Benny in Kenya, July 7, 2012

We have returned from another successful and very busy expedition trip to Kenya.  This year, we had a youth group, as well as a regular expedition group.  The two groups overlapped, but since the youth built mud huts in the village of Vikolani where they lived for the duration of their stay in Kenya, we had enough room for all.

The next few posts will be from the youth group.  Jami, who dreamed up the Youth Leadership Expedition, planned and carried out all the details of it, had several of the kids type up a journal entry on her iPad, which will be what I post.
 

Saturday, July 7, 2012

Written by Benjamin Cardullo

After going to bed at 2 in the morning arriving from the flight, we woke up to the smell of chapatis in the morning  (chapatis being pretty much tortillas).  After breakfast we had heard of one of the turkeys being injured during mating, so they decided to kill it.  We got to see them chop off its head.  Post-mortem, the turkey continued to writhe and flap its wings. 

When we were ready to go to the village we will be living in, Vikolani, a bunch of kids from the local school greeted us and sang and danced for us.  They then continued to lead us to the village never letting up with their song or dance.  They had about three songs, repeatedly sung, which were highly entertaining.  When we got to Vikolani, they put on an official little show for us, which included a group of boys on the drums and some kids with an organized song and dance.  It was a wonderful representation of the Kenyan culture and it was nice to get to know the villagers better.  We were also introduced to the school leaders who were all working on building our mud huts, which truly showed how happy they were to have us there.  

Benny helping mud the huts

Jacob tossing the mud

After the show and introductions we helped finish the construction of our mud huts, which to be honest were better than most homes in Mombasa.  I got to go get water with the women, and we put wrapped scarves on our heads to keep from having hard plastic on their heads.  They could walk at a regular pace over treacherous irregular terrain with these buckets on their heads without even using their hands!  These weren't little buckets either, they were home depot sized, and the children were laughing at me as I approached the mud huts, my kanga cloth and shirt soaked through with water.  (by the way, this isn't Benny any more, in case if you are wondering why i am wearing a kanga cloth and carrying water on my head like a woman).  Mud huts, as you may have guessed, have mud walls with an inside of sticks.  We throw mud at the wall to close up holes.  Apparently, I am horrible at throwing mud at walls.  I didn't even know that is something you could be bad at.  

Carrying water back from the water hole

Back to Benny.  When we were done working for the day some of us headed straight back to the KCC camp at Myenzeni but some others, including myself, took the scenic route back.  We saw how Kenya functions agriculturally and we got to see the Koins farming lands and how they help the local community.  

Kenyan farm

Youth at the baobab tree at Windridge school

When we got back we had lunch and soon headed for a hike up to the Windridge school in Chikomani.  We got to see a bit more of the Kenyan culture and life style.  Upon return we all got to take long needed showers and the Brown group helped prepare our dinner of the previously deceased turkey, and some pilau, which is a rice dish.  After dinner we had our peaches and pits meeting, which is pretty much the high and low lights of our day.  The bottom line is that Kenya is amazing, and this was a wonderful first day of our trip.  

Live from Kenya

We have an expedition in Kenya.  Actually, we have two, as we have the Youth Leadership group in Vikolani, and we have the regular expedition at the KCC.  Altogether, it is a large group of Americans immersed in Kenya.  

We have had a very busy couple of weeks.  I will be adding more entries outlining our activities, and lots of photos.  

The top photo is the new Hidden Springs school at Bofu.  The opening ceremony was held last week.  There was another race hosted by Monica, the Race to Bofu, which brought out about 20 Kenyan women this year, compared to the 2 that ran last year.  

We planted trees behind the new school building, part of the opening ceremony.

We had several dances performed for us at the opening ceremony, all part of the cultural experience of an expedition.

Much of the group leaves for Mombasa tomorrow.  The remainder leave Saturday.  We have almost finished our work here.  There will be many blog posts to come outlining our experiences.

Asante sana,

IVL

Turkeys and Chickens in Kenya

Bret has regular visitors while staying at the KCC.  Sometimes they come to say "hi" or "welcome", sometimes they come bearing gifts, as is often the case of the families of our scholarship students.

A scholarship student and his family bring a duck as a gift to Bret

With the help of Self Reliant Agriculture, we are teaching villagers how to grow bigger, stronger and healthier chickens.  Chickens in our village area are common, but rarely do they have any size.  They are usually scrawny because they are exposed to sickness and disease without receiving the necessary antibiotics, while running wild foraging for their food. Our chickens receive the best of care from the time they exit the egg, never touching the Kenyan soil until they are over a month old.  Antibiotics are administered regularly to fight off the common avian illnesses that are so prevalent here, and our feed is the best available.  In return, our birds are healthy, with higher egg output.  The villagers are seeing the returns of keeping healthy animals, and are beginning to adopt the methods we are teaching.  The end result is to provide eggs and meat for the children on a regularly basis, and our strides are beginning to pay off.

Chicks in an enclosure get a healthy start

 Turkeys are VERY rare in Kenya, and fetch a price that is more than twice what they cost in America.  The Head Teacher at the South Summit School, Mama Mishi, had an outlet to sell turkeys, but had sold her birds in order to pay medical bills for her daughter that was born last year with Downs Syndrome.  With her contacts and willingness to care for the birds, we launched a private venture to raise these birds. 

Mama Mishi's daughter, Chizi (cheese-ee), entered the hen house to show us one of the nests that is full of eggs. There are four more nests just like this one, indicating that Thanksgiving platters in Mombasa will be filled with our birds.

 

 This Tom is a great model showing the overall health of our flock.  And there are more healthy birds strutting around our turkey enclosure.

The most exciting thing about our current work in Kenya is the innovative new projects, and the ability we have to incorporate fresh ideas into the work.  We are well established in the community, and our continued support of village schools and students, as well as multiple other projects has earned the trust of the villagers.  They are beginning to come to us with new ideas, and the partnerships we are creating will provide great opportunities for the future.

