The Veldt

a diani sunrise

    I've had some trouble collecting my thoughts lately.

    Ya. You're probably thinking, Scott, you always have trouble collecting your thoughts.

    Alright, true, true, but there's more to it than that.

    To put it simply, lately I've spent my time completely avoiding thinking about collecting my thoughts altogether. Considering I made a blog to share musings, this may seem totally counter intuitive. But the blog is also non-conversant, so I did provide myself a loophole.

    Altogether, I think my avoidance of writing serves as an indication of a pretty drastic shift in my outlook on things out here. Before I found myself enamored with the experience because it was so new. I focused on the little things that signaled a new life - the taste, the smells, the sights and sounds - and then subsequently tried to articulate them. Sadly, sometimes that process took me away from the greater picture. Walking around thinking about how to express a small experience takes away from the larger experience at hand, or all the other amazing things in front of you.

    Likewise, when you spend too much time focused on one thing, it's bound to come at the cost of another thing. Like in writing, one could sit forever determining his own way that one thing relates to another... and then once the ideas are down and finalized and articulated and it's time to sit back to take in the world again, a realization likely comes quickly that things are not what they initially seemed. Like that, the work becomes suddenly invalid; those initial ideas, carefully and craftily expressed, seem obsolete and narrow sighted. It's time for a change of course.

    This happens daily in my work in Mombasa. I'll finally get myself to the point where I've taken in enough information that under normal circumstances, I feel I can make a safe and conscious decision. I then begin to act - calling, sending emails, meeting people, and writing. At the end of the day, I sit back and start to reflect, proud of the work of that day... then a thought emerges... and suddenly I realize I've missed something, and I may have to change course entirely. While that realization does not always come as a bad thing, as in I learned quite a bit to get to that moment of epiphany, it still feels as if I worked hard with nothing to show.

    That encapsulates one reason I've stepped away from blogging for the past couple weeks. I wanted to see how things panned out over a greater stretch of time, how my thoughts changed fundamentally in the long term, rather than whimsically and haphazardly in the short term. I wanted to see things over a longer interval, and then process it when things seemed to become less chaotic. The sabbatical has been healthy.

    But also, I believe that much of writing centers upon state of mind. Some states make good writing, others don't. Lately I have tried to stay away from bad writing mentalities and focus on favorable ones - for me that's no deadlines, no external pressures; purely self-motivated work. Granted, that means sometimes things never get written... but that's a chance I'm willing to take. A little more sleep on my end I suppose.

    I know my favorite writing comes when I feel the personal urge to do work, the independent motivation, rather than external pressures. For example, if I read a book and think its so fantastic that I want to write an essay about it, by God that's going to be the best one I ever wrote. I become simultaneously relaxed and determined, creating my own self-urgency. The wheels spin and when they catch a grip, roll incessantly. Now not to say that these times are always my best writing, but it sure feels better then sitting there slaving over pieces at times when I'm not ready to think of about them, don't care to think about them, or would rather not make the time for them.

    ON one hand it's been that. I want to write on my own terms and feel ideas are expressed because I want them to be, and because I've had enough experiences and time to validate them. On the other hand, I'm beginning to realize that my time here is far too short. Considering that, the more time I spend thinking about how to write back and tell you all about it, the less time I have to enjoy and learn in the precious time I have left. And this isn't in an "oh, it's so beautiful I could be here forever but not actually meaning it" kind of way.

    No, it's definitely not that.

    Finally I'm beginning to feel a part of this place. And the more time I spend learning things and relearning things and seeing the coast and the water and the villages and the bustling city and meeting people and laughing with them and talking with them and smiling with them... the more I no longer take these things for granted, the more I fall in love with this place, and the more I realize that if I want to get anything done here, if I want to really make a difference, I'll have to spend far more time out here. Years even. Long enough to call this place home. As one person, it's damn hard to get sustainable things accomplished in nine weeks.

