Kenya Diary - Part Six

Photo: At Queen's Cave, Aberdare National Park (with waterfall in background).

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

This morning I printed out the “final” version of my paper to hand in tomorrow. However, I did not anticipate just how wonderful the interview this afternoon would be. I met with Dr. Arthur Kemoli of the University of Nairobi, a professor of literature and prominent Kenyan composer of choral music. He worsening vision keeps him at home for the most part these days, so I visited him there. After spending almost two hours with him and his wife, I felt compelled to include some of his views and two direct quotes in the paper. I guess I’ll just have to get in printed in the morning at Tangaza.

Dr. Kemoli has been writing music since his early twenties, and has produced many works for the church and that choirs have sung in competition. He also founded the Kariokor choir, which has toured in Kenya and overseas. He has used his experience of English church music with respect to the application of compositional craft in a Western sense to indigenous African materials. This began when he was Assistant Choirmaster of All Saints Cathedral under Graham Hyslop in the 1960s. After finishing at the University of Nairobi in 1970 with B.A. in English Literature with First Class honors, he received a scholarship to study at Kings College, Cambridge (M.A., 1971), where he sang in the choir under the iconic choirmaster, Sir David Willcocks. He simultaneously began a B.Mus. degree at Durham University, but abandoned this after the first part to concentrate on a Ph.D. from Sussex University in literature.

In 1968, Dr. Kemoli started the University of Nairobi Choir, which he has continued to lead since his return as a member of the faculty in 1974 (literature). His interests in music and literature continued in parallel, and he sensed a need to present music of African origins to that and other choirs. At this time he felt that it was a “waste of time to try to teach African rhythm to Europeans.” Also, there was a movement at the university to begin to discuss and preserve oral literature of African traditions, and this is closely tied to traditional music. There had been, at one time, discussion of the formation of Department of Performing Arts at Nairobi University, but Kemoli says they are “still dreaming.”

The origins of a Kenyan art music may be traced, Kemoli claims, to the efforts of Graham Hyslop at All Saints Cathedral. At first, Hyslop extracted the series of pitches from traditional melodies and used these for melodic material for settings such as “Out of the Deep.” The melody was actually sung to Hyslop by The Rt. Rev. Festus Olang’, the first Anglican Archbishop from Africa, but by divorcing the tune from the rhythmic elements, the original form of the tune is lost. Kemoli says that Hyslop also “missed the point” in other settings that did this as well, such as his Magnificat and Nunc dimittis.

Later, Hyslop began to employ both the rhythms and melodic content of African music, resulting in pieces such as his “Alleluya,” which is based on a Turkana “orobo” (a children’s song). This, according to Kemoli, “showed the way.” The “Alleluya” was published by Oxford University Press.

This was followed by other effective settings, such as “The Angel and the Shepherds.” Hyslop discovered that the rhythm was an absolutely essential element of African musical identity. These works could also be used freely as concert repertoire, and they set very high standards for church music.

The question of whether or not the composer should make all music “accessible” to congregations for participation prompted Kemoli to ask, “How much do you cater to the congregation, and how much do you commune with your God as a composer?” Dr. Kemoli is, it must be said, somewhat prone to stating things grandly. For example, in a copy of an academic paper he gave me is the statement:

“…the composer should leave [the masses] behind, venture into the spiritual realm and return with ‘the message’ which is then conveyed through written music.”

This is a lofty vision, to be sure, but Kemoli expresses some frustration with the relative stagnation of church music in Kenya, believing that great creativity is not being tapped or desired by congregations. He asserts that Western compositional technique and training has much to contribute in an authentic African context. This prompted the statement:

“People should aspire to great creativity and be inspired by other cultures. You don’t descend to mediocrity just because you are an African.”

I thought this statement was especially relevant, and one could delete “African” and insert any identity, ethnic group or nationality and equally embrace the sentiment. The point is that always looking inward for an “authentic” expression of identity cuts one off from the exchange of ideas between cultures and traditions – a necessary cross-pollination to maintain creative energy.

Dr. Kemoli, in fact, gave me two documents that were the lecture notes for presentations given in 2001 and 2002 to the First and Second (respectively) Kenya National Symposia on Music at Egerton University. Since they are not journal articles, they will require some adaptation, but I have his leave to edit as necessary to see if these might be submitted to the Choral Journal. There is a reasonable amount of work necessary to frame these in context for an American publication, so I believe a co-authoring credit may be in order if I can get these into shape.