IVL

Kenya Updates - June 2012

Bret has been in Kenya for nearly 2 weeks.  There is a small expedition there now, with more board members to arrive this week, and 2 large expeditions coming in July.  There is a lot of activity going on.  Here are a few photos and explanations of what they are from Bret:

The innocent eyes of young Kambi (Cam-bee) look curiously into his first camera, fearful of the white man smiling at him.  He is the son of our seamstress, Mbeyu (Mm-bay-you), so he had better not shed those tears every time he sees one of us, or he'll surely become dehydrated.

Halee cuddles a newborn that she helped deliver at our dispensary.  Although she has a nursing background, helping bring this baby into the world was a special experience.

Sandra Dahl stands in front of the bore hole that is being drilled courtesy of the generous students and parents of Orion Junior High.  Once finished, this water well will change the lives of more families than any other single project in the area.  Clean drinking water, an additional growing season for vegetables, and the eradication of many water-borne diseases that are so common to surface water.  Priceless!

As the outside walls are completed, roofing begins on the youth group huts.  Within a couple of days the initial mudding will be applied, and by the time our youth group arrives they will assist in the completion of these palatial dwellings, spending two weeks walking in the shoes of the Kenyans we serve.  This group of young adults will have an experience that even the most veteran Koins supporters have never enjoyed.

I believe that Bret Matano was the first "Bret" in the village area.  There is rumor that one exists who is just a little bit older, but I don't know to whom they are referring as there are a few within this age range.  I believe this one looks more like me than the others, plus he practices his English and can communicate with me while the others cannot.  He knows I'm good for a few cookies when he walks the 2 miles of paths from his house to the Koins Center.....a journey well worth the effort.

The heavens opened yesterday washing away the dust while it washed away many concerns about the survivability of our villager's crops.  The level of humidity skyrocketed after the storms passed, but so did the water behind our Dam on Kevin's Creek.  The outlook on our gardens, construction projects, and interactive programs for our upcoming expedition could not be better.

I will post more as photos come my way.  There is so much happening in Kenya! 

Asante Sana, 

IVL

Movie Nights in Mnyenzeni - Bret's April Journal, Part 6

Our dinner at Kombo Mwero’s home was nothing short of delightful.  He is a gracious host and genuine gentleman.  He has lived in Nairobi for 35+ years, but decided to construct a home on one of the hills overlooking our area in 2009.  Mr. Mwero comes from a family where his father had three wives, so the roots are spread wide in our area, and Mwero is a common name.  This particular Mwero ended up in Nairobi almost by mistake, and ended up making it in a major way.  The invitation to join him for dinner was a treat for our entire group and the food prepared was very appetizing.  We brought my iPad and a mini-projector system that Burt brought along and showed the new Koins for Kenya movie “Purity.”  It’s a wonderful story documenting the first girl ever from our service area to achieve the number one position in our secondary school, and go onto university, where she continues to excel. 

The African guests, as well as the help from the kitchen, and a few neighbor kids all watched in a trance.  The story unfolded in front of them, seeing one of their own on the big screen, filled with wisdom beyond her years, inspiring all who looked upon her.  Tears were shed at the moving account of this phenomenal girl, and an enthusiastic applause erupted at the conclusion. 

Steve Quesenberry and I decided to ride motorcycles up to Majengo since the van was so cramped.  Now that the evening was over, the reverse trip was in order.  Our new motorcycles were shipped to the village from the U.S. because they are sporty and built for rough terrain.  However, a small oversight is that these performance bikes don’t have headlights, and as pitch black as things get here, they are day-only bikes.  We rode in front of the van on the way home, using the headlights as our guide, dodging potholes and washed out areas as we moseyed along.  Q’s bike suddenly sputtered, then died in the middle of the road.  He was out of gas.  I pulled aside with Q, sending everyone else back to the Koins Center with our driver to get some fuel and drop the group off.  Q and I stood silently under a tangible blanket of thick darkness, laughing at our ironic situation while absorbing the stunning beauty that the stars provided us.  We sang some rock and roll tunes, chuckled more, and waited for our rescuers, hoping they would take their time. 

The groundbreaking for the new school at Miyani is going to be a popular event.  That community has not enjoyed a groundbreaking since we constructed the Sean Michels School for our special needs kids over 4 years ago. 

A load of lumber arrived for desk-making, and bags of cement for more blocks.  With classrooms going up in Bofu and Miyani, and a new office at the KCC, our crews will be heavily engaged until the end of summer, and everyone wins when that happens.

Since schools are now on their break the Koins Center is a focal point for the university students.  Throughout the day these stellar young adults will drop by to visit Steve and I, to our complete delight.  We have watched these spectacular kids from their latter days in grade school, and now to see them obtaining university degrees is as rewarding as anything I have experienced in our work here.  Shy girls have blossomed into self-assured women of substance and culture.  Boys from the bush, with little social sophistication, returning home as refined intellectuals is stimulating to the soul.  It truly stirs the emotion as these young men and women vocalize their appreciation for Koins and their respective sponsors.  A young Muslim girl named Furaha (foo-rah-hah, meaning happiness) stopped by today to pay her respects.  She said something very prophetic while being interviewed by Burt Matthews.  He asked her what she would be doing if she didn’t receive a Koins scholarship, and she replied quite succinctly, “I’d be working in the fields.”  Then she continued talking about her sponsor, stating “With Bill Hardy I have no limit.  Without him, I have no possibilities.”

Hundreds of villagers showed up for the ground-breaking at Miyani, and similar to Bofu, when the dirt began flying, all we could do was stand back in bewilderment at the effort put forth to get this project started.  There was hardly room to move in the trenches, as men and women alike wielded their tools, chipping away at the baked soil.  Chatter abounds and laughter is plentiful as our superstars prepare the ground for footings and foundation.  In less than an hour, the job is complete with the construction ball back in our court to begin the pouring of cement……by hand, of course.

Five of our university students arrived shortly after dinner to pay their respects.  Moses, Sherrill, and a couple others also passed by since we are the center of attention.  Burt pulled out his mobile projector and we showed the Purity movie on the outside wall of the KCC.  More convened, and the Koins Theater entertained for the next 90 minutes between the Purity movie and episodes from the series “Earth.”  We lacked only popcorn.

