 |
| Dusk in Downtown Mombasa |
It’s the little things. Like the day they gave me curdled, sour milk.
Apparently it’s a delicacy out here… but it’s got to be the weirdest thing I’ve
ever seen, let alone tasted (yes, I confirm, curdled, sour milk tastes sour and
chunky). It must be an acquired taste. Or maybe it’s the incredible array of
t-shirts I’ve seen. A Joe Sakic Stanley Cup shirt, a Panama City Beach shirt,
Playboy, lots of Michigan state and Notre Dame gear, and a Duke hat. It’s
always fun to see what paraphernalia has ended up out here.
Or take the office
earlier this week. The wind was gusting, a welcome relief from the heat of most
days. Yet with it came the smell of rancid, putrid decomposing trash. As much
as I enjoy the wind, at times I almost prefer the hot, sweaty, and,
most importantly, stagnant air.
Or another - Staying out past dusk
always makes you an instant target and opportunity for the disadvantaged
residents of the streets. This is no surprise. I’ve seen beggars before back in
the states. But when you turn and find the person tapping on your back in torn trousers and a ragged shirt is the age of your brother, things suddenly
become very different. My advisors tell me to just walk past, because if you
acknowledge them, they won’t give up. But that is one of the hardest things to do, to feign ignorance and walk right by. It’s terrible, seeing the
pain of starvation and exhaustion in the eyes of a boy or girl that could not
possibly be older than fourteen. It doesn't help that one of us clearly carries at hand the means to feed both a nice dinner, or buy each a new pair of
trousers.
Planning a project here brings other
surprises. The looming issue of corruption plagues so many philanthropic
efforts that it colors a lot of thinking in the development sector. It’s the
feeling that despite obvious problems and easy solutions, no one with any form
of political power would care to put the interest of the population before
their own. Many government offices even bother to acknowledge it (though the
enforcement is at best haphazard), hanging “Comment and Corruption Report”
boxes.
The government is trying. The new
Kenyan budget which released earlier this week (1.7 Trillion Ksh, about 20B
USD) included a provision eliminating roadside weigh stations on Kenyan
borders. In the past, corrupt weigh station officials were known to arbitrarily
dole out taxes to these shipping trucks, keeping a large cut of the
artificially high tariffs for themselves.
There’s so much work to be done
though. There’s a landfill that you pass on the way northward from Mombasa to
Kilifi, near Mtwapa, right off the side of the road. Rather than using
government resources to clean the rotting mess, an advertising billboard one
hundred meters long was constructed to hide the sight of the landfill from the
streets. No billboard can block the stench though.
There are other examples and I could
spend way too long talking about them, but before I do, just understand that
situations like this start to get to the heart of problems in Kenya. Kenyan’s
realize what is wrong, and many have available the information that would
provoke people to change it. However, it seems the most useful path to a
solution always has a factor missing, or a fault along the way. Be that
insufficient willpower, poor structure, lack of governmental action,
corruption, not enough enthusiasm, or simply minimal capital means… a lack of something stands in the way, and results
in the cutting of some kind of corner. It’s like trying to eat cake with a
straw (bear with me) – the straw certainly resolves one potential problem, that
is, drinking your drink, but it doesn’t really help you eat the cake. No matter
your resolve, if you try to eat the cake with that straw, you are going to be
unsatisfied. In the same way, a billboard may, in a very offhand-way, boost the
livelihood of the surrounding community by providing some extra advertising
space, and also hiding the unsightly landfill. However, in the end it leaves
one unsatisfied. The true cause of economic and financial shortcomings is
likely something the billboard can’t fix – that terribly repugnant stench.
It’s been hard to accept that some
problems in Mombasa will remain unresolved without drastic governmental changes
and years of time. But acceptance of that provides incentive to evaluate which
problems can actually be solved with the current available resources without
cutting corners. There are certainly examples of failed or poor solutions. But
for every poor one there are many ideas that are not just a cover-up. These
solutions are founded in creativity and improvisation.
