Things to Do in Red Deer

I have been doing my research about Red Deer since I will be there in less than two weeks.  The good news:  there is a vietnamese restaurant.  The bad news:  I can't get Sault pizza.  I was important for me to know that I would have access to pho.  After finding a place to live, buying a car (will update soon on this) and then actually working to get a paycheck I plan to get myself a Canada Goose Jacket.  That is because goose feathers make life worth living in the dead of frozen Alberta.  In order to accept my wintry fate I plan to join a curling league - probably the beginner one - to stave off boredom.  Who knows, maybe there is an Olympic medal in my future.
So far that list is:
1. Get a wicked winter coat.
2. Join a winter sport ("sport"?).

And I will add:
3.  Take a class.  The local college has a plethora of classes.  While the nerd side of me is drawn to "physics" and "human osteology" and "the philosophy of knowledge" the person who is tired of studying is considering "ceramics" or "cooking".  Mmm....cooking.
4. Buy organic and nice-to-animals.  A friend of a friend has given me the name of her organic farmer.  Now I just need my own cheese maker.
5. Join the local NDP party.  Is it bad to state my political allegiances online?  I guess I already gave myself away with my sad post about Jack Layton.
6.  Outdoor skating.
7.  Running.  Right.  I want to do that again.  I need a goal of another half marathon to get myself motivated.

Oh yeah....and working full-time.

Begin Again

I got fat in Africa.  I probably wouldn't put that on the internet but it is topical:  running is hard.  Apparently I was taking a break from everything other than hanging out and stuffing my cake/pie/chip/ice cream-hole so today was my first run since I left for Africa.  Yeah, that's almost four months baby.  For a person who loses her stamina by just looking at a donut and thinking about a couch this was deadly.  I felt those extra pounds hammering down on my poor legs as they TOUCHED when I ran.  It was nothing impressive, that is to be sure; a mere 4 kms but I didn't stop and I didn't get a stitch.  Let's hope that thigh rub is enough motivation to keep me going.  It is disheartening (even if it is my own fault) to go from half marathons to wheezing after a jog around the block.  Help me stay motivated, friends (ie. ask if I have moved my lazy butt on a regular basis).

A New Badge

In a previous post I introduced the idea of Life Badges - a way for adults with a certain type of personality to continue getting tangible proof of accomplishment.  I whipped up a new badge to commemorate getting the email to confirm my completion of all course requirements for SLP.  Maybe this badge should wait until the official graduation when we have fake diplomas in hand but it is ready NOW.  So now the badge is posted.  Feel proud to claim this badge for yourself if you have completed the SLP masters program.

Salute, Mr. Layton

The last time Canada experienced an election I relished the opportunity to visit the polls and indicate my support for the NDP.  I penciled in my vote with the hope that the next day would bring news of a new era with Jack Layton as leader of this fine country.  Great things happened in the last election with major political upheaval in the Parliament, enough to hold my hope over to the next election, to bide our time until we could have a leader with a vision of a better Canada.  My condolences go to Olivia Chow and their two children but also to our country because we lost the chance to see his great vision for us come to fruition.  Young people are looking for somewhere else to place their hope for our country.  Wherever we go next I hope Jack Layton would be proud of the direction we take; that we would strive for the fairer, better, more equal country he dreamed about and called for in his last letter to our nation. 

Another First: Head Wound Edition

You may want to skip this post if blood makes ya queasy.  This morning I took the little corolla out on the highway for almost two hours in order to meet my aunts and cousins at a lovely place called bathtub island.  Situated only 45 minutes from Wawa it is hard to believe that I had never been to this cutesy alcove of smooth rocks and shallow, sun-warmed pools of warm water.  I'll have to go back because my memories of it are still a bit blurry.  After 10 minutes in the area I promptly slipped on the rocky island (it was BERY SLIPEWY) and cracked my head.  The first thing I noticed was the enormous gush of blood all over.  The island is about the size of a postage stamp but there happened to be a registered nurse hanging out with her kids who also had a maxi pad and a bandaid.  They cleaned me up a bit and got me back to the shore where we discovered that my aunt had run out to the road and flagged down two MNR (Ministry of Natural Resources) guys and the whole troupe came running down the beach to me sitting calmly on a log with a big bandage on my forehead.  So much for visiting with family; the nurse recommended stitches so we arranged to meet my mom halfway and have a friend drive the car home.  Before I could leave for safety my family insisted on me having my photo taken with the MNR guys and a few with all the blood - thanks family!  So far no headache and only the teeniest bit of nausea - as far as I can tell I never lost consciousness.  Fastforward a few hours - the doc sewed me up good with FOUR stitches.  The stitching didn't hurt it was when he pushed my skin and pulled it to show my mom where I tore right through the muscle.  When I do something I do it all the way.