    For many, especially us capitalist Americans, that's a sad realization. The recognition of  one's ineffect comes as a moment of extreme despair, a moment of lost self-worth and self-confidence. It is the moment when someone realizes that despite any efforts, they will never have a capacity to make a difference.

    It's a sad truth, but one that far too many accept. You can always make something out of something. My consolation is that I find my situation to be fundamentally different. I know that my time has not been a waste - if anything, it has armed me for sometime in the future, when I have the time and skills to really make a measurable difference. Now that doesn't imply I haven't made a difference now; it's just I won't be able to see the impact of my actions for several years, and by that time, I'll be back in the US. I've seen the benefits of an extended stay from so many people I've worked with - Dutch is one example, and her departing last week in the wake of the terror threats made me really consider my future with this place; and Chiara, a jubilant, wacky, but brilliant Italian woman, the director of a local NGO called CAST, who's work in Kenya has mobilized movements many in the north coast, has also provided inspiration. I know I can get things done, and with my time here I feel I now know how to... it's just in order to really enact it, I'll have to be in for the long haul.

    It's kind of like signing up for an Ironman but not finishing anything but the swim.

    Ya, it sucked you didn't finish. Possibly humiliating you didn't even get to the 100 mile bike ride or marathon run. But how many people in this world can swim 2 miles?

Likoni, Kenya

    All things aside, you still swam those two miles. And most importantly, there's no better way to learn how to finish the whole Ironman than trying it yourself. On top of that, you've competed alongside those who finish them for a living. You stood in awe, your shabby BMI practically screaming "unprepared." But now you know what the best look like, how they prepare, how they cope, and how they eat. You've seen them do it first-hand, and you feel that if you give it a try, you can probably do it too. Armed with that knowledge, that peace of mind, a more refined training course, and renewed determination, next time you'll actually make it to the finish. I guess it's a little like that.

    Maybe I'm just totally debilitated by procrastination. I've always had a problem with that. That's the easy, no BS explanation.

    Actually, ya, let's leave it there. No post? It's simply because I'm a terrible procrastinator...

*****

    So last post came right after the week of the terror alert, which made the following week more uneventful as we were advised to stay inside. In the downtime I finished my grant and turned it in to FSD, which took the better part of the week. I wasn't able to make it out to Nyali International on Wednesday because of the terror threats as well.

    The grant was due on Friday. While the ideas and structure of the eleven page document have since changed pretty dramatically, the essence is still there. The proposed program was set to cover, over a 3 day training intervention, engine maintenance, fiberglass boat repair, and basic sea safety. The trainings were going to be facilitated by local experts as well as Captain Andy's and conducted at the Mwaepe BMU landing site south of Diani, Kenya. This first training acted as a sort of pilot program, hoping that its success could extend the program to all 19 south coast BMUs, and then on to all  100 BMUs along the coast. Additionally, it proposed a structure so that future programs could be partially funded by Tengevus, or "conservation incentive agreements." In a Tengevu, community groups as stewards to protect particular reef areas of high diversity and tourist or research value from fishing activities. In return for protection, the BMUs would receive funding for these activities, or credits that they can put towards further training programs. On my end, I would be preparing and compiling a curriculum that could hopefully be used in all future interventions, as well as a long-term grant proposal to accompany the project. I was also to create distributable handouts and post them on our Eco-Ethics website. Initially we had hoped to involve Captain Andy's and provide the training through them, but when I received his quote, which asked for 20,000 USD to teach 12 BMU fishermen over the course of 2 weeks, I said thanks, but no thanks. We would be going at it alone.

    The work was hindered slightly by my getting sick Wednesday night. I had a thing called "Kenyan Express," essentially rough, rough diarreah. I got a slight fever as well, so I went in to the hospital the next morning.

    I happened to have the same doctor as I had had the first time (Madam Abraham), and she immediately recognized me. She gave me the same bout of tests - blood sample along with a stool sample. The latter has not gotten any less weird.

