Tall tales

As my ninth month in Kenya draws to a close, I'm more cognizant than ever of the narratives told about Kenya, refugees, humanitarian crises, and African conflict. Though the reality of these contexts is often quite grim and though the answers to how to support those in crisis never come easily or from the right people, it's not all doom and gloom. Positive, uplifting narratives that genuinely represent the voices of those living in these context are hardly written about and rarely make a dent on the Facebook news-feed circuit. Does that mean there isn't happiness, joy, hope and positivity in conflict and crisis situations? Certainly not. It frustrates me that the most common, and almost only, happy image Westerners have of 'Africa' is of a bunch of dusty schoolchildren smiling in some aid worker's or volunteer's selfie. This, coupled with the constantly negative press and travel alerts, warnings, and cautions that I see daily, tells a static and one-dimensional narrative of what the day-to-day complexities are of such a diverse, complicated, and vibrant place as this. So, I first recommend reading this article about education and opportunity in Dadaab refugee complex, which is on the Somali border and is the largest refugee camp in the world. Second, if you're on Instagram follow Everyday Africa, which posts snapshots of daily life from around the continent. Last, check up on Think Africa Press, which hosts a variety of narratives, perspectives, critiques and thoughts to all things Africa. 

Ultimate road trip: safari edition

We had a four-day weekend for the Easter holiday, so Maggie, Sophia (PiAf fellow at Sanergy in Nairobi), and I packed into a rented car and headed south to Tsavo West National Park (see the crew at left!). We passed through small towns, careened over many a speed bump, and wove around the many, slow lorries headed for Mombasa. Roadside fruit and vegetable stands lined the road (we saw more onions in one town than I've seen in the whole of my life) and we drove past bizarrely bronchial baobab trees. The videos below are snapshots of the drive to and from the park (excuse the sing-a-longs in advance)! 

The DIY safari was far and away one of the coolest things I've done here. It exceeded all my expectations; we saw at least 12 huge elephants within an hour of being in the park, a lion, hippos, water buffalo, giraffes, zebra, a rare antelope called the lesser kudu, and tons more. We drove through these lava flows that we're 99.9% sure inspired the Shadowlands in The Lion King, and we explored a crocodile and hippo-infested river walk (that was eerily similar to the Jungle Cruise at Disneyland). We drove through a torrential rainstorm(see picture at right), caramelized onions over a campfire, ate 24 hot dogs between the three of us, and got bougie on Monday morning with coffee at the luxurious Serena lodge.Check out the pictures below for more from our trip!

Sophia and I having a Rafiki - Simba moment at left and at right, the view from the top of Roaring Rocks. We drove aimlessly for over an hour looking for the mountain, and once we did locate it, it was an underwhelming 10-minute hike to the top. 

A visit to Nyumbani Village

A couple weekends ago, I visited my good friend and fellow PiAf-er, Maggie, where she works in rural eastern Kenya in Nyumbani Village. Nyumbani means 'home' in kiswahili, and the minute I stepped off the bota into the village I could feel the home-ness of everything. Nyumbani is self-described as a "model bio-friendly, self-sustaining community serving orphans and elders who have been left behind by the 'lost generation' resulting from the HIV/AIDS pandemic." The village is comprised of clusters - a gathering of four or five homes, each with their own plot of land for gardening - that share a borehole, and it was designed to be home to 1,000 children and 100 grandparents. There's a livestock area, which provides fresh milk daily from cows (see picture above of Maggie and me milking!), eggs from chickens, and meat from goats. There's a lush greenhouse area that grows vegetables such as tomatoes, sakuma, passion fruit, and avocados for consumption and sale. The village is almost entirely supported by solar power, has three schools (early child education through secondary school), a medical clinic (where I took a malaria test), and a polytechnic institute that teaches skills in textile and metal work as well as installing and maintaining solar systems. There's sports pitches, a basketball court, and a common gathering hall that hosts church services and social gatherings. Walking around, I was touched by the kindness of everyone we met. The grandmothers were warm and welcoming as we visited the different clusters, offering wide smiles and firm handshakes as we stopped to chat (well, Maggie was chatting as I speak approximately zero kamba, the local dialect). The children reminded me of the many goofy and fun-loving kids I've babysat over the years, eager to play and joke around with us. Maggie has such a presence in the village; I've heard her talk about life there and the community so often, and visiting gave me the chance to see how integral she is to everything that goes on. She's keeping a blog of her fellowship, which can be accessed here.

We had a great time hanging on and walking around the village, despite my malarial state! We hung out in the volunteers' guest house, worked on puzzles, saw a goat slaughtered for a goodbye celebration for one of the volunteers (and later ate it), danced with the world's cutest toddler, and strolled around the village. I was sad to say goodbye and really hope I can make it out again while Maggie is still there!

The Garissa Attack

Last week's terrorist attack at Garissa College University has weighed heavily on our minds and hearts for the past number of days. On Thursday April 2nd, university students were asleep in their residence halls or just waking up when four armed men began Kenya's deadliest attack since the 1998 bombing of the US embassy. By the end of the day, one hundred and forty-seven Kenyans had died. Al-Shabaab, an Al-Qaeda affiliate in East Africa, claimed responsibility for the attack and released a statement recently providing justification and petitioning the Kenyan public to stand up to the Kenyan government's military campaign in Somalia. Al-Shabaab was also responsible for the attacks in Mandera and Wajir last December  and for the September 2013 attack on Westgate shopping mall in Nairobi, in which 67 people died. 