It’s only 25 miles to Mombasa and the rain has really caused them problems.  Although we’ve not been completely dry, we need the water badly and all we have had is hot, gusting wind.  I was told that the same winds that pulled pieces of thatch roof from our village huts knocked down a series of tall billboards along the road to Mombasa.  Our sturdy roof rattled vigorously, but withstood the blustery assault.  Every day without rain has serious impact on all of our activities, so everyone is pleading to the heavens in unison. 

Mama Mishi smiles without reservation and loves to laugh aloud.  She is an industrious lady who farms the typical staples, but has also found that raising a certain type of tree used in the making of telephone poles provides extra cash every few years.  She has been exploring additional methods to provide for her abundant family of 8, even asking me for ideas.  I noticed she had raised three beautiful turkeys, which are expensive here, and asked why this could not be a revenue source.  She didn’t have the required knowledge to get serious about it, nor the resources to provide the protection and feed to raise proper broods.  I invited her to the KCC to meet with our poultry experts and be my partner in this enterprise.  Her face exhibited the excitement of this notion.  Patrick outlined the required tools, supplies, and numbers of birds that would be required to get serious about this business.  Mama Mishi and I agreed who would be responsible for each line item.  Her items required significant sweat and preparation, while mine was only funding.  Within a few a week we’ll have our initial flock within the confines of our turkey farm, so put your Thanksgiving order in now.  Mama Mishi plans to pay the medical bills for her 15 month old who suffers from Down’s Syndrome with her share of the proceeds.  I plan on eating turkey when I’m staying at the KCC.  It’s a great partnership.

The drill arrived to the excitement of everyone in our group and in the village.  Within 5 feet of piercing the surface, we found a layer of solid, inflexible rock.  The first meter and a half went like butter, but the next 10 inches required the rest of the day of unrelenting gnashing by the diamond-tipped drill. 

The Tuttle’s and Scott’s both came to the village today from LDS Humanitarian.  The Scott’s have visited our area on several occasions, while the Tuttles had only heard about us.  We showed them our facilities, discussed our activities, and even watched the drill in action together.  The church is looking carefully at the drill to see if it’s something they want to be involved in, so this was a great opportunity to see it working in such a rural setting, with the driving force being the local villagers who make it work. 

The Redd’s also came today from Mariakani where they are establishing a dairy, of all things.  The concept is great, and we’ll do anything we can to help them, so hopefully they can find a way to get the necessary momentum to create a replicable business that maybe we can imitate.

My partner in crime, Steve Littlefield, departed shortly after the rest of the crew, the difference being is that he is headed for the states.  He has worked diligently to establish new protocols and reporting for our financials, handing over the reins to Leah for this massive obligation.  Safari njema, rafiki yangu.

Burt, Spence, Scott, Jake and I all went for a late afternoon run together.  I cannot imagine what 5 alabaster-skinned guys looked like to the villagers we passed as we clomped along the uneven pathways towards Vikolani.  We ran to the spot where our Youth Expedition will be located, then down to the watering hole where they will fetch their bathing water.  On well-worn trails we traversed some freshly plowed fields as the sun began to set.  Our pace quickened as we realized darkness would be upon us soon.  As we passed through Mnyenzeni we saw a perfect setting for a village movie.  After dinner the painted wall of a fallen house became the town’s one and only theater, featuring the Lion King.  There was no advertisement, no advance notice.  The movie was set up, and the play button was pushed.  Within minutes we had over 50 kids seated all around watching the film in total amazement.  When mothers came looking for their children, the recognizable groans from disappointed kids could be heard.  We were major contributors to their delinquency tonight, so we’ll begin our next movie a little earlier.  What a fantastic evening to watch a movie under the stars, especially when the patrons had never seen a movie before.

BVL

Bofu Groundbreaking, Mombasa Chaos, Life in Kenya

Bofu (boh-foo) is a larger village like our central village of Mnyenzeni.  It’s 7 miles away by road, but only 4 if you take the small paths that connect the web of villages around here.  In Bofu they have a secondary as well as a primary school, both of them trying to catch up to Mnyenzeni’s schools.  Curt and Sue Tingey have gathered funds from friends, family, and innocent bystanders to help lift Bofu closer to their goals by constructing another set of much-needed classrooms.  The Koins team jammed into our rented van and headed to the groundbreaking ceremony that was planned.  We arrived to a huge gathering of the community, all interested in getting busy and getting the project started.  The corner pegs had bright strings indicating where the building walls would go.  We have outlined so many classrooms around here that our staff can measure our standard classrooms with their eyes closed.  Steve gladly took the pick in his hand and drove it deep into the soil (about a ½ inch because the dirt here is like smacking asphalt).  He repeated the same process several times to the exuberant cheers of the villagers who came to help.  He stepped aside and Leah took her turn.  This was not the first time this girl had thrown a pick, and dirt began to fly.  I’m sure Steve softened the ground for her. Within a minute everyone who had shown up began mauling the soil with their hoes, shovels and broken picks.  Within 5 minutes the outline was clear and strings removed.  Only 40 minutes after groundbreaking the work stopped.  Many hands make light work had no truer example than at Bofu today.

Steve asked to have us driven to a school where we have never worked before, even though the existing school is within our service area.  The road to Nunguni (noon-goon-ee) is not a road, but a 4-wheel drive route through bristly stubble and coarse, rocky landscape.  We arrived to a silent courtyard and empty classrooms as school ended last week for a monthlong break.  The walls of this rustic village school were of rock and mud, with floors exclusively dirt.  There were a total of three desks at this school of 250 students, with two of their classrooms serving multiple grades – one teacher standing at one end of the classroom while the other trying to teach from the opposite end.  The school needs serious attention, so a meeting with them will be in order.