    "So what did you eat this time? You need to be more careful of what you eat."

    This after telling me I got an E.Coli. infection. Well, check that off the bucket list, never had one of those before. She put me on Cipro for 5 days, and within 2-3 I was feeling well and back to normal.

    Friday, before sending in my grant, I met again with the Provincial Director of Fisheries, along with a woman named Madam Mwaka, who runs and monitors the BMU program, and her associate. Iddi accompanied me at the bidding of Okeyo (Iddi will hopefully be the one to pick up the project after I leave, so he's been joining me in most meetings now) and we laid out the proposal for them. It was nice getting their perspective on the interventions, as well as receiving their approval. They advised me to include fisheries officials in the trainings as well. When I got back, I finished editing the grant. It was such a relief to finally turn it in.

Dutch Anette and I

    Friday was also the day that Dutch (Peace Corps Dutch) left for Nairobi because of the travel alerts. Her kids were there as well, so I got a chance to meet all of them. Her son Will and I had a good talk. While he lives in Arizona now, he hopes to make his way back to Colorado soon. We all spent a while discussing the travel alerts. Dutch and her family had just gotten back from their ten day safari when they were alerted that Dutch had to move out because of the Department of State. While I'm sure the timing was nice because it was helpful for Dutch to have her kids with her to help, it certainly was a sad day to see her go, considering all her work and efforts. We gave her some gifts and ate a nice lunch, then bid them farewell. I'd see her the next week for her to finish her move, and I may see her in Nairobi this weekend as well.

    Saturday I met up with many of the other interns to go and finally take a tour of Fort Jesus. We had been told that bringing our volunteer papers would get us the so-called 100 shilling "volunteer price." We met for lunch at a place called Tarboush (best shwarma I've ever had) and then ventured over to Old Town where the fort is located. However, when we got there, the man at the window refused to give us the price, and tried to make us believe that it essentially "never existed." We found out later from a local tour guide (who calls himself Captain Midnight) that this particular man was notoriously corrupt. Two of the girls were determined to go, so they payed the 800 shilling visitor price, while all the guys left to go check out some of the shops in old town with Captain Midnight.

Old Town

Getting hustled at Fort Jesus

    The nickname came from some work he did in Lamu on the north coast. There is an island off the Lamu shoreline that many tourists frequent and a local landing site employed boat operators during the day and night to shuttle visitors to and from the island. The site appointed a captain day, captain evening, captain morning, etc. This man happened to have the midnight shift, so everyone called him "Captain Midnight." It stuck. I can't even remember his other name. He's a young guy, has flawless English, always smiling and laughing, and is one of the most talkative Kenyan's I've met. He helped us navigate the shops in Old Town, providing translations when necessary. The shop owners are hilariously good salesmen, always giving you "student prices" and "volunteer prices" that are still a good 150% markup on the actual value of the piece, so it's good to stay wary and keep your big bills out of sight. Later Dutch and I asked Captain Midnight if he could take us over to the Spice Market the next day to go look at lessos, a decorated, colorful fabric that many men and women wear here.

    We then met the girls at Jahazi. Their tour went well, but after looking at their pictures, we decided it wasn't worth the 800 shillings. From there we split up, and Dutch, Anuj, and I decided to go up to Nyali to throw the frisbee around on the beach.

Nyali Football

    We did for a while, but the wind gave us some trouble, so we hiked up to the bar at Nyali International to put it away. The tide was out, and there were several large groups playing soccer/football games out on the flat, firm white sands. Dutch and I decided to go join a large game. It was probably 15 on 15, and they got us in immediately. It was competitive, and while I loved the challenge, the cool sea breeze and the sand between my toes made the game that much more enjoyable. Sliding around on that sand and running through the waves added a whole new dimension to the game. Later I met one of the guys named Ben. We traded numbers and I promised I'd be back the next day. They play every weekend from 3PM to dark.