How to move on from something like this? Things in Nairobi have been pretty calm, if a little more tense than usual with the increased presence of military personnel at some shopping centres. A moving vigil ceremony was held in the centre of Nairobi last night to honor the victims. A social media remembrance campaign called #147notjustanumber aims to humanize the victims of the Garissa Attack. There's also a public forum where personal details about each of the victims can be added by those who knew them. So often the human lives get lost in the staggering numbers, and it's crucial that we remember those who died were individuals with ambitions and full lives. 

Malari-uh oh

Spoiler alert: I'm happy and healthy and well. That's the boring end to this story, but let's start at the beginning, ten days ago, at my cubicle under florescent lighting. March was a really busy month for grant reports, especially for our bigger donors and end-of-grants final reports. So here I was, mid-afternoon on a Friday hunch-backed over my Lenovo working away when I felt the familiar ache-in-the-teeth and down-the-spine chill that signal temperature increase. I finished out the day with a fever, thinking it was a physical manifestation of the long hours and weekend hours I'd put in in the past month. I went to bed early because I'd planned to visit my friend and fellow PiAf-er, Maggie, in Nyumbani Village (a post on that later!) for an extended weekend. I woke up feeling bright and fresh and distinctly un-feverish, so I hopped on a matatu for Kwa Vonza, then met Maggie for a bota (a taxi motorcycle) ride to the village.

Over the next three days, I experienced the same pattern: wake up feeling rested and normal, around midday start feeling weak, exhausted and achey, by 4 or 5PM am so feverish and stiff with aches and chills that I have to lie down and sleep for a few hours. The fever peaked around 103F and plateaued for about 4 or 5 hours. By the time I woke up again in the morning, I was normal temperature and fine, apart from feeling tired from the fever storm that'd swept through. By day three, I knew this wasn't a symptom of stress or being over-worked, so I went to the village clinic where I was tested (finger prick - ow!) and found negative for malaria. Confused, I resolved to go to Nairobi Hospital when I returned to the city. 

I set out early on the morning of my return with the intention and hope of getting home before the fever peaked. Nyumbani Village is nestled in the remote hills of eastern Kenya about 5 hours from Nairobi, and it's a direct matatu ride back to the city from the nearby town of Kwa Vonza. So I said goodbye to Maggie and hopped on a bota for the 30 minute ride to Kwa Vonza (see pictures at right). At this point in the day I was feeling pretty good, the fever was below 101F, and the weather was stunning. I had to wait an hour and a half in Kwa Vonza for a matatu, but I found some shade and a seat, though many of Kwa Vonza's shall we say colorful characters were keen to engage me in conversation. One of the things I love about traveling is meeting people, but on this day all I really wanted was to get home and for these randos to leave me alone. At long last the matatu came and I settled myself into the 'cozy' but least desirable seat in the 14-passenger van - back corner of the last row. Thirty minutes into the trip we got a puncture and had to exchange tires to continue our journey. I was actually impressed by how fast the tire was switched out, so we were back on the road within a half hour. The rest of our ride went smoothly, if slightly harrowing due to high-speed and overtaking lorries on a two-lane highway, until we hit Nairobi outskirts. We proceeded to spend three hours in Nairobi rush hour traffic and moved less than 5km. Wedged in the backseat, grimacing at the darkness falling outside, and totally clueless as to our location in the city, I started playing Which-Voice-In-My-Head-Is-Loudest. A fun travel game that lends itself to decision-making and state-of-mind. Should I get out and flag down a bota to take me home? Should I persuade the driver to drop me in my neighborhood instead of the seedy city centre? How far are we really from the last stop and is it stupid to walk? Is it worrying that I haven't used the bathroom or eaten or had water since leaving the village? I settled on: stay in the matatu and sit out the trip (smart, as it started to pour rain), don't drink more water because getting off to find a bathroom isn't an option for personal safety reasons, get off in the city centre and call a driver to pick you from there to go home. Decision made, I was faced with Part Two of the game, To Stress or Not To Stress. I chose not stress because it would've aggravated the fever, which at this stage was around 101/102F. So I sat. For three hours. We finally arrived at the final stop, a gas station, and I connected with my driver a few minutes later. The drive home was absurdly traffic-free and quick. So after 8.5 hours of traveling I collapsed into bed with a 103F fever and a steeled resolve to go to the hospital the next day. 

And I did; Nairobi National Hospital in Upper Hill is a great facility. The staff were friendly, helpful, efficient; I was seen by a doctor who ordered a host of lab tests. The blood draw was quick, and for the first time in nine years I didn't faint during the process. They too found me negative for malaria, which was underwhelming, but decided to treat me for it as I presented as definitely malarial. This, apparently, is pretty rare - to test negative but still have the virus - but I wasn't feverish when I was tested, which may have skewed the results. I picked up the treatment at the pharmacy and three days later was feeling 100% again. (side-note, I was also diagnosed with severe food poisoning at the same time and received treatment that has me feeling 100% there as well). 

