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.