Warning:  possibly disturbing photos

The bathing suit aftermath

Pre-stitch - thanks mom for cleaning up my wound.

Despues los stiches.  More gruesome?

Becoming all Growed Up

It has taken me forever to update the internet on my latest news because I was committed to creating a new header to go with my NEW JOB (imagine Bob Barker saying that).  It went like this:  a friend sent me a job posting for a mat leave in Red Deer, Alberta during my last week in Kenya.  I applied because, hey, why not?  In a few days I had an interview set up for the Thursday after my return to Canada.  Thursday morning I had a phone interview for this year contract.  Friday they contacted my references (and probably weren't expecting one to act more like a mom - she let them know that they have to be understanding and flexible as this will not be an insignificant move - thanks beekeeper!).  On Friday night, after finally flying back north to see my family, they sent me an email* to offer me the position.  Apparently I interview well (if just a little to verbose).  On Saturday night I accepted.

Fast forward to today:  I bought myself a swanky blackberry Torch so I can be up with the techno revolution; I am test driving cars since I will need one for my job.  More on that in the future.  I am looking for a place in R'Deer and even ordered some literature from amazon to celebrate my employment.  My biggest fear now is that I'll put out all this money for this job (no paycheck until the end of Sept, eep!) and then I won't be able to do it.  Intimidating!

*Yes, it is odd to get a job offer by email, however, I had limited phone access throughout this whole process.  I actually had to stay with a friend in order to have a phone on which to do the interview.

Back from Africa

It has now been almost two weeks since I flew back into Canada and it already feels like an alternate reality.  Since returning I have spent 4 days in Toronto, interviewed for a job (more on that in a subsequent post), got a job, and spent a whole week at Jesus camp (definitely more on this in a subsequent post).  To be honest, I had expected the transition to be more difficult.  I suppose that three months is not long enough to unlearn 26 years of life in a developed country.  A year abroad might demand more of an adjustment upon returning.  The things that felt the weirdest were minor things.  This computer for one - it is MASSIVE at 17 inches compared to the 10 inch wonder I had been using.  But really, the biggest adjustments included:

1. "I see white people".  In Africa I always found I got my back up when there were too many whities around; it felt uncomfortable, like we were all seeking each other out.  Seeing a gaggle of melanin-challenged people was a reminder that I was a tourist just like them and no one wants to be reminded that they are tourists. Now, we are everywhere.

2. Sidewalks.  We have them.

3.  The lack of smells.  This is a primarily smell-free zone whereas my nose was assaulted most of the time in Kenya.

4.  Not getting as much sleep.  We have electricity all the time here and TV and other distractions so I don't go to bed at 10pm every day and get up at 7am.  Getting fewer than 8 hours of sleep puts me in a crabby mood - ok, fewer than 9 - and when I get tired I can barely keep my eyes open.

5.  Time.  I'm now in the SAME time zone as most of my friends and family now (or at least separated by only one or two hours instead of 7).  Yet, I still find myself converting the time in my head whenever I go to make a phone call.

Honestly, other than those minor things it does not feel that strange to be home. 

Quotes from a 3-year-old

This blog needs some serious updating including:  returning from Africa; Jesus camp; my future career.  So instead of all of that I will give you some quotes of one of the best 3-year-olds ever.  Ever.  Seriously.  We'll call him Ripper.


Me:  What are you doing? (as I approach child sitting on the stairs)
R:  Shooting bears with my laser eyes.  Look, a bear!  [opens eyes as wide as possible and stares]
Me:  Can I have laser eyes too?
R:  Oh sure, here is an extra pair.

In line at Wendy's on the drive home from camp.
R:  Mom, I want one of those toys.
His mom:  Well, you can't have one of the toys.
R:  But I WANT one. 
HM:  You're already getting a froster.
R: Fine, I'm just going to tell this lady that I'll have a toy.
HM:  No you won't, you can try telling your dad that you want one.
R:  Ugh, he already knows!  FINE!  I'll just play with this then [sits down at mom's feet and starts playing with the rubber carpet]

A conversation between 3-year-olds - both walk in to the cabin - I hear them walk into Ripper's room.
R:  No, M, you can't come in here, I'm changing.
M:  yes I can.
R:  Go away.  Unless you want to see my penis and my bum you need to LEAVE!

There are more but I'm drawing a blank.  This should buy me some time until I can update my blog fo reals.

Going on 46

46 hours that is - of travel.  We left Nairobi at 930am (EST) Sunday, July 31st and should arrive to downtown TO at approximately 4pm EST - about 55 hours from when we started.  I thought the 36 hours to get to Nairobi last time was my limit.  Apparently this is my limit.  Everything went smoothly on our first two flights. 