So in all, things have ended well. Malaria's a tricky illness because on the off-cycle hours (no fever) I felt almost fully fine and functional, and on the on-cycle hours I had the worst fever I've had in years, maybe ever. I took all preventative measures I could have done: taking anti-malarial medication, using high-DEET bug spray, and sleeping under a bed net. I could've picked it up anywhere in my outside-Nairobi travels, so the 'how' is beside the point. I am acutely aware of how privileged I am to have access to quality and timely medical care; so many in this country don't and lose their lives to the virus. The treat-ability of it and the minimal recovery time have left me outraged by the fact that malaria takes the lives of so many, even when the cure is known and available. And, of course, I'm relieved to be whole and healthy again, and I look at each experience for the value of what it has to teach my about my being here, my context, and myself.

Mid-year Princeton in Africa retreat

What do you get when you collect 47 young professionals from the corners of the African continent (and one who was there in spirit but is currently in California), 4 spirited PiAf alumni, 2 enthusiastic PiAf staff, and 1 founder and board member? The Princeton in Africa mid-year retreat, of course! Last week, PiAf spent 5 glorious days basking in good company and Nile-side sunshine in Jinja, Uganda. We shared the good stories and the bad, the frustrating and the uplifting. Though we'd only ever all been together at our orientation in early June, it felt like an instant homecoming seeing familiar faces and relaxing into the only 46 other people that can truly understand what this fellowship year has been for me. This year's fellows are placed in over a dozen countries and working on issues ranging from shea and cashew production in Ghana to food distribution with the World Food Programme in Uganda, South Africa, Rwanda, and Malawi to teaching students in Botswana to administering care to patients in Tanzania, Lesotho, and Botswana. Fellows deal in Excel sheets, video equipment, poop, and high-level meetings. I am in awe of these men and women, their strength, compassion and constant desire to deliver their absolute best, no matter the circumstance or challenge. The retreat was the rest I didn't know I needed and the step back that's allowed me to step into these last 6 months with a gusto. 

The picture above shows (starting top left, clockwise):a bus-full of fellows heading to Lake Victoria for the day; me and Christina being goofy seat buddies on our way in from the airport; a 'Rolex', a Ugandan specialty with egg, onion, and tomato wrapped in a chapati (Rebecca and I brought this delicacy back to Denis the Menace); a busload of fellows on their way to Jinja from the airport; and Lake Victoria, in all its splendid, watery glory. 

See for yourself

Take Part World recently collaborated with the International Rescue Committee to profile the progams the IRC runs at Kakuma camp, and it gives a great visual for the IRC's work there and the staff who implement our programs. Please! Take time to watch this video and see for yourself the powerful and impactful work of the IRC! 

Kakuma field report #3: What counts

When does conflict stop? The easy answer would be when the peace agreement is signed and the guns stop shooting, right? When is a refugee officially in a post-conflict or non-conflict setting? Does it start when s/he crosses the border into a different country? Once s/he's been through registration and settled in a refugee camp? A month after being there? A year? After s/he's been resettled to another country? Over the ten days I spent in Kakuma refugee camp, I kept checking in with myself to ask, 'what is it I'm looking at?' A camp, yes, and it seems calm. Peaceful. But after talking with the IRC program managers in health, nutrition, community promotion, women's protection and empowerment, and HIV/AIDS, I began realizing that just because I couldn't see or hear violent conflict didn't mean the camp is a place of refuge from other types of conflict. 

Rates of sexual and gender based violence are high in Kakuma, as are rates of malnutrition and diseases such as lung infection, malaria, and water-borne illnesses (though for the record, they are at or below UNHCR's standards). There are over 20 nationalities represented in Kakuma camp, and tensions between groups, often those that have moved from the same country and have a history of dissonance, are stressed when they're told to live side-by-side. Forty nine percent of the refugees in Kakuma are from South Sudan, a young country that's been in conflict since its independence in 2011. The majority are women and children, many unaccompanied minors, who have left their homes because of violence and insecurity. And it's not as though they're coming to greener pastures, either. Turkana County, where Kakuma camp is, is one of the driest, hottest regions in Kenya. Seasonal droughts are broken only by torrential heavy rains that lead to flooding, which virtually halts all movements of aid organizations for weeks at a time. 

Meeting with refugees, volunteer refugee workers, and IRC staff got me thinking about how people, countries, NGOs, grassroots organizations, and international forces stop conflict. What compels violence to finally lay down arms and come to the peace table? A B.A. in diplomacy and world affairs has taught me that there's no one, universal, fool-proof answer, nor should there be. Often though, the human collateral of conflict - the casualties and the refugees and the internally displaced - become a reason for ending it. Rhetorically anyway. Western audiences love numbers and statistics, as if a staggering death toll or breath-takingly swift increase in refugee numbers are enough to bring everyone to their senses. How many times has an infographic with bright colors been used by organizations or politicians to demonstrate the scale of a conflict? What these don't and can't show is the weight of a conflict, the emotional and mental weight of a conflict, which its casualties bear long after peace has been declared. And what's more, human numbers do not compel those engaged in conflict to stop. And isn't that what matters? The refugees keep crossing borders and the aid organizations keep scrambling to count them all and account for their needs. International audiences become tired of the numbers, bored by their ineffectual impact and the continuation of conflict in spite of the narrative told by the numbers. The human brain doesn't cope with disaster through numbers, and when conflict is made into an Excel sheet of statistics and data it becomes in-human. The numbers are crucial for humanitarian management and budgeting, but then the human becomes a number in the transaction. 

