Happy 2011 in Kajire!

New Year’s Day at Patrick’s village, Kajire!

A perfect way to call in the New Year! Commiphora blooms, gorgeous green Sigala hills that surround the area in contrast with the neon red road. Kajire village is 20 minutes down a bumpy dirt road from Voi. Homes scatter the roads, homes that may be half finished or walled with mud, brick, or branches all interwoven together. A beautiful stone church sits sturdy and complete—and I wonder who and when it was built. Villagers wrapped in colorful kangas, western clothes, and some women in fancy dress for the holiday walk the road, some on foot, some on bikes, accompanied with cows, skinny stray dogs, chickens and goats. Children and adults both wave and smile. Some look with a shy curiosity—startled by our intrusion. People wait in front of a small cement station where water runs out from two spouts. The water is piped in from the hills and villagers collect it into large, yellow plastic containers that they must haul home (many women carry them on their heads) for miles. Patrick says that in the dry months, like September through November, the water runs dry and families may only get a liter a day—for everything—drinking, washing, cooking. To me, a well is a first priority.

Patrick’s house is lovely. Inside, green sofas are covered with beautiful, crocheted white doilies. His wife Rachel has a lovely, genuine smile. She expects her second baby in Feb. His daughter Sarah is a little sprite, filled with energy and definitely the life of the party. Grayson plays football “soccer,” kicking one of the balls we brought back and forth over the red dirt and through the spiky, aloe plants (yes, he comes out that day with legs full of scratches!) Sarah and her five-year-old buddy, Macharra, are immediately drawn to our cameras and can’t get enough of us taking their “pitcha.” Funny faces, action shots—the want it all, and we finally let them take their own shots (uh-oh, what have we started?)

Many of the children are shy at first, but warm up to us. Sarah is so happy with the beachball and strawberry shortcakes dolls (that my daughter bought for her) She love us straight away. The Spiderman ball spins and flies through camp (wapi bali?) until the ball disappears. We bring out the Frisbees and jump rope and more kids join us. The men try the jumprope and Sarah laughs at her dad, Patrick. We pass out melted chocolate coins and soon hands and faces are covered in the sticky sweet mess. Nicola shares the Weslch cakes and waffles she’s brought and they disappear in a second.

Everybody in the village greets us, shakes our hands (jambo, Happy New Year!)We are welcomed so genuinely. The women congregate near the outdoor kitchen—small fires burning in holes filled with charcoal in the ground. We join them to make chipati bread—dough rolled and flattened, spread with oil, rolled and flattened again, and then fried in oil over the fire in a black iron pan. The women are joyous, and welcoming in their own quiet way.

More kids join us in play. I teach them out to play snake (nyoka) with the jumprope, and we leap and jump over the serpent for hours—holding hands and laughing and getting bit by the rope snake. I meet Rose and Hannah, and they gently let their guard down, soon speaking some English to me, smiling and laughing and jumping. We teach them “duck, duck, goose” which becomes ndovu, ndovu, simba! (elephant, elephant, lion!) and in our small circle on the red earth we race around the circle, giggling, screaming, giving to the heat and exhaustion and the beauty of being together.

We help Patrick get set up on his computer—load Microsoft office and show in the basics. The men and some young boys gather round the benches under the tree, mesmerized by technology-- unheard of here in the village—a place with no electricity or plumbing. Electrical lines and poles are up, and the village hopes to have electricity by February. That will be a day to celebrate soon.

Nicola and I join in a political discussion with the men. We talk about education and politics. The low performing test scores in class 8 (8^th grade) at their schools worries them. We talk about education and how you get children to perform well in school. How can kids learn with empty bellies, no shoes or pencils? When survival is the first focus for these families? How do we make a difference here? Books and pencils and balls are a start, but the real answer is financial independence. Finding a way to provide jobs and skills and elevate the standard of living here. Inside, I worry about the difficulty of making something so big happen.