      We even spent another lovely evening in Doha, Qatar where it was about 45 degrees celcius and humid.  I thought the desert wasn't humid.  Warning:  it can be.  We didn't arrive to Doha until around midnight so most of the city was closed but the restaurants in Souq Waqif stay open late - some until 4am during Ramadan.  So we hunkered down for some beloved Qatari food (thyme and flatbread + goat cheese and flat bread + mint lemonade) and practiced drawing animals.  We made them all into Masai animals with shukas, the traditional plaid blankets, and beaded necklaces.  We then wandered through the closed market and ended up at another restaurant where we sat on the roof overlooking all of the city lights and languished under their fans drinking soda that quickly got warm and partaking in another social tradition.  When we arrived two local men asked us to sit with them but the restaurant was almost empty and we felt somewhat uncomfortable so we turned them down and sat at a nearby table.  We got a creep vibe.  We ended up making friends with the restaurant workers (mostly from Nepal and some from Egypt) and spoke in gestures and incomplete English.  They gave us free soda and shared their chicken sandwiches with us at 2am.  When we went to pay our bill we were informed that the two "creepy" men had paid our bill for us on their way out.  Ouch.  A big thank you to them, we are sorry we never got to thank them in person.  Qatar has amazed me each time with the friendliness of the people and the safety of the city (we walked alone along the boardwalk at 4am without drawing any attention).

        We made it through the 13 hour Doha - DC flight without a hitch (except for my inability to sleep on a plane.  Hi-C was log-like before the plane even took off.  With two of three flights done we were excited to be nearly finished our journey.  We raced through all the checkpoints in the DC airport to make our TO flight on time only to be told it was delayed.  No big deal, we sat and read.  Flights were being canceled all around us due to lightning but the storm was clearing and they boarded our planes.  Poor suckers going to Syracuse.  After a half hour on the tarmac we were informed that our flight, too, would be canceled and we were ushered off the airplane.  They booked us on another flight - at 8:53 pm the next day - more than 24hours later.  Finally with some finagling we got a seat on the 1230 flight and here we sit.  I slept in the airport lounge in two hours spurts.  This is the second day in this outfit (yes, even those, these are my extra undies) and I just washed my face and armpits (in that order) in a public washroom.  Toronto will not be seeing my freshest side.

NBD II

No big deal, just hung out in the Masai Mara for a few days scoping dangerous animals.  I'm too lazy to post many photos but you know what the animals look like.  Some highlights from the trip include:

-Thousands of zebra
-Herds of wildebeest
-Fat fat hippos

-Once, twice, five times we saw lions (once with a zebra carcass, once with a dead wildebeest and a fun lion who liked to play with a dirt clod)

-Ostriches

-Rhinos ...we think (we failed to bring binoculars and our camera had very limited zoom so we were told they were rhinos)

-Lazy lazy cheetahs

-Giant pack of hyenas eating an unidentified dead creature

-A giraffe running next to our vehicle (so incredible...likely my favourite moment)

-ELEPHANTS!

-Conversations with Masai warriors.  Their definition of a "man" is a bit different than the western definition.  Some of our guy friends had never killed a lion nor owned any cows so, in Masai eyes, they were the equivalent of preteens.  No ladies for them.

Me with one buttcheek in Kenya and one in Tanzania!

There was a Masai warrior hanging out at our camp (a few Italians had hired him as a guide) and he hung out with us after dinner to chat.  It took him 6 years in the bush but he killed a lion and now he is back to raise his herd of 50 cows and marry.  His first wedding is in 5 months.  He anticipates the second one in 7 months.  If he has his way he will have 5 wives someday.  His sandals have a spike sticking vertically from the toe which he informed us acts as a sundial.  Ingenious.  He also asked how long it would take to walk to Canada.  We tried to explain that he would need a boat....he insisted on knowing so I just said "one year".  He seemed satisfied with his answer.  He walks to Nairobi in 1.5 days.

Strangeville, Uganda

Sometimes Hi-C wonders if I even like traveling or if I just enjoy collecting stamps in my passport.  The truth is that I enjoy both.  It is my favourite kind of stamp collecting and will not require me to rent out storage space or close off entire rooms of my (future) house to accomodate my addiction; although it will require vacation time and funding but I am working on that.  The most recent addition to my collection has been the lovely entry and exit stamps for Uganda (plus another entry stamp into Kenya - I'm not picky!). 

We returned to Nairobi last night after shelling out for the Royal Treatment on Akamba buses and getting something more equivalent to what fleeing exiled monarchs must receive.  TIA*.  The last few days in Uganda were spent in Kampala, the capital city.  It is a bustling town with more charm and less danger than Nairobi (sorry Nairobbery - you have a special place in my heart but you kinda suck).  In the two days we had in Kampala we lived it up.  First stop on our whirlwind tour was......the cinema!  To our amazement and excitement they were playing the FINAL HARRY POTTER!  We could have waited a week but then we would not have watched it in a swanky theatre all to ourselves in Kampala, Uganda. 