I’ve been putting a lot of thought
into these issues lately, and that’s partly why I’ve delayed my updates for
this week. I’m normally pretty exhausted when I get back from work, and I’ve
had some great books that have kept my thoughts away from the blog. Some of the
above was written earlier this week, and some of my thoughts have certainly
changed, so I’ll do my best to profile those now or later in the week. But
enough of that … I’ll keep you updated on my project ideas as they come. You’ll
hear more about them later.
 |
| Breaking on to Boabab beach at Kenyan WOD 2012 |
 |
| The parade to Boabab beach |
The last week went very
well. While last Thursday I remained home from work nursing my stomach bug, Friday
was the World Ocean’s Day (WOD) event in Kilifi. I left home early on Friday and
made it to the office to help with some pre-departure preparations. The busses
carrying our office, youth group volunteers, and select teachers and students,
were supposed to leave at 6:30 AM so that we could set up. However, a small delay in departure led to further delays when ranks
of schoolchildren and teachers expecting a ride to the event showed up. The
buses had only limited space, and we had prepared a list for the volunteers
and schoolchildren allowed on. But word always seems to get from one to
another, and suddenly it felt as if all of Mombasa had the impression they were getting on our
buses. We were terribly late, and eventually were forced to make some tough
decisions – if there was going to be a World Ocean’s Day, we would have to
leave some back home.
When we reached Kilifi, hundreds of schoolchildren were already assembled in the town center. While waiting for the road to close, the group hoisted the World Ocean's Day banner as hordes of schoolchildren and citizens assembled behind. The crowd grew to frenzy. When the Kilifi traffic cop finally beckoned the banner forward, cheers erupted and the procession leapt forward, the entire parade breaking into song and dance. I jumped in along with them. I’d never seen anything like it before in my life. Someone asked me if we "do stuff like this" in the states. I laughed. Ask yourself: when was the last time you saw schoolchildren, 2nd graders to 12th graders, come together, shut down a road and celebrate something? Maybe sports? The 4th of July? I don’t know. It seems that whenever something like that should happen, there’s always someone off to the side, worried about how cool they look, or what their friends are doing, or just complaining. To see so many united people singing, dancing, and laughing, was a really moving experience, and it was awesome to walk with them, building and sharing their energy and emotion.
 |
| Beach clean-up |
When we finally reached the water,
within minutes the entire beachfront was full of activity as the procession
panned out with bags and picked trash from the beach. Within half an hour most
of the debris had been removed, and I watched as the students and adults
returned with their bags, walking across the pristine white sands of Kilifi.
Following the cleanup was a short exhibition, then student performances,
speeches, and awards.
During the proceedings I was lucky
enough to meet Lieutenant Cole, the commander of a Joint Task Force stationed
in Malindi, Kenya. He was there with 7 or 8 guys from his team. We took some
time to talk. Their force was working with communities to provide water safety
and boat handling training to local fishermen, focusing on program
sustainability. He gave me his card and told me if I needed anything, to give
him and his team a call. It was eerily comforting to hear a Navy Lieutenant
tell me to call him and his task force if I needed anything. Not that I expect
to need them, but hell, I may need to go grab a beer with them.
 |
| School entertainment at WOD |
The rest of the day was a success,
and a great time. However, at the end of the day I was left a little appalled.
Those who attended WOD were provided lunch, and the vast majority of the
attendees, rather than disposing off it, simply left their trash and debris
back on the beach. As I looked out over the beach it seemed as if we had left
the area no better than we had found it. That disconnect, between the purpose
of the day (cleaning the beach) and the end result, was very frustrating to me.
It left me pondering: how do you get someone to care about something
subconsciously, beyond the times when they are told to do something?
Saturday I woke up to my host mother
sick. She had had some stomach bug problems as well, but her’s had never really
improved. She would be taken to the hospital later that day. While she is fine
now, she stayed there till Wednesday.
Ndiema came by later and took me to
church. While it was already 11am, church runs from 9am until 1-2pm every
Saturday (my family are 7th day Adventists), so I managed to catch
about 2 hours of the service.