My question then is, when do we stop counting? When do conflict numbers stop and post-conflict numbers start, and what exactly is it that's being counted? It's easy to lose the human life in the numbers. I'm deeply grateful I was able to gain a sense of the humans behind the numbers that I crunch on a daily basis, but I now find an anxiety attached to the numbers too, that the narrative I'm telling isn't the right one. 

Kakuma field visit report #2: Listening in

"What they have said is, that the country you come from is very good," offers the

IRC refugee incentive worker who is sharing our van ride through Kakuma refugee camp. I blink back at the fifteen or so young faces peering at me, kids living in Kakuma 4 where we've stopped to visit a family. For the past five minutes or so we've been drawing pictures in the dust on the side of the IRC van, our only shared language the goofy smiley faces and squiggles that now tag the vehicle. 'If only I thought to bring a soccer ball to kick around,' I think lamely ('lame' because when was the last time I kicked a soccer ball or was remotely athletic in the heat). I've been reprimanding myself for not knowing more Swahili, which I'm not confident would have helped me communicate with these kids anyway. They'll say something and laugh, rolling their eyes and giggling behind hands, and I can only guess that they're laughing at this sweaty, red-faced white lady drawing crooked cartoons on the side of a car. But now this. "The country I come from is very good." I flashback to the mesh-covered bulletin boards in the mainstreets of the camp and in front of the hospital that host UNHCR's lists of names, names of refugees who have been deemed eligible for resettlement and whose numbers are being called. A rigged lotto. A black-and-white-and-read-all-over Ellis Island. "Ah," I say, "yes, I'm from there." I look out and up over the glinting aluminum roofs, roofs that cap mud-brick houses that roast to well over 105F every day, and see their peaks mirrored in the Rift's steepled craggs that ring the camp. This camp, that I've come to see and to experience and to absorb and to learn from. I suddenly feel indecent, as if I've stepped into a hushed-toned conversation I wasn't meant to hear, an intruder and an outsider to the place of refuge and respite. 

Kakuma 4 hosts the approximately 47,000 new arrivals (mostly from South Sudan) who have come to the camp since January 2014, and it feels much newer than the rest of the camp. The most established area, Kakuma 1, hosts mainly Somali and Ethiopian refugees and feels like a bona fide town, with a bustling shop-lined main street, school yards, bota-botas weaving through traffic, shiny new cellphones lining stall shelves on the side of the road. The incentive worker we've met up with tells me about his work - he's a zone manager in Kakuma 3 - and how in August he's being resettled to Nashville. I tell him about my obsession with the TV show, which gets us talking about music. He reminds me a lot of one of my guy friends from college who has an encyclopedic Rolodex of music knowledge and the enthusiasm of a true music lover. He asks who my team is, referring to the English Premier League, and I respond that I'm too diplomatic and support all the teams, which gets me an eye-roll and hearty laugh. EPL is huge in the camp, he explains. Everyone supports a team, the most popular being Arsenal, followed by Manchester United and Chelsea, and on big game days huge crowds gather in open fields to watch the matches. Soccer (yes, they do call it 'soccer' here too) has a major following; four years ago the Lutheran World Federation ran a program that supported a soccer league in the camp. Each team drew 5 members from 5 nationalities, and there were teams for various age groups. "Parents loved going to see their kids play in matches and celebrate afterwards!" chimes in our security escort, Raphael. "You'd look out onto the field and couldn't even tell where the players were from, it was just one team working together." Though co-ed, there were an equal number of boys' and girls' teams, and the leagues became community fixtures. Players would pool their money and give it to LWF to buy a trophy for the bigger matches. But after three years, the funding for LWF's program dried up (ie. donors lost interest). No funding meant no field maintenance, no soccer balls, no uniforms, no trophies or ribbons, and no cleats, so the leagues became defunct. 

Such is the story of grant-driven funding; a need is identified, so a program is set up and funded. When the program performs well, the needs are deemed met and funding looks elsewhere. As we drove the dusty road back to the IRC compound, a line from a Seamus Heaney poem kept playing over in my ear, that calls for a time when "the longed-for tidal wave/ of justice can rise up/ and hope and history rhyme." 

Kakuma field visit report #1: Day 3

Though the blinds are shut, I can tell it's morning because the birds have started loudly chirping, as if to announce to the compound, "it's already too damn hot!" I hear a tap-scratching on the floor and panic: 'Was that a cockroach? A scorpion? Will I have to live out the rest of my life in this bed?' I snooze my alarm as many times as I can to prolong the moment I'll roll out from under my mosquito net and face the heat of the day. A new day, though, means an opportunity to absorb life as an IRC staff member at Kakuma Refugee Camp, and nothing, not even 100 degree heat and blazing sun, will deter me from stepping into that role. 

