder why it’s so expensive.  Also, prepared food is a bit harder to come by, encouraging me to get creative even when I’m not in the mood.

J is (thankfully) still a very adventurous eater, willing to try virtually anything we put in front of him.  (So far he is resolutely against fresh tomatoes and avocado… but hardly anything else.  Doesn’t he recognize his Tucson roots?)  There is an overpriced, but very yummy restaurant nearby called Artecaffe (pronounced Art-caff by the locals), owned and run by Israelis.  They also have a bakery with some of the best breads, pita, and pastries in this city. 

Long story short, we are eating very well, thanks for asking. 

Kenyatta On Trial

Uhuru Kenyatta, Kenya’s current president, has been indicted by the International Criminal Court (ICC) for “orchestrating deadly violence” after the 2007 election.  His trial is set to begin in November.

There are so many crazy things about this situation.  First, that the Kenyans seemingly elected this apparent war criminal.  (Why is this shocking?  Americans did this too when we re-elected George W.  However, GWB probably committed war crimes against others.  Kenyatta is accused of war crimes against his own people.  Speaking of parallels, Kenyatta is also the son of the first president Jomo Kenyatta, like George W. is the son of George HW.)

Secondly, and equally stunning to me, is that this trial is actually going forward.  Can you even imagine an American president being indicted for war crimes?  (Certainly, a large percentage of them deserve it.)

Finally, what happens if he’s convicted?  This seems unlikely because the witnesses for the prosecution are dropping like flies citing security concerns.  Will someone detain him?  Will there be new elections? 

The ICC faces its own legitimacy issues not least from the fact that the U.S. is not a party to it.  Plus, so far its only open cases are in Africa, giving fodder to the critics who argue that it’s a biased entity. 

Insulated From Infrastructure

I mentioned in an earlier post that our grid power went out on Sunday around 8:30a and didn’t turn back on until around 6:30p.  When our power goes out (which it does almost daily), within seconds we can hear the large diesel generator rev up that serves our apartment complex.  It sounds like a large truck coming down our street.  Sunday was no different.  The generator revved up and power was back on immediately.  A barely noticeable interruption. 

However, this Sunday was different because the generator stayed on for so long.  Usually the generator is needed to fill a few minute gap in power.  On Sunday we started to speak louder over the generator (It is located right outside our kitchen window).  At one point during the day, DW asked, “How long will the diesel last?”  “Not forever,” I assured him.  By 5pm, the generator sputtered leaving silence.  We were out of power.

Being out of electricity in your home is something most of us have experienced.  It comes as a minor inconvenience so long as we have an alternative way to cook and a few handy flashlights and candles.  But since I didn’t know how long we would be without power, I started to worry about the food in our refrigerator and freezer.  I recognized that we wouldn’t have hot water for showers.  I wondered how long our cell phone batteries would last without being charged.  I sent DW out to get matches.

We are living in posh Nairobi where every building seems to have either a generator or an inverter (a battery system) to support our lifestyles during these power outages.  I didn’t even want to live somewhere without this cushion.  But most of the residents of Nairobi do not have this luxury, meaning that when the power goes out, it’s out.  In many ways, we are living insulated from our infrastructure. 

This notion is really an insulation from society itself.  We are aptly implored by the Rabbis, “Do not separate yourself from the community” (Pirkei Avot 2:5. thanks wikipedia). I believe that their statement had something to do with taking care of the public services.

This discussion makes me think about the provocative article recently published by Slate titled, “If You Send Your Kid to Private School, You’re A Bad Person.”  (Not very subtle title.)  The author’s main argument is that if you take your children out of the public school system, you will have no incentive to improve the system.  You have no skin in the game.  While I don’t agree with the article (after all, I am a product of a parochial school system that gave me a very important identification with my religion), I can see the author’s overall point about insulating oneself from the public works that support a society.  If the failures of the system don’t hurt you personally, then why work to improve them.  If you don’t suffer from a weak electricity grid because you can rely on backup power, then you have no need to lobby for an upgrade.  As a legislator, if you don’t experience the lapses in power that plague your city, how can you truly understand the plight of the vast majority of people who do?  ((As an aside: this argument taken to its logical extreme also doesn’t make sense.  Do all legislators need to personally experience all conditions in order to represent the needs of people who do?  No, of course not.  You don’t need to have cancer to advocate for cancer research.  Empathy works too.))) 