The church is large and airy,
equipped with pews and a large altar and stage area at the front. Fans whizzed,
churning the hot, humid air around the room as a breeze puffed through large
gated windows. The ceiling was high, and the sounds reverberated off the tin
roof and the white concrete walls. Chicken wire sealed the area between the
roof and the walls, keeping the birds outside. When I walked in, the pastor
paused for a moment, stole a look, and then continued reading. I smirked.
Everyone in the church, all two-hundred men, women, and children, turned around
in their seats to see me. I gave a wry smile and a little wave, and followed
Ndiema to a pew right in the middle. He had told me beforehand, “I’ll only
translate the funny parts for you.” Instead he decided to translate the entire
sermon, word by word. To me, that made the whole sermon pretty funny “part”.
Afterwards we went out to lunch,
where I was reminded by Ndiema that in Africa, “we eat… to finish.” I finished
embarrassed. I was the only one at the table to not finish my meal, besides the
little twelve year-old at the end of the table. As partners in crime, he and I
fist bumped. From there we visited Joyce at Mombasa Hospital, a pleasing
complex of whitewashed, open-air medical buildings. It really seemed like a
nice place to spend a few nights, especially with the sound and view of the
water, which was literally just outside the window.
I then traveled across the ferry to
Aman’s house. We were planning on going out to a house party that night in the
city. Curious to see what a Kenyan house party was like, we quickly finished
dinner, and headed back to Mombasa. Once there we found seem cheap Kenyan
liquor, and made our way out to Tudor, where the house was located.
Now house is a bit of an
overstatement. It was one room, with about ten of us packed in. The room was
small, enough for a bed and some chairs, and a refrigerator and small kitchen
in the back. It was a very interesting night, certainly compounded by the fact
that the area is one of the slums of Mombasa. We had a great time though, and
it was fun meeting some locals my age, and experiencing the slums in a more
intimate manner at a new time.
On Sunday the interns all met for
lunch in Likoni, and then went together to see Shelly beach. The water was at
low tide, so we waded through the tide pools and walked all the way out to the
reefs. Critters were everywhere – sea sponges, starfish, crustaceans, and
urchins. The urchins were everywhere, and you had to be very careful where you
stepped to avoid being punctured and stung. It some places they blanketed the
pools so densely even the sand seemed black and purple. We found a cool octopus too (that a fishermen had speared earlier).
I stopped at Nakumat afterwards to
get some peanut butter and jelly for the week. In the checkout line I met some
cute girls from Canada. While they had been in Kenya for five weeks, they were
leaving the next day for Zanzibar for a few days, and then were traveling on to
Nairobi. It seemed like an awesome trip, but the timing was uncanny… ah cruel,
cruel fate!
The work week started out pretty
slow. Monday and Tuesday were especially long, but I did my best to engage
myself in whatever was going on in the office. Monday involved a debrief on
World Ocean’s Day (they called it a post-mortem, but I refuse to call it that.
It’s not dead… it’s coming back next year right? Right?!). Tuesday was a little
faster, mainly because I started to take some initiative on my project. I
started to compile resources from the office, and began to organize information
about some projects that had been left in the planning of WOD. One project in
particular caught my eye, involving work with Beach Management Units (BMUs),
which monitor and protect the livelihoods of local fishermen. I spoke with
several in the office about it, including Iddi (or Iddi Iddi as he sometimes
prefers, his name being Iddi Juma Iddi), a goofy guy who is also one of the
hardest workers in the office.
As I compiled more information about
BMUs, I became more and more curious about their role, and so I proposed to
Omondi (my supervisor), and Okeyo (the head of Eco-Ethics), traveling to speak
with a few of them down on the south coast to do a needs and asset assessment
on Thursday. Dutch helped to vouch for my idea – she has really been looking
out for me, and has also provided a lot of great advice. Dutch, as I’ve said
before, is from Aspen, and graduated from the University of Colorado. She has
white wispy hair and a great smile. I think she has been relieved to have some
new energy in the office, especially someone who brings her a little taste of
home. She’s finished one year of her two year Peace Corps obligation, and while
I know she enjoys it, it certainly can be a tiring job, especially when you’re
out in a place as far away from home as this and living alone. With Dutch
I eventually won over both Okeyo and Omondi, who also allowed me to head up the
project during my time here. I began preparing some materials. On Wednesday, I
devised some surveys in English and Swahili to handout to the BMU fishermen
when I traveled to the south coast the following morning.