We dive talks about the new Kenyan constitution. Great on paper now, but the men are concerned how it will be implemented. How the ideas of economic equality will pan out to erase such poverty and struggle. They speak of the elephants here, and how villagers cannot grow their own food without having it destroyed by the huge animals. How villagers here are never included in the big revenue earned from Tsavo East and West National parks just down the road. Officials do not compensate when livestock or a person is hurt or killed by wildlife. There seems a rift here—a definite imbalance between wildlife conservation and human conservation. Another intricate balance that I wish I had the answer for.

We wash our hands in a small bowl, finish our discussion around an amazing meal of rice, beans and chipati bread. Mango for desert. The heat and energy of the day begins to tire us. We take a group picture, pass out more melted treats (chocolate covered pretzels and yogurt covered stars—note to self, do not bring chocolate to Kenya in January!) I give Sarah one last swing, around and around until we’re both dizzy. Dizzy with happiness, nervousness, possibility. We shake hands, offer up our gratefulness for being invited to such a lovely celebration. Sarah tells her uncle in Swahili that we are “hers.” That makes me happy. With a stuffed belly, and warm heart, we get into the van and drive back down that red, bumpy road.

More children wave to us as we pass. There’s something in gift of their small hands that brings up complete hope and possibility. And for now, I have to believe that is enough.

Thankful and Redundant

We make it to Voi, and as far as civilization goes, I feel like I’ve stepped into the real Kenya for the first time. It’s a busy town—lined with shops that sell all kinds of goods. People

everywhere on the streets, walking up and down, across and over bumps in the fiery orange road that intersects the heart of Voi town. The open-air structures burst with goods: shoes, clothes, toys, belts, mangoes, avocados, and other vegetables. It’s an overload on the senses, potholes filled with standing water, trash on the ground, yet beauty and richness of color binds the people together.

We check into the

Silent Guest Resort—its right in town, small white building with an open court at the center of the rooms. It’s basic, but clean and safe. Mosquito nets cascade down from our two twin beds, and we’re elated to see the shower/toilet combination. It’s super hot and humid, and we soon realize the value of a cold shower or two throughout the day.

Patrick takes us to the Red Elephant Lodge to eat. He’s very concerned with our vegetarian needs—and seems to know tons of people around town. Feels so good to eat—rice, pasta, veggies. We venture out around the lodge and in the distance see a Thompson’s gazelle grazing on grass, Ververt monkeys hopping in trees, and then a large group of ndovus (elephants) out in an open plain. Ah, can’t wait to get into Tsavo and Masai Mara on our game drives.

Back at the room, we divide up books, supplies, sports equipment and the clothes we brought. It’s a giddy excitement to see how much we have. I am once again thankful for everyone back home and how much they’ve contributed to help the people here. We hear stories of the poverty, and realize that one pencil can really and truly change lives.

We’re not anonymous as we walk through Voi town, but people do smile or say jambo and hello to the mzungu. We stop and buy adapters for the computers and visit the tiny, raging hot internet room within one of the markets. After we buy juice and ice cream and cruise through the open market. I take pictures of two kids—one who’s made a car from a water bottle and four caps. They’re sweet and enjoy me showing them their images on my camera. I wish I had stickers or pencils at that moment to thank them. It’s hard to know the balance between an appreciation or an intrusion into a life so different—from us as foreigners on the outside. I look forward to getting closer to the village and the people from the inside.

We have a nice dinner at the hotel and share two Tuskers. It’s New Year’s eve, but absolutely quiet as we sit out in front of our rooms, watching geckos on walls and listening to the bats chirp around us and the cats call down at us from the roof. Nic and I realize it’s the perfect way to start the New Year. Filled with hope, possibility and connection. And we are thankful.