    The most amazing part of that day though came on our matatu ride back. Dutch sat down next to the driver, while I sat behind those two with the conductor and Anuj. Dutch fell into conversation with the man, and as they joked and laughed I began to realize something I had stopped doing. I needed to talk with everyone, I needed to be friendly at all times. I had lost that drive slightly, especially because of the travel alerts. I had become a little guarded, and wasn't as quick to talk as I normally was. Watching their dynamic made me smile - there are so many great people in this world, and I decided then that I wouldn't pass up an opportunity to talk with any of them.

Ryan: "life's better in board shorts"

    The next day Dutch and I met at Aroma Cafe at Ambalal House. I got there a little early, so I sipped on some drinking chocolate and read my Surfer magazine as I talked with another man from Kilifi. I found a great ad which I took a picture of and sent over to my brother. If you know Ryan, you know how fitting this advertisement is for him. Actually if you look through the pictures I posted earlier of him, you'll see that he's wearing the same boardshorts as the guy in this advertisement.

    From there Dutch and I walked out to Old Town to meet up with Captain Midnight. When we got there we found him busy - he's one of the more popular Old Town tour guides, and so he had been employed to work with a huge group of Middle Eastern schoolchildren. His friend John offered to help us instead. We stopped by Fort Jesus first, but the same guy was sitting at the window, and refused again to give us the volunteer price. Then we left for the Spice Market.

    The Spice Market is a good 20 minute walk north of Fort Jesus. As you approach, the buildings suddenly loom closer and closer together, to the point that you could nearly extend your arms and touch the walls of each. Then suddenly, you duck under an awning of canvas, and enter the heart of the market. Colorful fabrics drape from the ropes and canvas above, creating a wonderfully light and airy atmosphere complimenting the hustle and bustle of activity below. The sun peeks through gaps in the fabric, lighting the market with hints of light rays which shimmer on the sandy dust kicked up by shoppers and shop owners.

    IN the Spice Market, if you don't know the prices, you will get screwed. And even if you do, they'll keep you there so long that you'll be willing to pay more just to get them off your back. Dutch and I knew this... but they still managed to hustle us both. While a few hundred shillings isn't going to break the bank, I still felt a little upset that just because of the color of my skin, I had to work a lot harder to get a fair price. It's even worse during the tourist season, when the hordes of tourists coming through the major markets will be refused lower prices (even if they know the correct values) simply because if one gets the fair price, it spoils all the other potential customers who then demand that lower price.

    We then went to look at the actual spices in the Spice Market. I bought some tea (at a severe mark-up), and then bought a bag of raw macadamia nuts. I had no idea how to crack them open, which brought many laughs back at home, when I searched for a large rock and subsequently dropped one on shell after shell trying to get to the nuts inside. It was hopelessly unscientific, and I managed to crush the greater majority of them.

Devan and Ben (left, right)

    Dutch couldn't come to Nyali, so I went up alone to the beach to play soccer with the group again. I got there around 4 and played for a good 3 1/2 hours with them. I backed off slightly because I wasn't sure how hard and physical I could play with them. Clearly that was the wrong decision. Ben pulled me aside and told me the guys thought I needed to push around a little more. Another kid Devan pointed at one of the kids and told me to make him hurt. Next play, I dug a big old elbow into his stomach to the cheers of both teams, including the kid I elbowed. I laughed... this was my kind of soccer.

    When it got dark, the game broke up. I had met most of the guys by that point, so I gave them all a handshake, and promised to be back soon. I walked with Devan and Ben back to the matatu stage and we talked along the way. I've noticed all the guys here are incredibly curious about the American perceptions of women... what guys like, what they don't like etc. We had a funny conversation about that. I then hopped on a matatu, introduced myself to the driver and conductor, and lady sitting next to me, and talked with them on the way back.

    I alighted at the Docks. There's a man there who sells fruit there every day, and I was craving some bananas. I pointed at the bananas and in English asked him how much. He said 50 bob (50 shillings). I found that a little expensive, but I went to search for some coins in my pocket anyway. In the meantime, a Kenyan walked up:

    "Ndizi? Peso ngapi?" - How much are the bananas?