Upon returning back to the main dirt road from Nunguni, the Area Chief had to return to Bofu to the right.  The Koins Center was to the left, but the bumpy road had several of us wanting to stretch our legs and back, so we got out and began walking.  Steve and Buffalo walked together, and even though I was in long pants and button-up shirt, I began running, thinking that I would continue until the car picked us back up.  By the time I reached Chikomani, over 20 minutes later, the van had not arrived, so I ran down the hill towards home, dodging rocks and thorny bushes along the trail.  I actually made it back to the KCC before the van, overheated and sweating like a team of horses.  A cold bucket shower with a frozen water chaser saved me.  No more afternoon running for me, thanks!

Quick trips to the dispensary often provide spectacles of activity that would be impossible to witness in the U.S.  During my last trip here I was able to help in the birthing of a little boy.  Secretly I hope for something just as astonishing, but today there is only a dislocated elbow of an older woman who fell, and a sick young man with symptoms of the flu.

As I walk back to the KCC I visit with several villagers from the area.  I practice my best Duruma greetings with them, and they find it extremely entertaining as I stumble through the succinct progression of their repetitive exchanges.  It would be nice for me if the whole thing didn’t change throughout the day, so the morning greetings are different from the afternoon or evening.  Throw in the plural context if you’re speaking to more than one, and it turns messy real quickly.

A firestorm of electrical activity keeps the dark night sky jumping, but no rain today.  Perhaps we’ll be fortunate tomorrow.

__________________________________________________

With the SRA and Koins bringing their staffs together, further aligning our organizations, coupled with all the changes we have made in our board, we have had a lot of table time going over an abundance of mutual objectives.  In very short order I am certain the progress of our agricultural programs will accelerate, advancing our communities in nutrition, scholastic achievement, and commerce.  Our path will be paved with a lot of exertion, but once realized, it will surely become a super-highway to a much higher life and health standard for all involved.

The trip to Kinango is 36 excruciating kilometers of bad road, washes, and stone avoidance.  The math tells us that even though it’s less than 25 actual miles, it required 90 minutes to reach the headquarters of our school district.  We met with the D.O. - District Education Officer (Superintendant of Schools) to discuss our mutual plans for the Koins Service Area.  Our construction activities need to match the agenda of the D.O. so we can always insure the correct number of teachers with our corresponding buildings. Mr. Kimani is a younger man with the “can do” attitude that is beginning to creep into the old bureaucratic mindsets of inaction.  He must work within the confines of ceremonial politics, but his determination to drag his constituency forward is refreshing.

The road to Kwale traverses Shimba Hills, an animal sanctuary thick with trees of every kind, providing refuge to its inhabitants.  I have made this journey on several occasions, and all I have to show for it is a bad photo of a warthog heading away from me.  The road shows no improvement over what we have been on, but once we reach Kwale we hit pavement.  It’s full of potholes and uneven patches, but it’s a far cry from what our last 60 miles has been.  Kwale sits perched atop a hill that flows down to the Indian Ocean.  The scenery is stunning, but it’s no place to plan your vacation.  From here we take the coastal road to the southern part of Mombasa.  Luckily we arrived to functioning ferries, so we drove aboard the rusty vessel and she escorted us across the channel leading to Mombasa.

Steve and his entourage of SRA staff came from the village in the north and we convened at the Bank of Africa.  The process by which signatories are changed from the old guard to the new and creating two new accounts was baffling.  I have closed commercial real estate deals with less documentation and procedural hullabaloo than this, but there is simply no option……and the truth be known, we were in an air-conditioned office.

Like a group of associates going out after work, we closed the bank down.  I was given the keys to drive as this was going to be an adventure trying to reach the village at this hour.  Mombasa has one main road leading north towards Nairobi.  The road is single lane most of the time, but riddled with obstacles all of the time.  Throw in the traffic component and our trip back home will surely be two hours, with the distinct possibility of turning into three or four if the single lane road experiences even the slightest mishap along the way. 

Drivers are beyond aggressive here.  In all actuality they are very alert and quite astute behind the wheel, but chaos rules.  The jam began early, and the line of dusty trucks exiting the city clogged the single artery of the city.  With oncoming traffic reasonably light, we spent more time in the other lane than our own.  When vehicles met us we simply went to the shoulder of the opposite side of the road.  Police officers at the major intersection leading out of town (Steve calls it Malfunction Junction) try and maintain some semblance of order, but it is a free-for-all that boggles the mind.  As I approach the intersection on the other side of oncoming traffic, passing cars in all directions, I don’t even receive a second look.  I’m not causing a jam, so they don’t even pay attention to us.  This major road has no asphalt even though the Chinese “repaired” it just three years ago.  The only thing that remains from their work are the large stones that were to provide a base, which now act as tire-puncturing devices.  This is a four-wheel-drive rally road that must be traversed by commercial vehicles, buses, taxis, and Koins for Kenya vehicles.

As I place my thoughts on paper, I sit solitarily in the dark, my computer screen the only source of light for miles.  A small choir of frogs sing in the distance while two geckos fight on the wall above me.  Now that the lights have been extinguished, their buffet of insects has closed for business.  Unfortunately I have become the focus for every kamikaze bug and I am inundated with creepy-crawlies of all sizes, so my day ends via default.

________________________________________________________

Leah’s baptism by fire begins early and appears relentless throughout the day.  Anthony is here to provide backup, but Leah is learning the ropes in rapid fire bursts.  Her stern discussions with soft undercurrent demonstrate her leadership abilities.

The morning clouds protected Rick and I as we bustled down one of the many paths leading away from the village.  Although he’s been here in the village for several days, he has not experienced our area.  We crossed the gully near where the baby was found and began following three village women carrying their early morning water buckets back to the village.  I bid them good morning in Duruma, and they gladly responded in kind.  We chatted as we walked with them, learning that they were headed to Majengo, only a mile away.  We headed up the hill to a peaceful family village consisting of 11 small huts.  As we approached, Rick was given the warm welcome that I have come to love from these people.  “Karibu” (welcome) is heard over and over from young and old.  Two younger ladies, carrying babies on their hips, entered the village court to greet us.  One spoke English very well, telling Rick she had completed primary school but lacked funds to continue into secondary.  She was so articulate and bright that I was curious why she had not qualified for the Koins scholarship.  She had finished primary school a year or two before our program had started, so she had no options available to her.  She returned to her village, got married at 16, and now has 4 beautiful children helping fill the compound with all the other kids.  Although she is content with where she is in life, who knows what would have happened if she had not slipped through the cracks.  The possibilities are endless to imagine.  Now all we can do is hope that she has food and her children grow without too much sickness.  With luck on our side, we will educate her children.

