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. 

Visiting Nanyuki

Two of my good friends (Eva and Christina, pictured at their home at right) and fellow Fellows work at the BOMA Project and live in Nanyuki, about 4 hours north of Nairobi. Rebecca and I visited a few weeks back and had a great time seeing their home and the town they work in. Nanyuki lies in the foothills of Mt. Kenya and sits on the equator (see the picture below!), making it a stunning spot and a perfect base for BOMA's operations. We had a great weekend visiting them and our friend and fellow Sally, who works 45 minutes away at the Mpala Research Station, which looks a lot like the set from the Lion King and took us on a game drive around the property. We watched the sunset looking out over sprawling hills and flatlands that are home to all manner of Kenyan wildlife. 

Rebecca and I watch a healthy amount of House Hunters International and Food Channel shows and this ad comes on all the time, and every time it comes on I forget what it is and think, "wow, where's that, I want to go there!" ... and then promptly realize what it is. You can take the girl out of America, but sometimes you can't take America out of the girl I guess. An interesting perspective on how my country markets itself to prospective visitors: 

Greetings from Zanzibar!

I love traveling. It probably goes without saying, but I'll declare my love again because that's how strongly I feel about it: I LOVE TRAVELING. Especially when it's to new places to meet great people. Last weekend, Rebecca and I (and our friend Eva, another Kenya fellow) packed our bags and headed for Zanzibar for the East Africa PiAf fellows meet-up. This was my first time truly leaving Nairobi in the three months I've been here; and it was glorious. Not that I'm not growing fond of the city, but I welcomed the change of scenery (cue white sand beaches, fresh sea air, warm Indian Ocean, seafood, and no chaos). I rode my first propellor plane (12 total propellors and I had to duck to board) and we flew right by Mount Kilimanjaro as the sun rose. I love flying, the anonymity I feel in the no-man's land between heavens and earth. The liberation of it and the sense of crossing the world are thrilling, and I'm reminded of my privilege to be able to travel so easily and grateful for the opportunities to do so. After 2 short hours we landed in Zanzibar, and 3 perfect beach days ensued:

On our second night we took a beautiful, 2-hour sunset cruise and swam in the ocean as the sun set... pure magic. The ocean was incredibly calm; when we were there there were hardly any waves, and the water was incredibly warm. 

The sand on Zanzibar was like fine-grain white sugar, but when we scooped some up we found bits of shells and coral. We even saw some huge starfish through the clear water. 

The Good Lie

I am just as skeptical of movies about 'Africa' as the next international-relations-grad-from-a-small-liberal-arts-school, but I will unabashedly recommend The Good Lie. The story follows a group of Sudanese refugee children who find a temporary home first in Kakuma Refugee Camp in northwestern Kenya and later in the US as adult asylees. Based on the tens of thousands of narratives that are the lived experiences of Kakuma camp residents, this movie does a good job of portraying the humanity behind the numbers and news stories. Does it oversimplify things? Yes, of course, it's Hollywood. My biggest contention with the film would be that the 'epilogue' credits fail to mention that conflict is ongoing in the region and that to solve one crisis does not solve them all. The absence of this may suggest that the audience assumes that the same conflict is ongoing, which is problematic, or that everything has since resolved itself, which is doubly problematic. The conflicts currently forcing populations to flee their homes are complex and different from that portrayed in the film. If you want to learn more, the IRC just published a paper and videos on the status of South Sudanese refugees that gives account of the situation through the eyes of an organization that is very active on the ground.

One of the things I appreciate about this film is entirely self-serving in that it reiterated for me why I'm here. It put into perspective the scale of the population the IRC serves not just in numbers (Kakuma's population currently stands at over 179,000) but in the potential, the love, the pain, the hope, and the community of the refugees. Also, the scenes of Nairobi are pretty realistic, and the bits of the camp give a visual of one of the areas I support daily.

So do yourself a favor, and spend the $11 dollars (or whatever it is these days) to see this film. Please don't come out of it thinking you've read the news or have a complete understanding of the 'plight of refugees' but know that it does compassionately tell parts of the real stories of some of the people I serve. And yes, you should absolutely bring tissues.