    "Isherini bob" - 20 Shillings

    I turned to the man and laughed.

    "Yo, Mzee, I know Swahili" (Mzee is dude in Swahili slang)

    Caught by surprise, he gave me the bananas for 20 shillings. We then laughed and talked for a bit. His name is Simon and now I see him every time I stop at Docks ... and he now gives me the fair prices. On the other end, near Corner Mbaya, I've also met the woman who runs the shop there, and I say hi to her every day on the way to work.

    The next week I began working on my curriculum. I compiled hordes of PDF documents, survival manuals, boat handling guides, and sea safety pamphlets. The guide, which I finished this week, is a dense 35 page document covering everything from BMU capacity, survival swimming techniques, and sea safety, to heavy weather boat handling.

    Tuesday I left on my own to visit CAST in Kilifi and speak with Chiara about her work. There is a huge stage near the Nyali Bridge called Baxton. I alighted there and then took a matatu to Kilifi.

    Chiara is a wonderful woman. She has razzled black hair and smiles incessently. She clearly knows several languages. If you catch her at the right time, she'll be jumping between Swahili, Italian, English, and Bantu in the same conversation. More than anything though, her enthusiasm is terribly contagious, and upon walking into her office, I felt a terrible weight lift from my shoulders. One of the hardest aspects of working here in Kenya is that I've needed to always be the source of energy and inspiration in order to get things to move along. Meeting her made me realize how helpful it is to know someone similarly driven, but substantially more experienced. We spoke for over an hour and half, and I learned much more about her efforts in BMU capacity building in Kilifi, as well as her collaborations which the US Navy. I was amazed to hear that she was the one who had provided the initial idea that now was the central work of the US Navy's work in civil affairs in Kenya. She diagnosed the need for fishermen sea survival trianing, told the Navy, who then responded by providing the skill and resources to give programs all along the Kenyan coast.

    She gave me some more guidance on the project as well. One potential problem she highlighted was first, the large emphasis of collaboration with Captain Andy's. She warned that it would probably limit further grant funding, and was probably not necessary, because she trusted there was enough skill outside of that business to sustain trainings. She also recommended staying away from engine training and boat maintenance. In her experience, most of the reasons for poor utilization of engines was not because the skill to maintain it was not there - it was simply because of fishermen conflict. Additionally, she mentioned that many of the donated engines to Kilifi BMUs were immediately sold by BMU representatives for a quick profit. She advised to focus more on capacity building measures that targeted the entire BMU community, rather than trainings that further the skill of a select few fishermen, who, while expected to teach their peers, would likely not, and keep the information for personal benefit.

    I left so happy to have spoken with her. When I come back to Kenya, or if I'm ever in Italy, I'm giving Chiara a call for sure.

    The next day, July 4th, I met with Captain Andy's. We spoke about the proposal I sent to them. I remember pretty vividly that my measily 600 USD budget was "just not going to cut it" for them. His head instructor Simon joined the conversation; another leathery fishermen quite a bit taller and lankier than Steve. He had a thick english accent and big glasses but clearly knew quite a bit about Kenyan artisanal fishermen. He agreed with Chiara's sentiments, and even mentioned that he believed I shouldn't even bother providing equipment along with the training. Better to help them learn how to improvise their own equipment. I also learned that Captain Andy's normally bills out an instructor at 300 USD a day... and being that that was 50% of my budget, that proved to be a total impossibility. However, Simon offered to edit the finished curriculum, and I took him up on the offer. I sent it off to him earlier this week.