The clouds began to distribute their wares over our valley, so we turned back towards the center.  We walked down into the thick coconut grove, taking shelter under a massive mango tree.  As we waited for the heavy drops to lighten I could hear familiar whistling above our heads.  If it weren’t so melodic I would think a strange bird had taken refuge in the palms above us, but I knew it was Chirima (chee-reem-ah), the local harvester of coconut beer.  He spends his days in the tops of the trees tapping the young leaves for their nectar high in the canopy above.  The sugar content is so high that the white liquid ferments in a day within the small, dirty jugs he attaches to the stems.  I’ve never seen Chirima without a smile on his face and the sweet sound of a happy bird coming from his puckered lips.  He doesn’t appear to be intoxicated, but a man this happy is suspicious when his mode of making a living is brewing illegal elixirs here in the village.  He shimmied down the tree like a fireman responding to an alarm, greeting me with his normal cheerful disposition and hearty handshake.  His English outperforms my Swahili, so we gravitate to that mode of conversation.  Business is good, his family is healthy, and his trees are performing well.  Life is good.

The hair on my head has grown past the stubble stage.  It’s difficult enough to maintain facial hair in an orderly fashion here, but with all my meetings with the local leaders, I’m forced to stay clean shaven.  I hardly notice the graying wool on my cranium becoming bushy until an African reaches out and rubs their hand on it to feel the thin carpet of spikiness.  Out comes my dulling blade, and while showering in our open air stalls, I polish my head as best as I can.

Kombo Ali, the first student from our area to receive a scholarship, visited his favorite white man, Steve Littlefield.  Nancy and Steve have sponsored Kombo from the first day, providing additional benefits to this hardworking boy to support him and sustain him. Kombo’s father was bitten by a puff adder several years ago, dying from the lethal injection of toxins from this feared serpent.  His mother would not succumb to the cultural traditions of this tribe, rejecting the uncle as a replacement husband.  She was kicked out of the village, having never returned.  The children remained behind with the rest of the clan, and Kombo was not able to attend secondary school due to the tuition.  Steve and Nancy fell in love with him during one of their expeditions, and now this valedictorian is finishing his accounting degree and his American parents could not be more proud.

George Kihoro, the current chairman of the Kenyan board of Koins, also made the trip to the village from Kinango.  His new assignment as head teacher in Kinango has restricted his daily involvement with us, but his heart and passion remains as sturdy as ever.  Someone new will take his place as chairman, but his experience and wisdom will remain firmly with us as a board member.

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I was running on the main road when a car approached me from behind.  It slowed down considerably as it neared, but always staying behind me.  I moved over, and it still didn’t pass.  I curiously turned around to see that Kombo Mwero was the driver.  He is the former Minister of Agriculture of Kenya, and one of my original friends from the government.  He has constructed a nice home within our area, and was on his way to a meeting when he saw a large, white guy running and was ascertaining if it was me.  It’s always good to see this classic man, one of great honor and dignity.  He was kind enough to invite me to his home for dinner in a few days, which I declined since I would have many guests and needed to make sure they were fed.  He requested that I bring the entire group with me, so now I’ll be able to share this wonderful guy with everyone.

As I chose another path to return to the village I came across a family burial plot.  I hoped that it was not considered trespassing as I looked at the hand-etched headstones.  An old man of 47 years was the largest above-ground sarcophagus on the plot.  Several others with only dates of death were scattered in the small area, along with simple piles of stones which demarcated a burial place. In all there were 17 individuals buried here.  It is Duruma custom that anyone killed in an accident be buried away from the family plot to make sure their bad luck doesn’t result in any other accidents.  I’m sure the stories behind the individuals entombed here would be moving since dying of plain old age is a rarity.

I ran into the man we found a few days ago with the severe leg wound sitting in front of his workshop today.  No matter how sick he might be, he is the breadwinner for his household and therefore has no choice but to work as hard as he can.  He has cut out the metal heads used for hand hoes with a hammer and chisel.  He methodically pounds the heads into their final shape, then pummels the edge until it becomes a sharp blade for cutting through the earth.  He is too weak to go out looking for the proper wood that is used for the handles, so he sends someone.  His work is precise and his tools hand-forged for strength.  I ask what it costs for one, the reply “240 shillings.”  I asked if I were to buy ten, the quick answer, “2,400 shillings.”  Although this amounts to $3 per hoe, I negotiate aggressively because I wanted to buy more than one.  We settle on 200 shillings per hoe and I order 20.  He can make 5 per day, so 4 days from now I can pick up my hoes for a total of 4,000 shillings ($50).  He probably makes 70-80 cents per hoe net profit, so at 5 per day he can rake in up to $4 for his work, a very nice living around here.  The hoes will be given out to the top performing women of our agricultural programs, and they will think they have struck gold.  Everybody wins.

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As I was running the other day a man called my name from the field where he was planting corn seeds.  I waved until he asked me to stop, which I did.  I needed a break anyway.  He came to me and told me that he wanted me to come to his village so he could give me his biggest chicken.  This is a great gesture, but I wondered why such a random act.  He then explained that it was me who had helped his wife during child birth a couple of months ago.  He went on to explain that since they named him “Bret,” the boy had grown strong and healthy, and he believed this all tied together.  I graciously acknowledged his kindness, but told him that I was the one blessed by his son having my name.  Well, today I was summoned to the front porch where the man, his young wife, and little Bret awaited me with a flailing chicken in a plastic bag.  These people cannot afford to extend such gifts, but their desire to give it to me could not be curtailed.  I sent Bret home with a new blanket and his parents received one of my gift bags filled with corn flour, sugar, rice, and some wheat flour.  Mine is a gesture of kindness, while there’s was a gift of the deepest appreciation.  I cannot match that.