We shop the next day for the New Year's celebration at Patrick's home. Rice, beans, veggies, flour--all the makings of a delicious vegetarian meal. The markets are busy--bustling places filled with texture and color and richness. The weight of our purchases remind us of how lucky we are to be welcomed into such a big community to usher in 2011. We pass a huge "Christmas" tree--a massive tree blooming with red flowers--how lucky am I to be celebrating the holidays here in Kenya. I love being yanked out of my world; have the blinders dissolve and brand new experiences poured into my brain. I know it's redundant--but man, I'm thankful to be alive, to be seeing and learning and touching things like this for the very first time.

Point me toward Kenya...the Adventure Begins

Long 15 hour flight—we sit next to a wonderful Indian professor of nano-medicine from San Diego. We're two hours late to Dubai—our connection to Nairobi has already left. We wait in line and are told that we can get on a 11:00 flight. Wait and wait in the airport—get lots of stares—especially my blond son. Men in shieks, veiled women, prayer rooms and calls to prayer. Big and shiny airport, empty—almost spooky. We have a free lunch in the Emirates café, finally get over to counter that opens at 8pm. No one there to help us—wait in line—told flight might be booked, our names are not on list. Meet Lemeca and his wife and sister Carolina and mother Joyce—and little girl Angel--all from Kenyan, some now living in the States. Meet Fara (originally from Kenya,) Bruce, Elizabeth and daughter—all from Alaska. Together, we become the “transits.” The Kenya Air rep never comes back, we are told by an Emirates employee that the flight is overbooked. We wait and wait, finally get sorted out to go to a hotel, stay the night and leave the next morning. 36 hours of traveling. Ah. Eat another free meal at midnight—happy to be with such a great group of people—all with roots in Kenya. I'm frustrated, but as I sit back, listen to the voices of people now connected, revel in the laughter of our situation, I am reminded how life's unexpected turns can make life richer, more memorable. And right away, I'm hit over the head with the idea of flexibility when traveling. No expectations. Remember that if things CAN go wrong, they will~

Next morning easy transit and flight to Nairobi. No problems with bags, customs, visa—Simon and Patrick there to pick us up. Smiling faces reassuring—everything's gonna be just fine! We're here! We made it to Kenya! So happy to be back. Off to the Fairview Hotel. Peaceful, plush place with waterfalls and green gardens. Lovely room. Chat with Patrick and Simon about our plans. Dinner by the pool with gg and nic—pizza, wine and tomato soup. Each bite, each swallow lulls me into a sleep. Dreams to come.

We drive the next morning out of Nairobi—seven hour drive south to Voi. Still crazy busy, traffic, men walking the streets (unemployment levels at 80% now.) The road that runs from Nairobi east to Mombassa has improved since I last made the bumpy, seven hour journey. I notice right away that the summer terrain is greener-more lush, more birds. Many people along the road, their tin shacks set up to sell red onions, tomatoes, mangoes. So many kids dot the path, some just walking, others herding groups of cattle and goats. Grayson enjoys the ones that wave to him as we pass the beautiful red earthen road. We see our first red and black zebra, Grayson asks if he’s real, and then we see the swooshing his tail along the way. He spots a group of 5 more—and the gift of being here strikes me all over again. [Even though we haven’t done too much, Grayson tells me that so far, this trip is 99% out of a 100. J

We meet Simon’s wife-Rhoda, and she radiates with joy, laughter and a vibrance and appreciation. She's so excited to meet us and hear what we’re doing. In the mini van, Patrick, Nic and I talk for hours about our plans, and I think we all see how big the possibilities are for growing a non-profit that not only brings economic and educational opportunities to the community, but that promotes this amazing place and the richness of the people here. We talk of raising money to build a small house in the village to host volunteers, building a website, funding a trip to the US for Patrick to promote this project, and connection with programs for irrigation, water, and medicine. It’s big—and for a second, doubts cloud my thoughts. Can we do it, can I make something happen, something this big and so important? But deep down, there’s a buzz that passes between us. An electricity of hope—one that is born of connection and shared desire to change what is unjust in these times. And I remember to believe.