    Wednesday night I went up with Libby, Haley, and Jess, the other girls who had come in a later FSD group, to Nyali International for my usual Wednesday night beach sabbatical and improvised 4th of July celebration. Helen was there with a group playing volleyball so Jess and I joined in. There were a few younger children there, and one was playing with her new puppy. The family had named it "brewski," which I now believe may be one of the best dog names I've heard. It didn't help that it was undeniably cute. Plus, I could pet it - most dogs out here are not the kind you'd like to touch. When people say "rabid dog," you listen.

moonrise in nyali

me and the girls

me and the girls 2

    Later we all went over the Aqua Bar, and settled down on the seats. I left my FSD crowd to go talk with Helen and her friends. There I met Alex and his girlfriend Maddie. He was from England, and had actually just been let go of his job here in Mombasa. He was planning to head back in two weeks time. Alex, a biologist, had been working out here breeding reef seahorses to send for marine aquariums back in Europe. It seemed like a pretty amazing business, and we started talking about his work and experiences out here. We then began to talk about my work, and he gave me the contact to a friend of his who is a marine ecologist in the area.

    I then went back to hang out with the FSD girls. We sat around joking and laughing and drinking, celebrating our own little 4th of July accompanied by the quiet fireworking sparks of the hookah coals. Jess and I sat talking about things for a while. She has been a little rattled by the terror threats, and was curious of my outlook. I thought a bit about it, and decided to tell her something that seemed to work. It touches on what I said at the very beginning. Terrorism to me, I found, is a lot a lot like shark attacks. If you're terrified each time you get in the ocean about a shark rising up through the depths and biting off your leg, you're never going to have fun swimming. But most importantly, it will probably take your mind away from the most important tasks at hand, like not drowning - a malady that is severely more likely than a shark attack. Terrorism is much the same. Here in Mombasa, even with the increased threat of terrorism, the likelihood of you being in an attack is terribly small. And if you walk around all day neurotic about the next impending disaster, you will be taken away from what's important in front of you; like not getting hit by a car as you cross the street - a malady that is severely more likely than a terrorist attack. I think she was happy with that explanation too. More than anything, everyone feels it here. The violence is not directed at Americans or westerners in particular. It is directed at Kenya and the western world, and the fear crosses everyone's mind here. But in the end, the likelihood is so small that it's just not worth spending time worrying about. Likewise, especially in Africa, there are much more pressing things to worry about.

Going to retreat: Paul, Arden, Ciara, Biqi, and Maggie

    The rest of the week was wrought with more work on the curriculum until Friday, when our FSD group left on retreat for Diani beach on the south coast.

monkeys!

    I really needed a break. Work had been tough... and I had been slaving over a computer typing out over 50 pages of material, along with emails and incessant research. The retreat brought happy rest. Jackson, the same man who drove me from the airport, and Jerusa picked us up at Nakumatt Likoni. We then took the ferry across and drove south for 45 minutes or so (stopping at Nakumatt to get food for the weekend) and drove to our beachside cottages. The location was beautiful, and I immediately fell asleep on the beach. The water was incredibly warm, the temperature of a nice relaxing bathtub. We then had a fun night, ending with a giant game of 3AM moonlight frisbee.


    Saturday we hung out at the beach. I walked down to a point where several kite-boarders were set up, and laying a towel down, watched for most of the morning. It seems incredibly similar to wakeboarding, and being that I have quite a bit of experience in sailboat racing, it seemed I could totally figure it out. The natural protection of the reef and the lack of shoreline waves, coupled with heavy cross beach winds and glassy waters makes the Kenyan coastlines one of the best places in the world to kite-board.


   Later that day I left with some guys to check out rally cars at a local hotel. There was a race going on that weekend in Diani, and while we had missed Saturday's racing, we hoped to see the cars themselves. On the way we saw some monkeys crossing the road (pictured). One of the racer's there gave us the information to get to the race the next day, and told us to come around 2.