Since arriving here I have received several chickens one goat, one hand-woven hat, and a piece of coral from the ocean.  I have had several of the boys named “Bret” come and visit, and have employed one of them to make marbles out of clay for our group to take home as gifts.  He’ll make a tidy sum, we’ll have a great story to tell, and everybody wins.

There is truly nothing better at the end of the day than taking a shower in the Koins shower stalls.  The African night is a spectacular site with thousands of bright diamonds scattered overhead.  The far away sound from villages can be heard as you wash and prepare for the night.  Tonight I found a passenger that I picked up somewhere along my travels.  He was small, but extremely uninvited.  I felt his presence as I scrubbed today’s dirt from my skin.  Unfortunately where he decided to attach himself to me was particularly unsettling.  What was even worse is that the possibility of having someone willingly help me remove the tick would be improbable.  Luckily he had only been there a short while and had not begun feasting on my blood yet.  As he struggled with all his might, holding tightly to the flesh he so badly wanted to chew on, I plucked him and systematically crushed his body with my fingernail.  After what he tried to pull, only one type of punishment fit the crime………at least in my book.

BVL

Bret's April Journal, Part 4

Kenya’s landscape is crisscrossed with geographic boundaries called districts, sub-locations, etc., and now with the new constitution, counties will be the main dividing lines of the country.  Kenya’s people are also carved up by 42 main tribes.  There are Christians, Muslims, and Hindu wherever you go, and they all live peacefully together…..for the most part.  Although they are human and prefer staying with “their own,” they inter-marry between tribes and religions, often changing their religion to satisfy the family requirements of one of the spouses.  Johnson, our driver, was raised a faithful Christian.  Deep down he remains a Christian, but he practices Islam because it is the common belief that the children are to be raised in the religion of their mother, and she is a devout Muslim.

Needless to say, there is a great pride about one’s roots.  The only thing that comes close in the U.S. is college football, where school pride brings out the most spirited behavior.  Our schools compete daily with each other, most often on the academic front.  The end-of-term results are watched like a heated Olympic event.  Headmasters of our schools, who are all comrades engaged in the same fight, secretly desire that their friend down the road falters so they can overtake their position with their school. 

Several years ago a sparkling family, The Michel’s, came to our area after sponsoring an entire school dedicated to their son, Sean.  Their little boy was a special needs child, and suddenly passed away at a young age during a family vacation.  The legacy for their special boy would be a wonderful oasis for special needs children throughout our area.  There are no facilities or programs for these unfortunate children, so they are mostly ignored, and never receive the opportunity to develop academically.  Our collective favorite at the Sean Michel’s School (known around here as the SMS), is a boy named Beja.  He has cerebral palsy, and until the SMS was constructed, had been placed on a grass mat in his home and given food to live.  He never went to school, was never invited to play, nor was he able to assist his parents in the fields.  Although his mother loves him, the weight of providing for her other children simply does not permit her the luxury of caring for him.  There are no buses to carry him to a school, or programs that could help him along.  He is a bright, beautiful boy with a happy, loving spirit, alone in an uncooperative body, stuck in a country that cannot care for him.  The SMS embraced Beja, and dozens more with similar situations, giving them a comfortable place to stay, and a staff to attend to their needs.  The SMS is located next to one of our primary schools where our special children are taken for daily instruction in a normal classroom setting. 

Lisa and Rowe Michels, and Beja, star of the SMS

Over the last couple of days some of our children were taken to Mombasa where competitions were taking place for the special needs kids.  The larger town and cities have schools dedicated to the special needs children, but this was the first time anyone from this part of the bush had participated.  Because the SMS is recognized as a Koins school, the community was anxiously awaiting to hear the results of “their school.”  With great pride the talk that is quickly spreading throughout the village is that 3 girls and 2 boys have qualified for the national competition held next week in Nairobi.  These are children that have never been to Mombasa before, and now they are having the red carpet rolled out for them to compete on the national stage, and the government that has ignored them is sponsoring each of them to make the trip.  Their counterparts in the classroom have never imagined going to Nairobi, so upon their return the stories will be plentiful, and these special needs kids will most certainly be in a spotlight that will not dim quickly.

Our schools are closing for the end of the term.  Many of the teachers take college courses during this month off, going straight from their classrooms to various campuses throughout the country where they will study day and night, cramming a semester worth of studies into one month.  Prior to their departure they must correct all the final exams, tabulate the results, and turn them into the headmasters of their respective schools.  Today we had some drama up in Miyani when the results were made public.  We had a girl that had been number one in her class since day one.  Now she is in 8^th grade, and making a strong name for herself.  Last January when I was here I challenged one of her male counterparts, a young man named Dete (day-tay) to try his level best to overtake her.  He shook his head as if this wasn’t going to be possible, but I promised him a goat if he pulled it off.  I’ll be going shopping for a goat because he actually caught girl-wonder and beat her by 8 points.  Now I feel horrible because she cried all day with the news that she had been dethroned.  However, Dete discovered that he could push hard and achieve the unachievable.  Maybe I’ll buy a goat for her, too.

A day in Mombasa is like having your teeth cleaned with a Black and Decker cordless drill and a wire brush.  I keep trying to find something appealing about this city of almost 2 million, but it has escaped me for ten years.  The beach area is fantastic, and the sand is as inviting as anywhere I have vacationed, but this city on the coast, which is actually an island, has zero appeal.  Unfortunately, it serves as the gateway to Eastern Africa with the largest port along this coast.  Anything we need for construction, expedition supplies, or groceries, you have to go to Mombasa.  We did meet the District Officer there and had another nice meeting at the end of the day, so yes, there is a silver lining to our black cloud of the day.

Returning to the village late at night to the sound of funeral drums in the distance is never a good sign.  Oddly enough, on one ridge there was some kind of party going on, while on the absolute opposite end of our basin we must have lost someone.  I’m sure I will find out tomorrow the story behind this unfortunate event.