 |
| The BMU was on a beautiful stretch of coastline |
Omondi and I left early on Thursday
to the ferry. Omondi is one of the most laid-back, soft-spoken, and
knowledgeable people I’ve met here. He’s the kind of person that you’d want to
spend all day with. Not only is he a fun guy, but you’ll never talk about the
same thing twice. I feel very lucky to have him as my supervisor, and I get the
impression that he is always looking out for my best interests. As we walked to
the ferry he began telling me about some subjects that people generally avoid
in conversation here. Apparently the Coast Province has been trying to secede
from Kenya. While it may be a futile effort, especially considering that most
of the infrastructure and academic power is located in western Kenya (the best
secondary schools and universities), there are still several political
movements advocating the secession. I guess it makes sense – most of the
government initiatives and community projects take place in and around Nairobi,
which is nowhere near the coast province. If the coast province could take the
revenue of its ports for itself, Mombasa being the second largest port in
Africa behind Durbin, South Africa, it would likely be a very prosperous area, and be able to fund its own development,
rather than see its tax earnings always sent westward.
After the ferry we took a bus
southward. It was essentially a mini-greyhound bus. It was painted completely
fire-truck red, and then emblazoned with huge Ferrari decals and emblems. The
sound system was fantastic, and we listened to reggae all the way to Shimoni, a
town about an hour south of Lakoni/Mombasa. From there we took other means to
get to the first BMU, which was about 5 km off the roadside.
When we reached the water I was in
awe. If you’re looking for pristine, white, sandy beaches, come to Kenya. Every
one I’ve been to is something out of a movie. This one was no exception. I
walked along the shoreline, picking up perfect conches as little sand crabs
rose up out of their sand holes and sidewise scuttled out of sight. At the
other end of the beach was a small rock outcropping. Omondi and I climbed
through a hole to check out the tide pools on the other side. Returning through
the hole, we looked out on the water at the several fishermen out on the reef,
paddling their dugout wood boats and canoes. Most use spears, basic nets, or
free-dive. They get up around 3 or 4 in the morning and stay out till around
1pm on a usual day.
 |
| Speaking at the fish banda |
The BMU had a fish banda that was
built on an out cropping on the other side of the beach. After speaking to the
head of the BMU, we realized our day of travel was going to be much easier. The
BMU was hosting a mangrove planting celebration for all of the local BMUs.
 |
| Mangrove planting |
 |
| Yep, I got to plant one too |
Eventually around thirty people
showed up, and the meeting began. The entire meeting was in Swahili, so I
caught what I could. Several people spoke, and I strained to understand what
they were saying by watching their body language. I handed out my surveys, and
then spoke with the fishermen that could understand English. Then Omondi and I
(as the guests of honor) each planted a mangrove tree. They then provided us
lunch. It was a simple meal – a plate of beans and ugali – but the portion size
was monstrous. While all of the other fishermen were splitting the plate
between 4 or 5 people, Omondi and I, as the guests of honor, had to split the
entire thing between the two of us. And again, to reiterate – in Kenya, they
“eat to finish.” With grossly full stomachs we set off to speak to the next
BMU, a short 5 km ride up the coast.
When we got there the fisherman had
already packed up and left, so we went to see the head man, who lived a short
walk inland. The area was an idealic Kenyan coast village. The chickens and
cattle roamed freely, and kids screamed as they frolicked in the grass between
the houses. The man met us outside, and we sat down to talk. He was a funny old
man, and we began to ask him how his operation was going. We asked him about an
engine that was donated to his operation. The BMU still uses it, though they
store it up at the house, which was good to hear. After a short while though I
began to realize that my presence was coloring his responses. When a muzungu
comes to ask anyone “how things are going,” the initial thought is “what can I
get him to get for me?” There is definitely a misconception that whenever a
muzungu is there asking questions, they are going to get some kind of windfall.