My day here starts at 7:45, with a quick breakfast and a daily anti-malarial pill, then it's off to the office where I set up my laptop and get to working on the day's agenda. This week, I've been working on a quarterly internal, IRC newsletter that will be disseminated to all Kenya staff about activities and programs in the country program and their impacts on various groups. I've also got on my desk grant a few reports for a number of our projects that are due to donors like DFID, UNICEF, and BPRM. I'm also trying to make myself as useful as possible to the Kakuma IRC staff, so I end up doing odd jobs throughout the day. 

At 10, we have chai tea, which a wonderful woman named Irene brings to the desks. Kenyans love tea time, clearly as they're drinking it in heat over 100F. My dad always maintains that a hot drink on a hot day is a great thing; I personally think the jury's still out on that one, but I'll say 'yes' to tea time nonetheless. By this point, I've gone through 4 or 5 water bottles (see, Mom, responsible!) to the astonishment of my Kenyan colleagues. I try explaining that as a matter of fact, yes, if I didn't drink this much water and plaster myself with sunscreen multiple times a day, you would be peeling my unconscious, melted body off the floor. I wasn't built for heat or sun and as a mature adult I acknowledge that. Also, there's no point fighting it, I've been flubbered by the heat one too many times. 

From 1 to 3 we take lunch. The NGO compound rations energy from 1 to 3, so the power is off which makes working quite difficult. It also makes for an ideal excuse for a siesta. All hail the afternoon nap! The food is quite good at the IRC cantine: boiled cabbage, rice, stewed beef, and (sometimes) beans, all of which are pretty staple Kenyan foods. 

After 3 it's lights on and back to work until 5:30, when the power is shut off until 7. This energy ration time is for Second Shower (not as wasteful as it sounds) and Reading Outside. I've just finished reading World War Z, which is about a worldwide zombie war and is one of my new favorite books. Seriously, Max Brooks blurs the line between reality and fiction so well and weaves in so many familiar geopolitical and real-world issues that it's a compelling read. And it got me thinking about how I would fare in a zombie apocalypse (spoiler alert: I do very well and am a key player in the ultimate success of the human race). But since finishing, I've picked up Little Bee, a story (fictional) about a Nigerian refugee girl who immigrates to/seeks asylum in the UK. It's spectacularly written and provides a narrative that somewhat parallels the stories of refugee beneficiaries I've met here in Kakuma. 

After the power's back on at 7, I've been doing a bit more work then calling it a night and watching an episode of The Newsroom, which is written by the same guy that wrote The West Wing and is equally engaging and nerd-worthy. Then it's attempt-to-fall-asleep-in-the-heat and day's end. 

I'll be stationed in here in Kakuma until next Friday, when I'll return to Nairobi. I'm hoping to see more of the camp and meet some of the beneficiaries while I'm here. It's been humbling and inspiring to meet the IRC staff that work here, and I'm proud to be a part of the family. 

Over the Ngong Hills and through the Rift, to Kakuma camp we go

What do a family-size bag of matoke chips, 5 bars of chocolate, dry shampoo, a wrap skirt and a beloved copy of The Devil Wears Prada have in common? They're all packed away for my first trip to 'The Field.' On Wednesday morning, I'll board an ECHO flight bound for Kakuma refugee camp, in northwestern Kenya's Turkana District (see map at right). Kakuma was once upon a humanitarian disaster built to house 90,000 refugees. It is now home to 180,000, the majority of which hail from neighboring South Sudan. For six months now I've been responsible for the grants that fund the IRC's programs there, and I'll be the first Princeton in Africa fellow to make the trip since 2011 or '12. The monumental privilege of going to the camp and seeing firsthand the IRC's work there, not to mention the jigsaw puzzle of humanitarian aid coordination, is just beginning to sink in. "Manage your expectations" has become my mantra because despite having become intimately familiar with the programs, funding, statistics, challenges, and successes of the programs, I have no idea what to expect.

I do know that AccuWeather.com tells me the current highs are 41 Celsius (didn't even know it could go that high) and that I should wear close-toed shoes, "because scorpions and snakes." Suddenly, I find myself regretting all those wasted, procrastinated hours watching Say Yes to the Dress and wishing instead I'd paid more attention to Bear Grylls. Anyone who's known me in heat upwards of 78F with a sea breeze knows that I have the temperature threshold of an artisan milk chocolate bar and the temperament of a two-year old who hasn't slept in 24 hours and just can't with the crusts still on the PB&J. So, I'm going. It won't be pretty by any stretch of the imagination, but I'm going and I couldn't be more thrilled. 

Safaris the eye can see

Recall your first memory of the Lion King... the thrill of the unknown in the 'Shadow Lands', the spooky majesty of the Elephant Graveyard, the sweeping savannah and the harmony of animal voices rising into one great chorus of hakuna matata. I can now attest that the 'wild' Kenya is actually not so farfetched from Disney's portrayal and that the circle of life really is a pretty glorious thing. My mom has come to Kenya and last week we went on the safari of a lifetime. We spent three days in the Chyulu Hills; on the southern Kenyan border with Tanzania, the conservancy is set against the dwarfing frame of Kilimanjaro. We then flew to the Maasai Mara, with sprawling plains and endless blue skies. 