Already on a roll we decided to see another show but this time it was a local production at La Bonita, a small theatre near our hotel.  What an experience that was.  There is no way to truly describe it but it was akin to a Ugandan soap opera + musical + variety show.  It followed three crazy and minimally converging storylines** with a series of set changes and interspersed videos of (what I would assume to be) local celebrities adding their opinions and giving clues about what was to come next.  There were up to 30 actors on stage at any given time, they switched constantly between English and Luganda (we were a bit lost) and it was all prerecorded so the actors lip-synced all their lines and the songs.  After 3.5 hours of this sans intermission and no end in sight we left very befuddled.  Definitely worth your $6 if you find yourself in Kampala.  The group is called the Ebonies and the episode (yes, the shows are episodes with continuing stories) was called "Enslaved by Love".

Our second day was comparably tame.  We walked through the most massive and crowded local market I have ever witnessed to end up at the Gadaffi mosque at the centre of the city.  Women are allowed to tour the mosque (with skirts and covered heads of course!) so we rented some scarves and toured the third largest mosque in Africa.  The crown jewel of the tour (and the part that has a cost) is the 40metre minaret you can climb to get a view of the entire city. 

On the way home we stopped for soft serve to beat the heat and happened upon the grand opening of a lovely little bakery.  You cannot understand the significance of handmade multi-grain loaves until you have been in Africa long enough to realize that their equivalent of wonderbread (Don't say bread - say SUPA LOAF!) is all that is available and painfully dry.  I digress.  I approached the manager and asked how one could get an invitation to the swanky looking opening and we were invited to join them***.  We spent the rest of the afternoon chatting with the ambassador to the US, bakery owners and arrogant, embittered coffee businessmen while sipping free wine and champagne, eating free cheeses and fancy hors d'oeurves and left with a handwoven basket full of fresh baked goods.  Oh, the life.

Now we are back in Nairobi to say goodbye to friends and spend three days tracking animals in Maasai Mara.  elephants - here I come!

*This is Africa.  Self-explanatory?

**Storyline example:  man in his 40s tries to seduce a 16 year old high school student by dressing like one himself.  They turn the adorable song "16 going on 17" from the Sound of Music into something wrong in so many ways.  Then he gets her back to his house where she promptly reveals that she isn't a school girl, puts on her hooker uniform and cons him out of a giant wad of cash when his wife discovers them.

***I am just going to say it:  we were invited in because we were white.  Africa works like that.  Not to say there weren't any Africans at the opening but there were significantly more white people and all kinds of embassy officials (it was a Dutch-Ugandan partnership).  Sadly, white skin gets you a special status here (and higher prices for everything) - it is the first time in my life that the colour of my skin really seems to matter and it bothers me.

NBD

No big deal.  Just rafted the Nile.  Those are grade 5 rapids (if that means anything).  I'm one of the people already underwater.  This was our first rapid and we just flipped immediately.  Everyone else popped up right away but for some reason the water held on to me for what felt like an eternity (was probably closer to 10 seconds).  So I was a total chicken for the rest the subsequent 8 rapids - woops.  But it was an amazing experience.  The water was intense and when it was calm we were allowed to swim behind the raft in the NILE.  Right.  The river you read about when talking about Egypt or Africa in general.  A few more photos for your awe.

 Our raft hit a wave and got stuck so we just surfed there for 15-20 seconds.  It was awesome [o]possum.  There was so much anticipation because we were just waiting for it to flip us over into that mess.  But suddenly it just spit us out completely upright.  The legs in the air belong to Jumaa our rafting guide who has been doing this for 12 years.  He was really enjoying himself.

The last rapid.  We had a round of high fives after finishing this one sans flip.  It was then that the guide pointed out that we had lost one guy way back at the start of the rapid.  Woops.  The camera man was clearly on top of his game.

Onwards and Upwards + Mbita Update

Today was technically our last day of placement EVER!  The last real day of our masters program (although I still have about a day of paperwork left....thanks UofT).  We spent our last day on a ferry to Kisumu (shhhhh....don't tell she-who-shall-not-be-named).  Now we have holed up in a swanky hotel room with ELECTRICITY and RUNNING WATER and a TELEVISION!  (for only $15 a night with brekky) while wait to leave for Kakamega rainforest tomorrow.  Hi-C pointed out that, even though diarrhea sucks, if you are going to have it then a place called KakaMega would be the place.  Fingers crossed for cooperative bowels all around.

We just finished two weeks living and working in rural Kenya (Nyanza province for those curious few) in a town called Mbita on Lake Victoria.  Due to limited electricity supplies the blogging has been infrequent and without photos given the slow internet connection.  Even with the dust (so dusty!), the bugs, the outdoor toilets and the skirts* I fell in love with the place and the people.  Accept this photo diary of Mbita and area so I can procrastinate from doing my final paperwork.