As I mentioned, our power came back on just before dusk, around 6:30p.  The timing of the outage sure seems suspect to me.  If I was going to implement a planned outage, I would probably choose daytime hours on a Sunday.  Was this something intended or something accidental?  We’ll never know.

Honesty About Labor

(Never fear, this post will not be about childbirth.)

Today is not Labor Day in Kenya.  I don’t even know if they have a salute to Labor here.  However, in hiring Lydia, I had my first contact with employment.

I interviewed three highly qualified women who had recommendations recorded with the U.S. Embassy.  To begin each interview, I asked each woman, “What do you want out of a job?'”  In the U.S., I’ve been asked this question dozens of times.  Each time, I prepare an answer about self-growth, skill acquisition, or some other type of self-improvement that the job will afford me.  But this is not the kind of answer I received from the perspective nannies.  When asked, each told me their salary requirements and any other bonuses they expected.  At first I was put off by this response.  I wanted to know if they preferred childcare or home management.  But, upon deeper reflection, I think there is a real honesty in their answers.  They aren’t nannies because they love children (even though I’m sure they do).  They work to bring home a salary, to pay for daily needs, food, clothing, and school fees.  And so this is the true answer to my question. 

Am I delusional when I think that work can hold the key to self-improvement?  Or should I rethink my relationship with work?

Happy Labor Day!

Lovely Relaxing Weekend at Home

The weekend started out a bit more stressfully than it should have.  DW tried to return home in Fri PM traffic (not a good idea) to pick up J and me for a Fri night service and dinner at the synagogue.  There is a lovely Jewish community here in Nairobi with its own grounds, building, and even a new rabbi.  The Nairobi synagogue is apparently the only one in sub-saharan Africa outside of South Africa.  They have welcomed us warmly.  But getting there on Fri is just not the easiest thing to do.  Thankfully, we made the ~7km journey in just under an hour (I wasn’t kidding about the traffic). 

Dinner was potluck and homey.  J got very excited and fell down a few steps.  Within seconds, he had recovered.  The new rabbi and his wife seem like they could become friends.  Breathe.  Relax. 

On Saturday, we set out for Karen, a suburb of Nairobi, that is very lush and green and dotted with large single and multi-family homes.  A real retreat from the urban crush of Nairobi center city.  We had lunch at the gorgeous and delicious Talisman Restaurant that even had a play area for J.  Truly a heavenly spot.  (If you need any enticing to visit, we’ll take you to Talisman.  Reason enough to get on a plane.)

I also tried my hand and nerves behind the wheel for the first time.  If the switch to the left side of the road wasn’t hard enough, the roads are pocked with the damage left from heavy rains, the traffic is unpredictable at best and downright terrifying at worst.  I had to watch my mirrors just to be sure that I still had all four wheels on the road.  But at least I can take the car if I have to now.  DW will be away two days this week, so the car is at my disposal.

On Sunday, we hosted friends M/E & T for brunch.  Waffles and fruit.  For most of the day, our apartment ran on the power from the backup diesel generator until that ran out (fodder for another post entirely.)  We are cautiously eating salads again, taking all possible precautions.

I truly value these weekends that we spend as a family.  When we were back in the U.S. it felt like we were either prepping for DW’s next trip, he was away, or he was back but jetlagged and recovering.  It was very hard to collectively catch our breath.  Maybe I should just value that stressful time because it now gives me a better appreciation for what we have.