I've never quite experienced the specific freedom that an open-sided Land Rover offers. I am very impressed by the durability and no-nonsense of that vehicle and can now attest that the Indiana Jones ride at Disneyland actually replicates the jarring movements quite realistically. It's been so long since I've gone top-speed with the wind in my hair (our windows are always up in Nairobi to deter theft), and we really did feel one with the environment. It's no wonder the old-timey colonials used Land Rovers for overlanding and general colonizing. 

The two "camps" we stayed at were in conservancies, as opposed to the national parks. Conservancies tend to be highly eco-conscious of their impact on the environment and work in partnership with local communities to provide safari and lodging services. At Campi ya Kanzi in the Chyulu Hills, the camp leases the conservancy land from the local Maasai community and operates the camp in partnership with the Maasai. Our hosts were gracious and experts on the flora and fauna of the hills. We spent a memorable morning 'drive' with our two guides trying to find an elephant with no luck, only to find five later that afternoon less than two minutes from camp! I was humbled by their openness and eagerness to share their homeland. Before the safari I was wary of the whole scheme: privileged travels, usually white from Western countries, going to ogle animals and locals in a quest to live out some colonial nostalgia that was borne in watching Out of Africa. Instead, I found an organization that is equal partnership Maasai and nature conservationist that offers visitors an opportunity to appreciate the nature and wildlife they aim to protect. The trust that Campi ya Kanzi funds supports schools and clinics in the local Maasai villages and takes local children on field trips to the conservancy. Our second stop, Saruni Mara in the Maasia Mara, had a similar ethos to Campi ya Kanzi and connected us to the conservancies in the vast Maasai Mara. Our timing could not have been better: it's currently low-season, so there were very few other tourists, and its 'baby season' on the savannah so we saw young lions, elephants, zebra, cape buffalo, hippos, jackals, mongooses (mongeese?), wildebeest (one that had been born just a few hours previously!), and a variety of antelope including impala, hardebeest, topi, Grant's and Thompson's gazelles. 

Below are some of the safari landscapes and animals we saw! 

From Harm to Home

This evening, two IRC colleagues (who also happen to be Princeton in Africa fellows) and I went to an exhibition opening at Amnesty International called I Define Me. The exhibit shows portrait photographs of Somali refugees holding or doing something that exemplifies who they are as individuals. It's an effort to challenge the label of 'refugee' and affords the subjects an opportunity to present themselves on their own terms. It got me thinking about the people IRC serves. Five months into the fellowship, and I feel like I have a better idea of the beneficiaries in our programs than when I started. I certainly know percentages, population increases, male and female breakdowns, the numbers enrolled in nutrition and HIV programs, etc. But sometimes I sit at my desk trying to comprehend what it means that a camp that was expanded in January 2014 to hold 120,000 people now is home to over 178,000 or that over 4,500 children were born in one year in one of the camps. For so many, these camps aren't just a place of refuge, they become home. People are born, live, and die in these camps, real people with likes and dislikes and strengths and weaknesses and feelings and interests and hopes and pet peeves and frustrations. I look forward to hopefully meeting some of these people some day and getting to know them beyond the numbers with which I've become so familiar.

(Me, at my cubicle in the IRC Kenya office).

Weekend wanderings

Today marks the end of month five on the fellowship, which is hard pretty hard to believe! I thought I'd mark the occasion by documenting some of this weekend. Eva and Christina came to visit, and we spent our time like this: 

Friday: After work we celebrated Nairobi Restaurant Week by meeting up with friends at Soi, a new Thai restaurant nearby. The food was delish and we welcomed the excuse to dress up. 

Saturday: Christina and I walked to Toi market in the morning to run some errands. In the afternoon, Rebecca and I met our friend Alex at the New Life Home Trust, an orphanage down the block from our apartment, where Alex volunteers. We spent two hours helping with the infants - playing with them, feeding them, and getting them to bed. I spent a good ten years babysitting at home, and I so enjoyed meeting the babies and helping out. I'm planning on going back regularly! In the evening, Rebecca, Christina, Eva and I met a family for dinner at one of the best Indian restaurants in Nairobi.

Sunday: Today we headed to the Kitengela Glass factory and had a great time exploring the grounds and seeing some stunning glasswork. Pictures from today follow! 

(above clockwise: two camels on the Kitengela property, a helpful signpost, our trusty morning French-press coffee, and a mosaic-ed treehouse)

(above: various hand-blown glass items from the glass factory; my personal favorite is the terrarium)

(above counterclockwise: Christina takes a solo swing, Eva and I pause for a selfie on a mosaic-ed throne, Rebecca and Eva take turns in the swing, and me).

Weekly words of wisdom

When you go into the world, go with your heart, mind, and body. How can you take in anything or learn from new people if you've left any part of your self somewhere else? 

- so said an old man who stopped me in the street on my walk home from work this week.  

Home cooking

Butternut Squash Soup*

The essentials for this recipe include: (1) electricity, (2) a blender device of some sort, (3) a heating element, preferably a stove and/or oven, (4) a good cooking playlist- I recommend this one. Or this one. 