 A car just like the one we rode for 2 hours with 11 people and a chicken + screaming baby.

 The three of us in the car - Hi-C, me, and SuperJ.  It took about 12 tries to get one where superJ felt she was happy enough.

 The maize (like corn but tougher, ground into flour for ugali - the Kenya staple food) field on the compound in which we learned to harvest.  Our hosts we impressed at how quickly we adapted to African life incomparison to some of their other foreign wageni/visitors.

 The sunset over Lake Victoria just down the hill from where we were staying.

 Here we are "contributing to research" on the control of tsetse flies on Lake Victoria.  Hi-C is pouring water into the bottom of a fancy fly-zapper so the carcasses don't get away and they can be counted.  Sort of morbid, Hi-C.

 We went to three schools and worked with some wonderful children.  All kids in Kenya wear uniforms to school and it is too cute.

 My language assessment materials.  With these things you can do naming, numbers, colours, big/small, prepositions, picture identification, reading, story-telling, following directions and more to get an idea of receptive and expressive language skills.

 Haiba, the little one at the house where we stayed.  Officially the cutest baby in Africa.  She acted as a daily reminder of what normal (or above normal) development looks like.  Haiba snuggles are the best.

 This is what I meant when I said sometimes we roll like William Shatner with the right demographic.  Every school we went to required an entire photoshoot - sometimes with hand holding.

 Pendo carrying Haiba to the gate of the compound.  Haiba is just over 1 year and needs no help to hang on to her sister for a walk around the yard.

 Charles, our faithful piki piki driver who drove slowly around Mbita to get us safely to all of our destinations.

 The market in town.  Every stall was selling the same things (it is called product differentiation people!) - maize, millet, green grams, and a variety of beans.

 This is a choo (pronounced cho-oh).  If you have never peed in a squatty this is what you have to look forward to in Africa.  They are surprisingly often preferable to toilets.

 We took a public boat to Mfangano Island, home to the Suba peopl on Lake Victoria.  Sometimes the boats were not able (or said they weren't able) to get right up to the shore.  When this happened a group of men would rush the sides of the boat and offer to carry you to shore for 20 bob (about 25 cents).  Business men were their best customers.  And girls in skirts who didnt' want to touch water filled with bird poop - we paid for a ride.

 Public boats only leave when packed - with people, a motorcycle and 7 crates of white bread (white bread!  I curse you!)

 The boat ride.

Ancient rock paintings mostly worth the hour hike up a mountain (on Mfangano Island) in the heat.  I'm mostly surprised that I have yet to learn that asking a guide if they know the place well before setting out means nothing in Africa.  Your guide will get lost.  They haven't been there in 5 or 6 months.  We did find it eventually and eat a passion fruit fresh off the tree so all was forgotten :)

 The other two adorable daughters - Pendo (meaning Love) and Joy all dolled up for church.

Church was a non-negotiable.  The girls looked so cute walking there.  I bit off all of my finger nails off.

 We boated past "bird island".  Named for all the birds (duh).  Many of the trees have been choked out by the mass of avian excrement covering their leaves and preventing photosynthesis.  We could also see monitor lizards sunning themselves on rocks.  If you are unfamiliar with monitor lizards just think of them as little brothers to the komodo dragon - that is if the komodo dragon is a 7ft basketball player and his "little" brother is "only" 6"3.

 A small fishing town called Takawiri off shore of Mbita.

 We shared a pop with a cheeky little boy (we think boy - clothes are not always a good indicator of gender here) on Takawiri.

We ended the day with coconuts fresh from the tree (that we never actually got to eat but that is a long story....)


*Mbita is a very strict christian place.  To be accepted we spent any time outside the compound in long skirts - great for cutting the heat but not great for keeping away thorns or riding motorcycles.

Rollin' Like a Celebrity

The song "Beverly Hills" by Weezer has been in my head since arriving in this tiny rural town where electricity and beer are hard to come by.  Not because of the distinct contrast between Mbita and the famous American zipcode but because of the line "rollin' like a celebrity".  That is how I feel every day here:  like a D-list celebrity.  Like Willian Shatner.  Hear me out.  I'm going to replace the word musungu or "white person" with "William Shatner" for demonstration (bonus - both of us are Canadian). 

I suppose Willy isn't exactly D-List but he is a bit of a joke in the celeb community.  When we roll into town we get noticed. Everyone seems to know who we are.  People call out to us as we walk by but the tone varies from awe (less common) "William Shatner...oooo!" to Circus freak "pssst - look, it is William SHATner" to taunting contempt "WILLIAM SHATNER!  hahahah....."