After a truly wonderful afternoon, Maurice and I headed back to town, and I met Charles for “tea” at the Fairview to assist in celebrating the completion of his paper. At about 6:20 p.m. I walked back up the hill to Flora, had dinner, and dove into the revisions of my own paper, including Kemoli’s material. I believe the paper is stronger for having sought and included his views.

I am now preparing to watch World Cup soccer tonight – England is playing Sweden. They didn’t look all that wonderful in their last match (in spite of winning vs. Trinidad & Tobago), so we’ll see how they do tonight. The soccer (“football” I should say) matches have become rather a social event here at Flora Hostel, with people crowding into the few TV lounges in various wings to watch. It is really an amazing thing to see, and a pity that soccer has not become as popular in the United States. I suppose this is just another way that the US manages to ignore the rest of the world. We really must stop doing that…

(9:12 p.m.)


Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Today was the wrap-up day of the MIAS course, and it was a very satisfying day. After our morning general session and the final class with Dr. Waruta, I was called upon to play one of my least favorite incarnations of the “ugly American” in a skit. In this instance, I played the role of a fundamentalist, charismatic preacher who berated a congregation of Africans for consulting their traditional healers, insisting that the Bible was all they needed, that it was the literally word of God, and that they’d burn in hell if they kept going to their “witch doctors.” I felt like taking a shower after the performance (how can people actually think like that???).

Following the skit (I will probably not be winning any acting awards), I was invited to join the final faculty meeting of the session, which was a nice gesture on the part of Fr. Kirwen. This gave me a chance to meet the other lecturers (except for Prof. Oyugi, who had to fly to Paris for a meeting of some sort, and had left early). I did appreciate being included in this, but I also understood why including me before the last day would not have been appropriate, as I was still in the role of student in the course. I guess I “graduated” today in a way, returning from ‘faculty exile.’

Tomorrow will be a very early morning, as the taxi is coming for me at about 6:20 a.m. Charles, Sr. Mary Sebastian (who was in my class) and I are sharing a taxi to Tangaza, where we are to arrive by 7:00 a.m. for the trip to the Aberdares National Park. I’ve been told to expect some chilly weather, so I’m bringing my windbreaker, but to be honest, Kenyans have an odd notion of “chilly.” I think Minnesota in the winter would be pretty shocking to them!

From here on until I head home, I’m more or less in the role of a tourist, but I am grateful for the MIAS program, because I will not look at things with a tourist’s eyes from “within the bubble.” Having had to engage the culture on its own terms, I can readily see that the western-style hotels and conveniences are, in many respects, artificialities in the Kenyan landscape. These do not say anything about the average person trying to make a living here. I would guess that most people who come here to “see Kenya” see only the Disneyland version of passion fruit juice and luxury safaris. That is not where the people live, or at least not the vast majority of them.

The truth is that Kenyans themselves are very kind, generous, welcoming and resourceful people. Sadly, they have had to be clever to survive the neglect that their government has offered them for so long. There is an educated, mostly trilingual, workforce here, and foreign investments could produce a significant industrial and commercial infrastructure, but there are a number of considerable impediments. Foremost, the tendency of government officials to line their own pockets with money from various projects meant to improve the country is extreme. The Kibaki government has not seen fit to clamp down on this, probably because so many officials of the government itself would be implicated.

So, instead of improving roads, airstrips, Internet connectivity and the telephone system, things are more or less in a precarious state all the time as funds bleed away. If (and that is a big “if”) stability and integrity could be brought to the government’s use of its resources, and if improvements could be seen, I believe that Kenya would be an extremely attractive place for commercial growth – particularly for companies from the English-speaking world.

There has been some attempt to attract foreign capital by adopting a laissez-faire capitalist approach. This has produced a number of disasters, including the choking off of a true public bus system in Nairobi (“Citi Hoppa” is a private company, much more concerned with packing people in like sardines and charging high prices at peak times than providing a public service). Also of note is the failure of the supermarket giant Uchumi corporation, which left thousands without jobs – some after 20 years of employment – and no severance pay or benefits. This is a bit like the Enron meltdown, but imagine it in the context of a society with essentially no social security net of any kind. Even the weak and under-funded US Social Security system is bliss compared to the situation here.