Ingredients: 

• 1/2 butternut squash
•  2 yellow onions
• 1 apple
• 2 cups chicken broth
• 1/2 tsp. each of sage, basil, ginger 
• salt and pepper to taste

1. Cut the butternut squash in half, scoop out any seeds, and place the halves face-down in a roasting pan. Put the pan in a 375 - 400 oven for 45 - 50 minutes (on our oven this is #7 or 8 out of '10', which I assume puts the temp in the 375 - 400 range). 

2. About 15 minutes before the squash is done, finely chop the apples and onions, and sautée them in a pan with 2 Tbsp. olive oil and 1/2 - 1Tbsp. butter. Cook for approx. 10 minutes or until the onions are transparent and the apples are mushy. We left the skins on the apples, but you can choose to peel them beforehand. 

3. Check on the squash after 45 - 50 minutes of it's being in the oven. It's done roasting if the skin is papery and pulls easily away from the pulp. It's okay if it's toasty because it won't be going in the soup anyway. Remove the skin exterior of the squash and any tough bits. Once you've roasted and de-skinned your squash, dice it into cubes. 

4. Put the squash, apples, onions and chicken broth into a medium-sized saucepan and cook for 10 - 15 minutes. Remove from heat. 

5. Now comes the metamorphosis part! You can use a blender, food processor, or hand/immersion blender. Rebecca and I treated ourselves to a hand blender at Christmas, and it's my #1 favorite thing. Blend the mixture at 1 minute intervals until it has the consistency of, well, soup. 

6. Once fully blended, stick the soup back on a medium heat and add the salt, pepper, and herbs/spices. Heat thoroughly for 5 - 10 minutes. 

7. Enjoy! Bon appetit! Pour the wine and cut the cheese! We bought a baguette on the way home (yes, bougie Kenyan lifestyle choice, I know) and it was glorious. 

* This is a recipe I made up, so it comfortably serves 2 very hungry adults, and there were no leftovers.

Weekend roadtrip

This weekend, we headed four hours north to Nanyuki, where PiAf fellows (and good friends!) Eva and Christina work for the BOMA Project, and to Mpala Research Center, where Sally (also a good friend) works. We did some quality road tripping (see bumpy video below), saw gorgeous wildlife (I fed a hornbill peanuts from my hand this morning!), and did some hanging out and catching up. As always, I was grateful to get out of the Nairobi chaos and see more of this beautiful country!

(Pictured above left: Rebecca, Jayme - PiAf fellow at Sanergy, Eva, and Christina; above right: Rebecca, me, and Jayme on the equator).

We took a matatu from Nairobi to Nanyuki;  I sat shotgun on the ride home and snapped this pic as the sun was setting. Matatus don't make for the smoothest of rides, but they're a fun way to travel with friends and see the country. The video below was taken on our matatu ride out to Mpala, where we saw giraffe, dik-dik, impala, warthogs, mongeese, and even some elephants! 

See the video below for a quick shot of our weekend road trip adventures! 

Top 5 travel items

I have officially spent more time in Nairobi than any one location in the last four or five years, and not a day goes by I don't thank the stars for the travel opportunities I've had. This semi-nomadic pattern has given me numerous opportunities to pack and unpack my life, literally and figuratively. While I'm still prone to packing a bag slightly over 50lbs and having to unzip it all at the check-in desk and play lets-guess-how-much-shampoo-and-knit-sweaters-weigh, I have also accumulated a list of travel essentials. Here are my top 5 travel items, in order of priority: 

• Items in a carry-on to get me 24-hours without my checked baggage. Okay, cheating, yes because this involves a number of items (contact lenses, fresh clothes, a toothbrush, cash, chocolate) but it's a singular concept, and it's my list anyhow so I say it's one item. 
• A first-aid baggie with Emergenc-E, ibuprofin, Band-Aids, lip balm, and sunscreen. I cannot begin to explain how many times I've gotten sunburned or ill on day one of travel and have had to rally for the remainder of the trip. 
• A scarf. It doubles as a blanket on the plane and can be handy in cold weather or hot. Forgot a towel? A scarf is basically the same thing! Longing for a charming tablecloth for your impromptu picnic? Viola! Also it can provide hours of amusement on long flights or layovers. 
• Pen and paper. So deeply useful and underrated. I don't always have access to my smartphone and often need to write down directions, someone's number/address, spontaneously journal or make a grocery list. Also the golden rule of travel is: she who has a pen in the immigration line is the most popular traveler of all. 
• Tea bags, English breakfast, enough for a couple of days. "An essential item?" you snidely ask. YES. Tea is home and peace and sustenance and a good way to make travel friends and just pass the hot water would you?

