Cause = Time

For a while, I forgot where we were.

The northern Kenya we experienced on our most recent trip to the field was so vastly different from the one we had visited not more than a month ago. There was seemingly endless grass where before it had been cracked and dry. Cows were fat with milk where they had been drawn and bony. My recollections of the drought faded and I began to think: this is how it has always been here.

"We expect change quickly," said Rosemary, one of our business mentors who has been a teacher in northern Kenya for almost twenty years. "That is why we have such a hard time thinking about long-term things like education." Rosemary went on to say that the time it takes a student to learn and grow feels like a while to wait for change, "change that you maybe cannot even see." Relative to the rapid and obvious transformation in the landscape over the course of a month, the impact of education on a child is much less tangible, and I could, for the first time, understand the difficulty of that timescale shift.

It was amazing how quickly I had forgotten the hard times when surrounded by such abundance. Our memories dim just when we need them to be the most clear: the juxtaposition of the vastly different past and present only amplifies the importance of sustainable, long-range solutions. How can we appreciate change and enjoy relief while still maintaining our awareness of the past?

This corn plant was growing on the side of the road. It sprouted from relief maize that had spilled on the road in the months prior. Tons and tons of maize are transported to northern Kenya every month, even more so during periods of drought. With the abundance of rain the area received in November, those seeds sprouted and began to grow. Pretty nicely illustrates the contradictions and complexities of life up there, no?

Words Fail

30 October 2011

9 December 2011

Laisamis.

not quite a christmas miracle

but (the angels wanna wear my) red shoes.

thank you, sneaker fiends.

When You've Got So Much To Say, It's Called Gratitude, And That's Right

these are some of the things I am thankful for.

Happy Turkey.

So Long, Big Bite

It is with heavy heart that I write about the likely permanent closing of Big Bite in Arusha, the best Indian restaurant I’ve ever been to and the physical manifestation in Africa of some of my greatest friendships in America.

One of my best friends from college transferred to Columbia after taking a year off, part of which he spent working at an orphanage outside of Arusha, Tanzania. Of the many, many things I have in common with this friend (an unhealthy obsession with The Wire, a year of 8am Kiswahili classes, a deep appreciation of James Brown, a love of professional basketball and a problem with coveting sneakers), food may be our holiest shared space. When talking about his time in Tanzania, my friend would lapse into a dreamlike reverie whenever he mentioned Big Bite, an Indian restaurant run by a benevolent old man where, if you asked politely, you could go in the kitchen and watch your food be cooked in an ancient clay oven. Big Bite took on mythical proportions and I vowed that if I ever made it to Arusha, I would go.

Three years later, I found myself studying abroad in southern Kenya. And my two best friends invited me to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro with them:

After a truly magnificent but exhausting five days, we decided to visit Arusha, partly for access to more direct return to Nairobi, but also because I had started talking about Big Bite. We arrived, stunned by our transition from the highest point on the African continent to our first city in five months. We wandered through Arusha’s big market, bought some cheap flip flops to give our feet a break and somehow negotiated for the three of us to stay in a room with one double bed. The evening sky began to hum with the call to prayer echoing from several of Arusha’s mosques, and we started our hajj to Big Bite. Without too much difficulty we found it, on the corner of a side street, and we made our way inside. I don’t remember many details about the interior, or even what we ate exactly, but I remember telling Mr. Big Bite that we had been sent by a tall mzungu who used to come there and that we were very happy to be seated in his warm dining room, ravenously pulling apart naan with our hands, drinking cold cokes and laughing at the majesty of our enormous and small world. Bringing my Kilimanjaro buddies, people I had spent the most intense five months of my life with, to a place that had been so important to one of my most kindred spirits in the US was a remarkable experience. For that, I will always remember Big Bite with utmost fondness.

Friends that live in Arusha now sent an email a few days ago. They’ve heard Mr. Big Bite died while visiting his home in India, likely making his temporary closing of the restaurant permanent. It will be missed.

And Sometimes, Even Music, Cannot Substitute For Tears

I don't think a song has ever more accurately captured how I'm feeling RIGHT now. You've read my mind, Elvis. And for that, I thank you.

Have You Ever Seen The Rain?

so on our most recent trip to the field, we sort of forgot that rain is possible (and was at one time, expected) in October in northern Kenya. Everyone has gotten so used to the rains failing that they are simply not a factor when doing things like planning trips...or building houses...it made for an interesting (and amazing) 18 days.

standing in the Chalbi Desert, earlier in October. definitely no rain there.

driving to Laisamis, changing our first flat. that is the road.

our training session in Laisamis was interrupted by a serious rain storm. these women were prepared with an umbrella. the lack of glass in the windows made it necessary to open the umbrella inside the training hall. bad luck? ...yeah, right.

driving through Fallum, usually the dustiest part of our northern Kenya circuit. this time, it was the muddiest and most worrisome.

clouds on the outskirts of Kargi, ominous (and beautiful) on our last day.

this was the status of the roads for the majority of our 11 hour trip home. our Kenyan Director of Operations kept opening the windows and saying "Thank you God. Thank you for these blessings."