While I was curious to find out how to improve their livelihood in the long
term, the answers to my and Omondi’s questions were instead directed towards
short term financial benefits. When asked what the greatest need for the
fisherman was, his response was “a glass bottom boat” so that the fisherman
could run a tourism operation during the low fishing season.
 | |
| A fish trap |
Before we left we had him fill out
our surveys. One question asked for their age. The old man had to walk inside
to get his ID card to check. He couldn’t do the math, so he gave it to us to
add up. He really was an old guy: the man laughed when as read his birthdate:
1939.
When we got back to the office,
Dutch and I went to see a movie at Alliance Frances. It was a great documentary
about the diversity of Europe, although the ending was eerily abrupt. On the
way out we met some friends of hers from Germany, all students around my
age. I took one of their numbers. Maybe I’ll be able to meet up with them this week.
On Friday I traveled up north to
Nyali to visit a private business who had offered to provide powerboat and boat
safety training to BMU operations. The business, a fishing supply outlet called
Captain Andy’s, is essentially Kenya’s equivalent to West Marine, although it
had much less of a corporation feel, and also dealt with much larger vessels
than WM. I met a man there named Steve, a muzungu who is actually a 3rd
generation Kenyan. He’s a strapping guy, and has the look of a sailor, with ragged
bleach blonde hair, a few tufts of chest hair sticking through the first couple
undone buttons of his shirt, and a certain air about him that exuded years
spent on the water. We had a great talk, and together devised some action plans
forward. One misconception we cleared up during our trip to the south coast the
day before was that BMUs didn’t really need powerboat training. What they did
need however was basic boat safety training and personal flotation and survival
techniques, since fisherman drowning is incredibly frequent. I asked him to
devise some curriculum with his instructors to tailor to those needs. Afterwards we had a good talk about my experiences in Kenya so far. When he
heard I surfed and sailed, he gave me the contact numbers to a few of his
friends, and told me to call them. They play beach volleyball up in Nyali every
Wednesday night, and he thought I would love to meet them.
 |
| Mama Anna and a few of the FSD interns |
Later on Friday we had an FSD
meeting. Afterwards I went back to the office. Dutch was the only one left and
so we got to talking. Her kids are coming in for the next two weeks, and she’ll
be joining them on safari the next week. We began to talk about hockey. Her
husband had been pretty involved in Aspen hockey, so as I shot in the dark, I
told her that one of my coaches at Duke lived in Aspen for a couple years. When
I told her his name, her eyes lighted up. “You know Dick Marr?!” Living here in
Mombasa, half a world away, it’s hilarious to think how small the world is.
After leaving work, I left to meet
Jak at his Internet Café. We hung out for a bit and then he drove me back home.
On the way we stopped at a place under Dutch’s recommendation, a place called
the Seamen’s Club. It seems like a great place to get away from the noise of
the matatus and streets, and I’ll definitely spend some time there in the
future.
 |
| Jak and his little cousin |
“So powerful, so full, so enveloping. You need not understand. Just feel. Back and forth, his emotion building to a level both eerily terrifying and terribly comforting. It is so loud, so real, it soothes the thoughts and calms the soul. How things as this can do it is beyond my comprehension.”
It felt pretty cool.
The rest of the day went well. From there I went to meet up with some other interns and then together we went to see Prometheus. The movie theatre, Nyali Cinemax is only about 500 Ksh for a matinee 3D movie (normally 300Ksh for 2D). Most of that money probably goes to A/C, which is a fantastic bonus.
The rest of the day went well. From there I went to meet up with some other interns and then together we went to see Prometheus. The movie theatre, Nyali Cinemax is only about 500 Ksh for a matinee 3D movie (normally 300Ksh for 2D). Most of that money probably goes to A/C, which is a fantastic bonus.
Now here I am, Sunday morning. I
need to finish my work plan for FSD, but I think I’ll save that for later. The
weather has been very temperate lately so maybe I’ll go for a run. As always,
thanks for reading, and let me know if there are any pictures in particular you'd like to see. I have so many I don't know what to do with them...
Till next time,
Scotty
No comments:
Post a Comment