People run up to shake our hands when we are walking down the street and sometimes giggle, run away or stand awestruck in our presence "Amosi/How are you?" met by crickets "Ber?/Good?" followed by running away. 

Many people see that we are William Shatner and equate that with money* so they try to buddy up in hopes that some of that would transfer to them ("Can I have your shoes/camera/soda/insert my item here?")**.  We quickly lose many friends when they realize we will not be giving our items away. 

And, like William, a few people in the right demographic ADORE us.  They want to be seen with us, want their photos taken with us, suck up to us and ask to spend more time with us.  They pull out all the stops to show off for us.

Oh, the life of a "celebrity".

*People in Kenya often have an interesting idea of what Canada is like.  For example - that everyone is rich and the government gives us all houses.  I put it in a term they could understand and things seemed less rosy in Canada.  When I get back to Canada I will have no job and a debt equivalent to 2.5million Kenyan Shillings.  Oh.....2.5 million sounds daunting to people that usually make less than 10 000 shillings a month.

**We were on a small island on lake Victoria yesterday waiting for the boat to take us back to Mbita.  We started a conversation with a local pediatrician about his clinic (including a lesson on why NOT to cut children's tongues to help them talk).  He gave us a tour of the clinic and then inquired if we knew of any Canadian women who were looking for a husband - anyone for him to marry.  He had land to offer.  I instructed him to check the internet.  The offer still stands if you are interested.  50 year old doctor with his own clinic, patch of maize and a good heart seeking Canadian woman.

Kate, Hill and Jane do Mbita

Two more weeks and we will have completed all the course requirements to be speech-language pathologists in Canada. Most other people in the program will be tying up loose ends, getting ready for the last two weeks in a place that has become very familiar. We just arrived in a new town – a third new place for this internship – to work with a new population and board with new people. So much for ending on a note of confidence!


It is worth it, of course, to see this part of Kenya. Our supervisor was going back and forth about whether she would drive her own vehicle here or if we would take public transport and get “the real Kenya experience”. The real experience it most definitely was. Our first of the three legs of this journey was a comfortable shuttle….which we waited for over an hour to leave because no vehicle here leaves with an empty seat. Other than having to beg (from the back of the shuttle including knocking repeatedly on the sides of the van) to relieve myself this first part was fairly uneventful. We arrived in Kisii looking for a matatu to Homa Bay. A matatu we found. They stuffed the three of us into the back and then a fourth man for good measure. It was at this point that the fact that the ceiling was low, there was no way out the side door due to crowding and my usual planned escape route out the side window was barred off that my anxiety got the best of me and we insisted on seats closer to the front. It was during this exchange that Super handed over 1000 shillings for our tickets to the matatu conductor. When we switched seats he clearly saw his chance to rip off the wasungu/white people*. There was a very dramatic and heated debate when he demanded our payment a second time. Even though SuperJ had her first ticket as proof there was nothing we could do as he maintained his innocence passionately but everyone waiting on the matatu was sure of his guilt. We ended up paying again – but boy did SuperJ lay the shame on thick. It soured my favourite part of the journey where people shove things in your face through the window and I check out their wares. Finds of the day: boiled peanuts (good!), sweet baby bananas, fresh Kenyan coffee. Lesson: do not ignore the matatu sellers.

When we alighted from the matatu in Homa Bay something was amiss. Or missing, I should say. SuperJ’s bag did not make it all the way to the town. It was her packsack with clothes, glasses, contact solution, makeup, shampoo…the essentials. The drivers made a big show of trying to locate the bag but we knew it was futile so some curse words were said and we walked off to secure our seats for the last ride. We went from shuttle to matatu (basically a shuttle but more crowded and more dirty) to a medium-sized car with 11 people, a baby and a chicken or two. I wish I were exaggerating. Legs fell asleep. So did butts. Even the driver’s seat was not sacred and he sat on a passenger’s lap. But, 13 hours after we left home that day we arrived in Mbita to stay with a lovely family. Who knows what this town will bring.

Canada: I'm a Fan

Happy 144th Birthday Canada!

In your honour, Hi-C and I sang a screechy-but-heartfelt-rendition of your national anthem over our weaties for the family we stay with.  They were suitably impressed. 

Lacking red clothing I have donned a flag pin and plan to tell everyone I encounter today about your special day.  If they can be acquired, fireworks will be set off tonight after dinner (no need to stay up late - the lighting will be firework-appropriate by 7pm).

Things I miss about you, Oh Canada:

Free Healthcare:  Fine.  Not *free* since we pay hefty taxes but healthcare for all without the grabby middleman that is insurance.  I want to be able to go to the doctor when I need it instead of waiting to be approved beforehand.  People may complain about our healthcare, dear Canada, but the ambulance comes when you call it and a stay in the hospital will not financially cripple the average citizen.  Thank  you!