    That night we played some drinking games, and then walked out to the beach for more moonlight frisbee. It was a little cloudy, the beach nearly pitch-black, so the game became considerably more dangerous.

the cottages

     The next morning I woke up early to catch the sunrise. I got some cool pictures, which are here somewhere on this post... I woke up a little late, so I didn't quite get the sunrise, but it worked out. Apparently the sunrise was blocked by low lying clouds. By the time I was up, they had burned off and broken up slightly, and it gave me the opportunity to get some interesting colors reflected off the clouds. At least I wasn't Aman. He woke up on time, before the sun had risen, looked out the window, and decided to go back to sleep because it was still dark out... which begs the question... he knew it was a "sunrise" right?

   I also had an interesting revelation. That was probably the first sunrise I've ever experienced. Living on the west coast and growing up with summers in Los Angeles, central coast California, San Francisco, and Irvine, I'd always seen sunsets. Not even in North Carolina have I experienced a good ocean sunrise. My spring break this year was spent on the Florida panhandle, so I didn't get much of a sunrise in either direction. To think that I had to trek halfway across the world in order to see my first ocean sunrise was odd to think. But also, I couldn't think of a better place to experience my first, as I hope these pictures can show.


    Then Dutch and I went to try and go Kite-boarding. It was 90 euros, which seemed like a good deal. The guy who runs the kite-boarding school, an Australian named Boris, was the epitome of surf-bro. However, they were booked for the day, so he gave us his contact so we could set something up in the future. Dutch and I went back to the cottages, and then joined the group to the Diani Airstrip, where the rally car races were located.


   At the airfield, you had to duck through a barbed wire fence. Once under, you were only a football field away from the runway. Just onward was the rally car race. Rally cars were leaving on 2-3 minute intervals on a time trial course. There were several good places to set up, so we spent most of the day walking from one location on the track to the other. The roar of the rally cars was incredible, the turbochargers reeling after their accelerations, tearing the warm humid air with mechanical explosions. I was in awe. You could stand as close to the track as you dared, and in

places, this was nearly too close for comfort. There was one part on the track where you could stand and the cars would race toward you before drifting around a sharp left hand turn. I set up with my camera, and shot pictures.

    Meanwhile, planes were taking off and landing only a few dozen feet from where we stood. At the end of the day I caught one taking off right into me. All I could think was, "holy shit... there's no way this would ever happen in the states." Great time though.

    I finished my curriculum early this week, and with its completion things have finally started to come together. A meeting with the Red Cross settled a date for the trainings, which begin next Tuesday and run to next Thursday. They agreed to come all three days hoping to both train and learn so they could conduct future trainings with Eco-Ethics. After acquiring the Red Cross team, a stop at KMA secured a boat inspector to provide trainings on heavy weather boat handling, something that I was going to attempt to teach, but that I felt would be better taught by a professional. Today I received full funding from FSD, and calls to each of the BMUs alerted them to select members for training who were interested in conducting further trainings. The US Navy has been providing a lot of help and guidance, along with Chiara at CAST. They are happy to see the work finally off the ground and running.


 

    Okeyo even stopped me yesterday: "I wasn't sure... but it looks like it actually might just work!" I'm happy to see all the efforts of the last 7 weeks resulting in something tangible.

    Today I'm finishing up a syllabus/program for the trainings, and notifying stakeholders. I'm also trying to work on handouts for fishermen, as well as future training materials. I also need to notify the Ministry of Fisheries Development of their role.

    In general work has been amazing. I feel I'm really a part of the dynamic, and its fantastic to have real relationships with people, especially now that I'm to the point where I can make fun of them, and they can make fun of me. Anette always laughs at me on chipatti day... I love chipattis.