Kitengela Glass Factory

In the 11 weeks I've spent in Nairobi, I've only left the city 2 or 3 times; in all honesty I'm beginning to get a bit stir crazy. Gone are the days of hopping in a friend's car at a moment's notice and going on a weekend hike in the San Gabriel mountains, no longer can I escape to the expanse of Ocean Beach for some space and solitude. You can imagine my delight (and slight desperation) when my friend Margaret called asking if I'd be interested in heading out of town to check out the Kitengela Glass Factory, about 45 minutes outside the city center. 

(a slight side-story diversion: Margaret and I are friends because we were on the same flight(s) from DC to Nairobi and both missed our connection in Zurich by about 30 seconds. We spent four delirious hours in the Zurich airport sharing power bars, stale scones, a way-overpriced coffee, and a WiFi passcode. One re-route through Istanbul and two flights later, we arrived in Nairobi the type of friends that only mis-guided international travel can make).

The drive out to Kitengela is stunning; the day was fresh from the morning rains, the skies were a clear blue with puffed-up clouds, the wide and rolling hills were dotted with flat-topped acacia trees. After a bumpy ride across a muddy field we pulled up to what can only be described as the glass-and-craft version of Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. Plus the dense foliage of a tropical paradise and the wide expanse of the savannah. I thought I knew 'hippy', growing up in Northern California and familiar with the eclectic collection of craft and expression up the Russian River and northern coast. Kitengela Glass brought it to a whole new level, with iron-and-clay sculptures dotting the landscape and larger-than-life creations of glass and wire. Broken bottles mixed with the stone in the laneway walls, glass beads hung from tree limbs, stained glass windows peered from the rounded mud huts. It's like Alice went mad in art class or the witch from Hansel and Gretl created a less-aggressive venue for Burning Man or Dr. Seuss thought he'd try his hand at architecture. (Gee, Ellie, any photos to share? Apologies, none because I was blinded by my joy at getting some non-city air and adventure in my day as I was leaving the house and didn't grab my camera).

Bewildered and wide-eyed, we watched the artists blow glass in a giant, over-sized kiln. I don't think I've ever seen glass being blown before, and it was nothing less than jaw-dropping. The molten glass, composite of recycled glass bottles which have been melted down by heat from used engine oil, is like honey. It's either poured into a brick-like form for later use or gathered on a long metal pole by an artist who then turns and twists and blows it into some stunning thing. The artists produce beautiful glasses, mugs, vases, beads, bowls, sculptures etc. that are sold worldwide. The discarded pieces are used to mosaic the entire property and for the art around the property. We checked out the metalworks studio where the glass is used to make tables, chairs, chandeliers, and large-scale art installation pieces and then headed to the art collective next door. 

How to explain the art collective? Part tree-house, part gallery, part art workshop, part deck-overlooking-a-koi-pond-and-the-national-park, this was one of the strangest and most beautiful places I've been. There were glass ornaments, wizard hats made of cut-up beer cans, glass-bead wind chimes, wire bird cages, jewelry, and swings off the back deck. We wandered into the office of the founder and owner, Nani, who was the sweetest, most direct-questions-asking, eccentric woman I've met. A resident of East Africa since the 1960s, Nani is at once at ease in her environment and electric with curiosity. As she says, Kitengela is where broken and discarded things end up (it reminded me of this Beatles' song a little bit). In her home/family compound she has the most wonderfully ragtag collection of animals that follow her devotedly. There's a stunning (yes, also mosaic-ed) pool overlooking the national park and beehives throughout the property that yield gallons of golden honey each year. Nani and her family were warm and welcoming, and I felt privileged to spend an afternoon with them. I look forward to returning and learning more about Kitengela. 

I loved the Secret Garden as a child; too much, my mother would say, as I wore down the DVD and role-played the spoiled Mary all too often. I think I found in Kitengela the same sense of adventure, discovery, and nostalgia that I felt as a child and encountered something totally different from my experience thus far in Kenya. It was a stark and refreshing alternate to my desk/office life, one that drew from and inspired creativity. I was fortunate to grow up in schools and in homes that valued art and working with your hands and expression through multiple media, and I couldn't help but feel at home in this strangest of oases.