Long summer days:  How I miss the presence  of the sun on perfect summer days and campfires when it goes down.  Sunset by 7pm year round has its drawbacks.

Condiments:  more specifically ketchup (catsup?).  At home I'm mostly a ketchup-goes-on-french-fries girl but I still find I miss it.  If you ask for ketchup here you get something mysterious called "Peptang".  A thin, neon orange liquid that is basically sweet and sour sauce without the sour.  Not. the. same.  It wouldn't kill people to use a little BBQ sauce here and there either.

Tolerance:  holy racism, Batman.  Yes, it is still racism if I get bumped to the front of the line for being white.  It is racism when a Somali teen gets beaten to the point of permanent brain injury just for being Somali.  It is intolerance when the national newspaper doesn't bother to distinguish between homosexual and pedophile.

1% Milk:  heck, 2% milk!  Not that I can't get used to eating my wheaties with 3% milk (cream?) but my waistline adjusts by expanding.

Lack of corruption:  I suppose I would be fooling myself if I thought there were no corruption in Canada.  However, *most* money that goes to taxes comes back out in the form of government programs and social services (ie.not into politician pockets).  You can call the police and expect them to help you without receiving a bribe or cut.

Water from the tap

Consistent and reliable power

Sidewalks

This post truly isn't meant to be a rant or be against any one country.  It is just a celebration of what is great about Canada and the things that I appreciate even more now after being away.  And being away for only 2 months.  If I were to be here a year I would also really miss:  real desserts, donuts, fresh air, sweaters, good cheese, thai food, vietnamese food....Download: www.ieType.com/f.php?FzLMOu










Download: www.ieType.com/f.php?FzLMOu

Right Place, Right Time kinda Day

You cannot truly understand the healthcare system of a country until you have to use it.  (posted with permission).  Hi-C and I left placement a few hours early today since all of our clients and our supervisor had already checked out.  Getting home early I tiptoed past Auntie* since she was napping in her chair.  After 15 minutes, I was crouched in the bathroom scrubbing my gitch when we started hearing snoring.  The snoring soon became snorted moans coming from Auntie.  I tried to wake her: nothing.  Hi-C rubbed her sternum: nada.  Uh oh.

Long story short, she was unconscious but, thankfully, breathing.  That is when it hit me:  at home I would immediately call 911.  There is no 911 here.  You have to call an ambulance company, of which we knew none.  So we called her daughters who rushed home.  In between attempting to wake her, checking her blood sugar (she is diabetic), and shining a light in her eyes (pupils reactive! woot!) her daughter called an ambulance.  No answer.  That is right:  NO ANSWER!  She called her doctor who agreed to come.  Still no answer from the ambulance.  Eventually about a half hour has now passed since realizing she was unconscious and daughter N sends me in a taxi to the hospital down the road to find an ambulance.  I had to FIND AND AMBULANCE. 

I asked at the desk about some medical transport and was sent to another desk - where I was promptly told to wait my turn.  I was finally told that the hospital did not, in fact, have ambulances but they could give me a number to call one: just give them five minutes to call and find out the number.  I got fed up waiting and decided to approach the drivers of the ambulance I had seen sitting at the entrance.  Success!

Then there was the issue of payment.  No ride without 5500 shillings (about $60) - in cash.  Fine.  Not exorbitant but we are talking about 5500 shillings in a place where a significant portion of the population makes less than 10 000 shillings a month.  Thankfully this family could make it happen.  So off we went to the house.

I lost track of time but it was over 1.5 hours from time of discovery to hospital entrance and the hospital is a 15 minute walk away (ie. a 3-5 min drive sans sirens). 

Moral of the story: if you plan on having a heart attack, don't come to Kenya.

Auntie is home now and doing just fine. 

*The mom in the house we are staying who cooks the most awesomest Indian food.

Percy

Percy the parasite has taken up residence in my small intestine.  At least that is my interpretation of my recent symptoms.  Between Hi-C and I, we have had every possible parasite-related symptom*.  Hi-C has had more of the unexpected and interesting ones.  At first we thought it was traveler's runs after drinking all kinds of fresh juices at hole-in-the-wall restaurants in Lamu.  Things we on the upswing after some hydration earlier this week.  But I still can't eat a meal without stomach cramps, food holds little appeal for me and I can only consume small amounts at a time (which I then often pay for for hours afterwards).  We are both now on a regimen on 6 wormwood anti-parasiticals per day that taste like dry hay.  Today has been named "operation parasite destruction day".  Off to the pharmacy we go because we still haven't replaced our phones and I can't go to the doctor without first calling my insurance company. 

All part of hanging out in a developing country and refusing to only eat with the tourists. 

And yes, we are still having a good time we are just doing it slowly and low key lately.

*According to one website.  I can't say for sure if we have had EVERY symptom but quite a vast array of interesting happenstances.