    In the meantime, back home in High Level, things been good. There came another travel alert encapsulating the entirety of Kenya, but I haven't thought much of it. In the meantime, my host family found out I liked ugali... and now I have it every single day for dinner, mostly because it's their favorite type of food. In America we don't really have a staple food. But in Kenya, ugali is THE staple. Ugali na mbogo (or skumawiki), a mix of several cooked vegetables that traditionally accompanies a meal of ugali, is everything Kenyan. You eat it and immediately you fall asleep as digestion kicks in. Not only that, the whole family has taken to Ndiema's mantra - we eat to finish.

the view out my window

    I'm also beginning to really feel as a real part of the family. Abel and I have some great conversations, and Joyce and Abel have been challenging me in Swahili. I can now talk briefly with our house help which has made things even better. I've gotten into watching TV with them as well - every night we watch a English dubbed Spanish soap opera called Eva Luna, followed by East Africa's version of American Idol, called Tusker Project, and then follow it with Citizen News at 9. It's cool to get into a routine with them, a real family away from home. Even a few days ago, I messaged my family in Swahili for the first time. They were amazed!

    Wednesday I went out to Nyali again, and played volleyball with Helen and the crew. I had another good discussion with Alex, and then talked a more with the guy who sells door locks. He gave me his card, and while I can't remember his name now, it fit his personality perfectly. He looks 45 but he's only 35, thick grey locks of hair, a thick South African accent, and a thick belly. He's also about 6'4", which makes his more humorous characteristics only a little more daunting. He spent several minutes explaining to me why the best age to be is 28, and I left agreeing with him. He told me if I ever can't find engineering work in the US, he could help me out in Africa. I told him I'd take him up on it.

Fishermen on the retreat

    I then met another guy named Peter. He works up north, but comes down to Nyali on many Wednesdays. Our conversation ran into surfing, and he gave me a quick rundown of all the good Kenyan spots, and the best time to be out there. One particular break is called English Point, which is just across from Fort Jesus on the Nyali side. It's a good high tide break that produces some left and right handers when the swell comes in right. He mentioned that he had an extra board he could let me borrow, gave me his number, and told me to call him when I was free to surf.

    Afterwards I left with Helen to meet the others at a place for dinner called Rockwall. On the way Helen and I began to talk about mountain biking. She does quite a bit back in Western Kenya, and I had fun trying to show her that dual suspension bicycles make riding much easier. Apparently the misconception is that rear suspension just bounces you off. I had to explain to her that there were different types of damping, and that a critically damped bicycle will actually make the ride easier.

    After dinner, I said bye to Alex and Maddie who were leaving this week. Helen looked at me, and told me that here in Kenya, "We don't do goodbyes." Thinking about it now, it makes sense. People must come in and out of here so often I'd be sick of goodbyes as well.

Mombasa Tusks

    As I said before, I'm working hard today to get things set up for this week. I'll be leaving tonight to see my host sister Phoebe in Nairobi this weekend on an overnight bus. I can't wait to explore the city and see what lies west of the coast. I've heard I have to be careful with valuables though, so I'm heeding the warnings and protecting my stuff as best I can.

    So before I sign off... why The Veldt? It's the name of short story by Ray Bradbury. In it, a boy and a girl become enamored by the veldt, as in the African savannah, and the world it encapsulates. The children's veldt is a ruthless but nonetheless natural world, and its power and unpredictability holds the children's admiration. Like the veldt, there are certainly things in the human world that hint of the themes that the children so fell in love with, be it its wonderful chaos or innate unpredictably.

kite boarding in Diani

    I have found so many things here in Africa that make me sit back in awe or disgust. To write them all here would take too much time. (see below). But, to explain it in a way, the chaos, corruption, and absurdities of this world are what makes things so intriguing and inherently engrossing. Couple that with all the wonderful things happening in this world, all the amazing modern and natural wonders, and the place not only becomes intriguing - it becomes absorbingly awesome.

    Alright... well, hope that suffices. My hair has also grown out quite a bit... I'm considering getting a nice Kenyan shave sometime soon (pictures to come).

    Till next time,


    Scotty

P.S. For reading on corruption in Kenya, simply google "Kaboga in Kenya" or click here. Kaboga, the Rwandan leader who is currently the 7th most wanted man in the world and one of the main facilitators of the Rwandan genocide, is allegedly being safe-housed in Kenya by corrupted government officials. I have other personal examples that I'll share in later posts. 

The Veldt - Diani, Kenya