“Pure capitalism” is a phase that the West went through and ultimately rejected. It must be tempered with some regulation and oversight. Honestly, a little socialism would probably be very helpful in Kenya, at least with respect to bringing the most good to the greatest number of people. I’m not advocating for a communist dictatorship or anything of the sort, but it would seem that the problems of poor Kenyans cannot simply wait while the markets sort themselves out. I know that some of my libertarian friends will object to my notion of social engineering in this respect, but there really is no other way to at least set Kenya on a path of marginally improving living conditions for all its citizens. A balance will have to be found, of course, to avoid making investment in Kenya onerous due to an untenable tax burden and excessive regulation, but right now it is the Wild West, and the average Kenyan definitely does not have a six-gun.

(6:14 p.m.)


Thursday, June 22, 2006

Today a group of about 15 of us from the Maryknoll program plus Kennedy, the Administrative Assistant, took a day trip to the Aberdare National Park. The mountain range, named after a president of the Royal Geographical Society (ignoring, of course, what the local people called it) was “discovered” by Scottish explorer Joseph Thomson, who must have been sucking up to Lord Aberdare. The Kikuyu, however, who had farmed the slopes of these mountains for centuries, called them Nyandarua, which means ‘the drying hide,’ a reference to their shape.

Although elephants and many species of antelope inhabit the park, we only saw a few antelope specimens (bushbucks and waterbucks), and a few seeming flightless hens known as sparfowl. The real attraction, however, was the natural beauty of the mountain ranges and several spectacular waterfalls. We entered the park through the Mutubio Gate, coming from the direction of Naivasha, on the floor of the Great Rift Valley (famous for its lake, which is inhabited by thousands of flamingos), following a very steep and winding climb into the mountain range. We first went into the park and turned northward, stopping at Chania Falls. A newly-constructed viewing platform afforded some excellent photographs, but most people went all the way to the bottom of the steep path to the pool where the water crashes down and forms a constant spray. The lush tropical vegetation seems to do very well with this constant supply of mist, even at the altitude of 10,000 feet.

We doubled back and stopped at Magura Falls, which is also delightful, but made all the more interesting for the large, semi-circular cave that is carved out behind the falling water. It is easily accessible and quite possible to take photographs through the falling water from inside the cave, which a number of the group did (see the photo for this blog entry). The climb down (and back up) was not as arduous as the one for Chania Falls, but at 10,000 feet, a little hiking goes a long way, and most of us were feeling it when we got back to the minivans.

The next, and most breathtaking stop, was the Karuru Falls, (275 m), in three steps. We made our way to a large observation platform where we unpacked and ate our picnic lunch of sandwiches, soda, and bananas. This is one of those spots that is a bit difficult for people who have problems with heights (like Maurice), as the platform itself is perched on the edge of what must be at least a 300-foot drop. One can see two other waterfalls across the vast expanse of the valley here, including Gura Falls, the highest in Kenya (300 m in a single plunge). These falls are quite distant, and from the vantage of our viewing platform, they were obstructed a bit by trees, but could easily be seen.

Unfortunately, hiking more freely isn’t possible in the park unless you take a park ranger (complete with rifle) with you – a sensible precaution considering the potential dangers of the wildlife. Only the short trails from the roads to the waterfall viewing areas were approved for our use without escort. We did, however, see a white woman hiking, accompanied by two rangers and another man. One ranger had a large caliber rifle (looked like a .303 or 30-06), and the other had the ubiquitous AK-47 (not sure what game is hunted with that…). She was, we learned, bird watching. You have to be a hard core birdwatcher to be willing to do it where you require armed bodyguards.

After the picnic, we headed back to the minivans. These were not just simple Toyota minivans, but had been modified with roofs that popped up into canopies that allowed the vehicle’s occupants to stand up and photograph the surroundings while still being shielded from the sun – very nice. Also, the two vehicles in our party were in radio contact, which was certainly helpful. The tour company, Safari Seekers, obviously knows what it is doing, which is reassuring since I’m going off to Masai Mara with the same firm for three nights beginning tomorrow.