Mike Bumstead from the Institute of Self-Reliance Agriculture finally joined us in the village late tonight.  He is here to finally see what all the talk is about with his organization’s speedy rise with their programs in Kenya.  He will also visit with Leah since she will assist with the management of the SRA as part of her Executive Director position with Koins.  Good thing she is full of energy and desire because nothing short of that will fill both of our needs. 

Runs in the early morning are probably wonderful experiences for those who get after it.  After 4 hours of total sleep, I wasn’t going to be one of them.  We had work to do, and instead of doing what I had planned, I was squeezing every single moment of mattress time that I could. 

Goats needed their vaccinations, and a meeting with a potential sewing center manager kicked off our day.  Mike finally gained consciousness about 8:30 and wearily stumbled out onto the porch to assess his whereabouts in daylight.  We had forgotten to give him directions around our center last night, so he admitted to watering one of our plants in front of the center during the night.  His wasn’t the first, that’s for sure.  Our he-goats are busily keeping up with the demand in the tight quarters of our pen where 31 available females are needing attention.  Now I understand why certain parts are so prodigious with this particular breed.

One of our happy billy goats

We skipped breakfast and went straight away to the “shamba” (gardens).  Mike was truly amazed at the work that has taken place since Koins embraced the SRA programs.  He soaked in all the various activities, greeting the many ladies (and one man) working to grow the food according to their program.  Citrus groves and fruit trees, the digging of the fish ponds, and the goat and chicken houses are now in full swing.  Once our bore hole is drilled and fresh water is pulled begrudgingly back to the surface, the Garden of Eden will re-emerge in this dusty village.

The tractor is plowing every day, and breaking down with something just as often.  A ball-bearing went this morning, but our guys tore it down, and we took the pieces to a shop in Mazeras.  It was repaired and back on track in a matter of hours, with parts and labor crushing our pocketbooks at $36.  I’m not sure you could get a spark plug changed in the states for that amount of money.

I’ve lost the keys to Leah’s ATV, and we’re not talking a small misplacement.  They’ve been gone for three days, and now I’m even convinced they’re outta here.  I have no idea, and we have only one set, so Leah may be learning to ride a motorcycle soon so she can get around after I’m gone. 

Our afternoon walk took us up towards the giant baobob trees on the ridge at Chikomani (cheek-oh-mah-knee).  Mike enjoyed the interaction with the villagers, their kind greetings, and genuine friendliness to us.  He looks at everything through agricultural possibility lenses, sincerely desiring to assist these people.  We ran across the girls who came the other day to pick up blankets.  They were going down to pick up water from the pond at the foot of the hill, not far from where they live.  They restated how much they enjoyed the blankets and thanked us profusely.  Oh how I wish the ladies that made those blankets could see the light in these ladies’ faces when receiving, or later talking about, their blankets.

As night fell upon us we hastened our pace.  As we passed through the last small set of homes before entering the compound, Bwana Mwero sat in front of his house and called to me.  I could barely see him in the dark, but as I neared I could see who it was.  This is a man that has assisted us on so many occasions they are without number.  His children have attended our schools, and he has always tried to show his support through working on our behalf.  His trade is a blacksmith, making small hand tools for the area.  It is not uncommon to hear the sound of his heavy-handed hammer striking away at a molten piece of iron, molding into something that will help feed a family.  As I greeted him with a firm handshake I asked him how everything was.  He stated that he was doing well except for the wound on his leg.  It is rare that someone would talk about a wound unless it was serious, so I inquired further.  He lifted his loose-fitting pants to reveal a shocking site that caused me to take a deep breath.  This was not anything like what I could have even imagined.  This man had a gaping hole in his upper leg, and was receiving no medical treatment. 

Untreated wound

We remained at his place for 10 minutes or so, but really had to get back as visibility would soon be nil. Within minutes we had reached the dispensary and found Joy, one of our nurses, filling her water bucket.  We asked if she had even known about Mwero’s leg, which she had, but stated that she had never seen, nor treated it.  I was dumbfounded, but at the same time it didn’t surprise me.  Upon finally arriving back at the KCC I couldn’t get the picture out of my head, so I asked Yama if he knew about it.  He said that he did, but didn’t know that it had become unusually large.  I showed him a series of photos that I took, and then he plainly stated, “yeah, that’s what people with AIDS have around here when their immune system cannot fight off an infection.”  These are difficult lessons to learn when involving someone that you’ve known for many years.  Yama and I will go see him tomorrow to urge him to come to the clinic and begin the available drug treatment for his virus.  The sadness of the situation is really when you realize that the probability of him telling his wife that he is sick with HIV/AIDS is negligible, and she will end up with similar results. 

I prepared dinner for the small group – Italian, of course – and the evening was quickly winding up.  Mike was heading quickly into a comatose state, and I’m not far behind.  Ambien, anyone?

The nearest LDS Church to us is on the north side of Mombasa, so we leave at 8:50 so we can arrive in time for the 10:00 meeting.  The morning was so dazzling that I could not sit around, so I left the bustle of the Koins Center and went for a brief run (all of mine are brief).  As I crossed the river bed I ran through a coconut grove into a grassy area where goats were grazing.  Two young billies were jousting with their stubby horns, practicing for the time when it their turn at leading the herd.  Out of breath and near cardio infarction, I crested the hill near Chikomani, taking a rest as I was greeted by some young children playing marbles with their hand-made spheres of mud.  I continued down the other side of the knoll towards Nunguni (noon-goon-ee), a place where we have never really been, but one that has natural beauty and fertile soils…..and a school that badly needs our help.  They’ve never partnered with us, so we have yet to extend our assistance, but we have heard they are saving their funds to start engaging us.