Turkish Delights

Our last day in Istanbul and the whirling never stops. We visit the Grand Bazaar and the Spice Bazaar to buy gifts and tangible memories to take home. The colors, the crowds, the smells. It's perfection and chaos all at once. The passing feet, the Turkish delite--I'm overwhelmed and intrigued. We wheel and deal for spices, hand-painted ceramics and sweets. I spot signs that say "Obama was here." and once again marvel at the impact of our amazing president. Does it work for business?Who knows. These vendors are professional--and I even speak Spanish to several of them (the ones who think I'm "Espanola" or "Italiana!") It's a small world packed into a little space and I appreciate every square inch. Outside, we have pastries, tea and yogurt. Wander through the outdoor bazaars where I find three "eye of the owl" dog collars to my pups. Bargain!

We have smoothies--avocado and mango, peach and banana. The vendor is hilarious and decides he wants his picture taken with us. It's a time and a place of absolute rightness. Surprising connections sealed with laughter.

That night we have tea at a local outdoor cafe. We are the only foreigners there, and I get bold--after bringing us Chai, I order gozlemes in Turkish (cheese quesadillas) and they come to us. Finally able to speak at least one thing in Turkish. Yes! It's a perfect moment again, surrounded by tombstones of a cemetery, college students studying English and a handful of chai drinkers. Enamored by Turkey all over again.

That night at a Whirling Dervish show--it's another pure moment of spinning and music--the notes the feet and whirling all put me in a trance of tranquility and electricity at once. More contrast, more emotion, more enlightenment. Thankful for the small things again.

Last night--Indian food overlooking the Blue Mosque. A bittersweet moment to embrace, to say farewell, to three friends that will fly to opposite ends of the globe, but three friends that will carry Turkish memories with them--in luggage and at heart.

Thank you, Nic for your photo donations~

Talk at the Top of the World

So thankful to have a local, Aran (brother in law to my friend Catherine,) show us around. We explore Ortakoy--a beautiful town on the Bosphorus. We visit a modern mosque and we are enamored by the beauty and perfection. Rumeli Castile is a retreat for us. Away from the hustle and bustle of Istanbul. It's a serene, peaceful castle right on the ocean. We hike to the top (and have really sore thighs the next day.) It's a place for us to contemplate our travels, our lives, the state of being alive.

I meet a wonderful woman up at the top--an American NGO worker stationed in Afghanistan. We have an amazing conversation--and I feel like I've been given a glimpse into a that world--a straightaway look into what's really happening over there. I'm hopeful and saddened all at once. What a gift to be on top of the world discussing politcs and getting a view of a sometimes unattainable understanding of such a complex situation across the globe. Ah the gift of travel.

We have tea by the water, and I fall in love with a golden retriever named Kiraz (cherry.)The harbor cruise on the Bosphorus brings about a meditative momentum. The movement of the water. The glistening reflections, waves of the Turkish flag. After the ferry, I have a baby rabbit thrown into my arms by a vendor outside the dock. After petting him, I am given my fortune on a small slip of paper. In muddle English, it says something about being graced with the beauty of small things in life. I pay a few Lyra and the fortune whirls in my head. I am filled with appreciation for the small things at this very moment. And I realize that the tiny ones are the biggest and most important things of all.

That night we have dinner at a local cafe in Takshim Square--ah, the eggplant, bread, rice, hummus, borek, all mezze-style (tapas) at the outdoor cafe. It's bustling with people, and as the sun goes down, we feel electric.

At the Galata Tower (which once was the place of the call to prayer here 5 X a day,) the sun sets. With swifts circling the tower, I feel straight out of a thriller--Alfred Hitchcock or Stephen King. It's a magical moment--and Nic and I decide to stay and have margaritas there. The magic lasts for hours through laughter and friends (we see Jen and Steve again,) and hilarious recollections of our travels. The perfect night in Istanbul.

We are SO THANKFUL to Aran for spending the whole day shopping, tour-guiding and ATTEMPTING to teach us Turkish! What a guy!