Update:  de-worming has commenced.  Apparently everyone here is supposed to "de-worm" every 3 months.  We figured, for 35 cents and one pill we can give it a shot.  Here's to feeling better!

Want my Travel Groove Back

From Mombasa we rode the bus to Lamu, the town I mentioned in my last post as Zanzibar-before-the-tourists, but relaxing it has not turned out to be.  We fly back to Nairobi tonight and I just want a day to relax before placement after this "vacation". 

We have been staying at a lovely hostel with awesome breakfast included (go fresh passion fruit juice!).  The downside was robbery.  And the fun of everyone we meet remarking on how nice it is to come to Lamu because it is so safe.  Safe other than getting robbed on the beach.  Hi-C and I are camera and phone-less.  And he also got a nice pair of prescription glasses - thank goodness I brought an old pair.  Thankfully no one was hurt and we were not carrying passports or identification.  Partly it is our own fault because we ended up on a part of the beach with no one else nearby and tried to return to civilization but we just weren't quite quick enough.  We had been lulled by everyone telling us that Lamu is the safest place in Kenya.  Expensive lesson #1:  don't let your guard down anywhere in Africa. 

We have been seeing the city with an American girl who lost some cash in "the incident" but managed to keep her camera.  All the photos I have of this lovely town are hers;  80% of the photos are of animals. I think I have a portrait of every single stray cat in the town and a few of every donkey.  Last night after dinner with a local family (which, instead of being a local cooking lesson and cultural event we paid too much for fish and ate dinner with tourists....but enough complaining) I rode their donkey home (name: Number 10).  Not the smoothest ride but a friendly donkey.  I am fairly sad there is no photo to commemorate my journey on donkey-back as people were remarking that I looked like a princess riding my donkey through town with my posse walking behind.  Oh, what a glorious 20 minutes it was. 

On top of the loss of goods, Hi-C spent yesterday rehydrating after spewing her lunch over one of the town garbage heaps.  To be honest, this is the first time I have lost the travel bug and I hope I can get it back.  The urge to pack it all up and head home is tempting.  The time difference doesn't make it any easier since prime times I can access the phone and internet are times when people at home are often sleeping or at work.  Instead of going home it is back to placement tomorrow and on to planning a presentation for a staff meeting Friday. 

Happy donkey at the donkey hospital servicing the island's 6000 beasts of burden.

The lovely arabic corner.

Hi-C feeding a donkey.

Lamu shoreline.

One of the Swahili doors.

Taking the Local Bus

Since arriving in Kenya everyone we have spoken to has told us "you have to see Lamu".  One person described it as Zanzibar before all the tourists.  Plus it was only a 7 hour bus ride from Mombasa.  We arose around 430am today to be at the bus stop by 530ish.  The bus was late - no surprise.  The baggage stow was filled with a few inches of water since it was raining (luckily they stuck our bags inside the bus by the driver).  We went for a bus instead of the matatu option this time since people warned that the road there wasn't "optimal".  If sub-optimal means brain-shaking bumps for the last 4 hours then that is the correct term.  At least we were protected by the two men with AK-47s in the front seat.

Locals are always more entertaining/interesting than a bus full of wazungu (the plural of mzungu or one white person).  The population here is largely Muslim so we witnessed men using tiny portable prayer speakers on the bus - and the awkwardness of the other men who had not been so pious.  The man behind me had no qualms with horking and spitting constantly out his window and I got some chicken dropped on my feet when the man in front of me threw the bones from his meal out the window.  Here, food scraps go out the window. 

Speaking of food scraps I was starting to doubt that Kenyans could keep up with Peruvians with the extent of their culinary selections to be had through the bus window.  That was until today.  Peruvians watch out!  Kenyan's are it.  Cheap and fresh.  For 10 bob you can get yourself a whole mango with the top sliced and peeled handily and spicy flavouring on top.  Not into spicy?  How about roasted corn for 20 shillings?  Water? Milk?  Goat blood?  We shoved 10ksh out the window and decided to try something brown and rhombus shaped.  That was smart.  Basically hard, dirty fudge - pure sugar.  Mmmm. 

In Lamu for a few hours so far the town is beautiful.  I have pet multiple baby donkeys and we ate fresh kingfish kebabs with veggies and tamarind sauce sitting with a view of the ocean.  Wandering the "main street" - busy but only about 1 meter wide in some places - we came across a lovely fabric store with a tailor that will make anything for you custom.  We're both off to modcloth.com for some inspiration!

We also found ourselves in a fairtrade crafts store.  I was standing next to the shopkeeper's daughter (about 5yrs) while browsing the wallets when I felt something warm and wet.  I looked down expecting to have been peed on - nope - vomit.  There was a new one.  Oh well, I just kept shopping, it wasn't that much vomit.  It looked like she had spaghettios for din-din.