As I jogged along the small pathway above the village I rounded a sharp corner, innocently startling three small children.  The two older ones ran quickly up the small slope into a small clutch of huts, but the smallest of the three, little girl of perhaps three years, shrieked so loud that it frightened me.  Almost immediately a young father bounded out of his hut after hearing the screams of his daughter.  He looked at me with disdain, recognizing that I was the cause of his daughter’s panic.  I quit running, and mustered the best Swahili greeting I had “habari ya asabuhi.”  He didn’t answer, but came back asking me in English “who are you.”  In trying to keep with his tongue, I answered, “mimi ni Baba Bret (I am Baba Bret).”  With that he looked even more sternly, then asked me again.  I repeated it more clearly, thinking he had not heard me.  With a slight relax of his face the tone turned friendlier as he inquired if I was the Baba Bret with Koins.  “Ndio (yes),” I replied.  With that he commented, “You are the ones who have made Mnyenzeni so beautiful.”  It’s difficult to say when words this simple have ever made me more proud of what we have accomplished.  “Nashakuro (I am grateful)” I responded.  I wish I knew how to tell this man of meager means that his words of encouragement had filled my day.

Just over a mile away I stopped at Mama Fatuma’s house.  They looked worried as I came into their small compound, red-faced and gasping for breath.  Samantha and Rumba were the first to extend warm greetings to me.  These two stars are both at national schools since their performance in primary school was above all others.  They have come home for their term break, and to see their academic achievements, personal growth and maturity is beyond inspirational.  Rumba, a handsome boy with a deep smile took my hand and walked me towards the newly plowed field.  As we stopped, far enough away where others could not hear his words, he articulated his gratitude for what Koins has done for him.  He stated that without his scholarship, pointing at the dry earth in front of us, his mind would be wasted turning soil with his hands.

Samantha will be our next female superstar.  Confidence has purged her shyness as she willingly gives me a tight hug.  She is in Purity Mrabu’s shadow, our first girl to go to University from the area, but Sammy’s focus on even higher performance will push her to new heights.  So far Samantha has straight A’s, and around here these are hard numbers to achieve in one class, let alone 8 at a time.

One of the many carvers at Akamba

It was getting late so I turned back to the KCC.  I arrived in time to take a shower, dress quickly, and start the car as everyone piled in.  My deepest appreciation turned to the man who invented air conditioning.

After church we stopped at the Akamba Village where dozens of wood-carving craftsmen produce works of art with their rudimentary tools.  We needed to pick up a few items so off to the shops we went.  Mupa Matano, a 12 year old girl that I’ve known since she was a toddler, came with us today.  She is Rumba and Sammy’s little sister.  A day in a car, going to town is an exciting event, so when I extended the invitation, there was no hesitation.  Tusky’s is a large store that caters to the European crowd.  We entered and her eyes lit up.  She had never been in a building this large, especially one with so many items on the shelf.  She didn’t even know what anything was, but enjoyed watching us select them and put them in our trolley cart.  I could see her sneaking a glance at the packaging, occasionally picking something up and reading the label, trying to determine what it might be.  I asked Leah and Emily to take her upstairs and buy her a nice top.  Utter delight would be an understatement on Mupa’s reaction.  Everyone was hungry so we ordered from the food counter.  Both Emily and Mupa ate their chicken burgers slowly and methodically, careful to not waste a bite.  Mike bought ice cream bars and handed one to each member of our party.  Mupa was hoping to save hers until she went home.  She didn’t understand the word “melt” until we unwrapped the bar and it immediately began dripping down her tiny, black hand.  We told her to quickly to begin eating it, which she did.  She discovered ice cream that hot afternoon, an experience she will never forget.  On our way home, even Emily, the queen of our kitchen who lives in the village, said that this day was possibly the best day of her life.  How’s that for a little perspective?

Mama Emily and Ester, cooks at the KCC

A downpour of rain turned the Koins Center into a giant snare drum.  The rain fell at a crescendo, crashing down from low level clouds.  It would subside, then attack all at once in full force.  Villagers scattered for cover as I watched the scene unfold from the comfort of my Adirondack chair on the protected front porch of the KCC.  A motorcycle passed, back tires spinning and slipping into the ruts of the rough road.  He didn’t make it past the center before he had bogged down, then fell over in slow motion because the foot he extended to the ground also slipped on the slimy, clay mud.

An older gentleman from the village, with heavy drops running down his face from the falling rain, walked deliberately towards Anthony and I who were sitting on the porch of the KCC.  Yama sensed there was something urgent by the man’s body language, so he rose and barked to him in Swahili.  He was soaked to the skin and looked odd to me as the only person out in the rain.  The man stopped and answered Yama, turned and walked back in the same direction from which he came.  Yama looked at me and ordered me to follow him, so I did.   Something was terribly wrong.  Thankfully the rain has softened to a mist.  We carefully chose our steps and walked only 300 yards from the front door of our place.  The man who fetched us stopped dead in his tracks, said something to Yama in Swahili, and would go no farther.  Yama turned once more to me, disgusted and upset, and said that the man had found a body just a matter of yards from us in the thick, thorny brush.  We had continued for only a few steps, when Yama stopped and audibly sucked air into his teeth in distress.  As I looked over his shoulder I saw a small bundle ahead of us.  As I got closer I saw the two small feet of an infant baby peeking from the bottom of its tattered, blue blanket.  I couldn’t help but wonder if the newborn could possibly be alive, but by the coloring of its tiny toes and feet the gates of heaven had already been opened for this innocent baby. It was an ugly beginning to a wet, gray morning.  I felt guilty for not doing anything, but police were on their way and this was a crime scene, probably  of a young girl who had an unwanted baby.

Kevin’s Creek, named after the guy who helped us construct our dam across this small, seasonal stream, was flowing nicely with the arrival of the rain.  I wanted to see it in action, so I placed my best mud shoes onto my feet and headed slowly down there.  There is a massive baobob tree standing sentinel on the east side of the dam.  As I arrived a slow drizzle came down again, so I tucked myself under the protective umbrella of the tree and watched the world for a moment.  I saw a young boy flipping rocks upwardly into a nearby coconut tree with a makeshift slingshot.  At first I thought he was just too lazy to climb the tree and was retrieving the fruit through an alternative method.  It was then that hurled stone struck and dropped a black bird.  The boy nonchalantly went over and picked it up, and continued on, looking up in the trees for his next prey.  Our own little village Robin Hood.

BVL