Read All Over

I love mornings; I like having time to leisurely wake up to the day, have a cup of tea, eat breakfast and ease into whatever tasks I have ahead of me. Particularly, I like sitting down to the news; every morning growing up I'd share the paper with my dad as the sun rose over the San Francisco Bay and in college I listened to the BBC "World News Report" while getting ready. Staying current is more than just a point of interest in my Nairobi life, it can be a smart security move and a great way to feel connected to goings-on at home. Here are a few of my choice news outlets: 

• For African, East African, or Kenyan news I look to the good people at allafrica.com or Al Jezeera. For compelling thought pieces on all things Africa I go to Think Africa Press; I always appreciate the range of perspectives that speak on all topics, often ones a little too 'taboo' for Western news sources. For immediate, by-the-minute information, I go to Twitter; I follow a number of news agencies, the US Embassy, even the Nairobi international airport. 
• For international news, Reuters, the New York Times, and the BBC are all obvious, tried-and-true sources. For UN-related news, I head to What's In Blue or Security Council Report, which give great updates on what the UN Security Council is currently working on and developments within the UN. 
• For news of home, I'll check out SF Gate or follow headlines posted from friends on Facebook or Twitter. 

On with 2015

On January 5, 2014, I had no idea where I would be in a year; the world was full of question marks, and I still had a full and final semester of college left. In March, I committed to moving to Kenya and living out a year of service. In May, I graduated and closed a challenging, happy, and friend-filled chapter of my life. From June to early August, I met inspiring high school students and forged deep friendships with amazing co-workers. And then in late August, I said goodbye to almost everything I knew and loved and hopped a one-way ticket to where I am today. So in may respects it was a big year. But in others it was just life with a couple book-ends. Here are a few things I took away from 2014: 

1. Live with your decisions. This year, particularly the post-college bit, taught me the power of making and owning my decisions. I've been deeply grateful for the guidance of friends, family, and advisers, but I've also had to learn how to listen to my gut. As this whole adulthood thing is still shiny and new, I'm learning to accept the consequences of my decisions and most importantly to discern what I can learn from each experience. I've found pride in being responsible for my decisions, their outcomes, and my growth from them. 

2. Be where you are. I've spent a lot of time in the last few years missing people and places. I greet homesickness like an old friend and know too well how to ride the waves of the anywhere-but-here syndrome. But 2014 taught me that I'll always be a composite of the people and places I've loved and that I can only offer 100% of myself to one place at a time. In order to give 100% of what I have, to learn everything I can from an experience and to appreciate the world for what it offers, I have to be fully and wholly present. If the universe has put me 'here' then I might as well be here. 

3. Be kind to yourself. Balance was not a quality I was particularly keen on developing growing up; though I have no regrets, I spent a lot of time and energy perfecting academic and co-curricular performances. I'll never apologize for wanting to be Hermione Granger, but I'm beginning to value balance and to accept my limitations. Being kind to myself requires knowing how to listen to my self, something I did not have much consideration for in the past 17 years. It's a big world and I have to be my #1 supporter, friend, and advocate, right? 

4. "Why not?" is a better question than "why?" Thanks to a best friend's mom, I read Lean In earlier this year and did a lot of talking about female confidence with my empowered lady friends. What I have decided is that all of the self-doubting and society-exacerbated negativity that sometimes hold me back can be highlighted by asking myself, "why not?" And when I answer myself, I hear how BS most of the answers sound and how much I don't believe them. And if I do have a good answer for "why not" then I've found I can confidently move on to the next opportunity. 

5. A really good cup of tea fixes most any problem. I have known and adamantly touted this for years, but the highs and lows that rocked through 2014 only proved this to be more true. Tea can complement the bliss of solitude or bring people together. 

At 23, I am living my life for me. I'm unattached and responsible for no one's well-being but my own. My choices are by definition selfish, which does make me squeamish, but I also think it's important for me to make the most of what the world and life are offering me right now. Every day I'm learning more about myself and working on my weaknesses and championing my strengths. I've been blessed to know some truly good people in 2014 and to deepen old relationships. I'm looking forward to what this new year has to offer. 

Turning to home

Rebecca and I ventured to Ireland for Christmas, where we met my Dad and brother for the holidays. We cozied up by the fire with buckets of tea and had maximum quality time with extended family and friends, old and new. 

Going back to Ireland always feels like I'm going home, and in a way I am. It is the homeland, the homestead, and one of the places that instantly makes me feel at home in myself. I was lucky growing up to visit frequently, to know my cousins, family, and friends in Ireland, and to see the places where my dad grew up. Each time, I'm humbled to return to the homes, towns, seashores, luminous rolling hills, and graveyards that constitute the 'where I'm from'. There's something profound about just being at home and feeling whatever knots that have tightened in me loosen their holds. 

After two glorious weeks in Ireland, I made the trek back to Nairobi yesterday, but somewhere mid-flight I was struck by the weight of the trip's privilege. I've lost count of how many times I've been back; barring flight costs and time flexibility, there are no barriers preventing me from digging into my roots and relaxing into family. Yet here I am, four months into a full-time, intensive job with a humanitarian refugee organization, and I've only just appreciated the meaning of 'being home'. 

So for the next eight months in this new year, I resolve to work for this idea of 'home' - nyumbani in kiswahili. Every person deserves to know and to feel the calm and comfort of being home. I am privileged to be in a position that in some small way might impact that sense of home for someone else. Yes, I have my daily frustrations with work, and my job is deeply un-glamourous. But I also know that my cog in this humanitarian, bureaucratic machinery has to keep turning if those who have been forced from home, have never known or felt 'home', or are unable to return might be served.