At about 2:30 p.m. we began the drive back to Nairobi. There was clearly strong interest in seeing the World Cup match that began at 5:00 p.m. (Ghana vs. USA), but because of traffic and stopping to let people off at various places, I suspect that most did not get back until the half. By the way, Ghana beat the US 2-1 (though I think some of the calls of the referees were rather suspect).

At any rate, after weeding out bad shots, I took a total of some 70 photographs today. I’m presently charging batteries to supply my camera for the Masai Mara excursion. We should see considerably more animals there, as there is no dense forest for cover. Masai Mara is essentially what people from the West imagine when they think of Africa – open plains dotted with trees, great herds of various antelope species, lions, cheetahs, and, of course, elephants.

I’m beginning to feel increasingly like it will be good to be home in the US. I’ve enjoyed this trip immensely, and have learned a great deal, but there is a stress associated with being out of one’s normal environment (unless, of course, you stay somewhere long enough for the new place to become ‘normal’). After a month of new discoveries, my psyche could do with just a bit of predictability.

OK – time to pack and get bags ready for storage (I’m only taking my backpack to Masai Mara). Thankfully, I don’t have to be up nearly as early as this morning, as the Safari Seekers folks are coming between 9:00 and 9:30 a.m. I might even slip in a quick e-mail check after breakfast at the ACK Cybercafe if I’m feeling ambitious.

(8:14 p.m.)


Tuesday, June 27, 2006

Masai Mara was a marvelous experience overall. I wish, however, that I had been mentally prepared for camping. I was not sure about the actual level of facilities, as there is a range of accommodations. In fact, some of the more expensive lodges have “tents,” which is to say that the walls are canvas, but there are all the modern luxuries, including full bathrooms, electricity, etc. Basically, it is a luxury hotel with canvas walls (to give that sense of ‘adventure’ without any actual discomfort). This, however, was not where I stayed.

The type of accommodation we had was a “budget campsite.” This is not to say that we were uncomfortable. Safari Seekers, the company we used, maintains a campsite outside the Sekenani Gate, which is the easiest to reach coming from Nairobi (though, given the atrocious state of the roads, what should be a 3-hour drive takes nearly six). There are about 10 tents, all pitched on concrete slabs with canopies over the actual tents. Inside the very sturdy canvas tents are two bunks – metal frames with mattresses, a step up from a cot. There are western-style toilets in a shed at one end of the campsite (though, these are at the cleanliness level one would expect from being out in the wilderness), and also two shower stalls. You can have a hot shower, but one of the local Maasai guards working at the camp has to activate the “hot water heater.” This is a 55-gallon metal drum with piping attached propped up on stone blocks, under which a fire is built when one is planning to shower. Obviously, this requires some lead time.

The only true inconvenience was that I did not have a bath towel. I always, as a result of previous bad experiences, pack a washcloth and hand towel, so I had those, and it is possible to dry one’s entire body with a hand towel (though this requires a bit of practice). So, I was able to handle the situation reasonably well. Even so, I considered switching to the Sarova Mara Lodge for the last of the three nights, but at $155 per night for a single, I figured I could sleep in a tent again. Safari Seekers charged us US $330 for three nights, including all transportation (from/to Nairobi and within the park) and full board. On top of this, we paid 3 days’ park fees at $30 per day, plus about KSh 4,000 in tips to the driver, cooks and camp guard. So, for two people, the cost for 3 nights camping was a total of under $450 – not bad for an all-inclusive experience, including an experienced guide to drive us in the park and assist us in spotting wildlife.

The drive out was interesting as we passed through the Great Rift Valley. There are many interesting volcanic features, including craters and the cones of extinct volcanoes. There are, apparently, some 30 active or semi-active volcanoes in the Rift, which makes sense since the area is pulling apart through tectonic activity at the rate of some 2 cm per year. This is also an area where Kenya is blessed with the opportunity to produce abundant geothermal power, but only a few efforts have been made in this regard, which is a missed opportunity (among so many in Kenya). One of the oddest sights as one passes along the floor of the Rift Valley on the road to Narok is a satellite telecommunications station on the valley floor with two enormous satellite dishes. The view of this in the background with Maasai herding cattle and scrubby, semi-desert terrain is surreal.

Between the village of Nitulele and the town of Narok (the last town of any size before Masai Mara – 2 hours out), the road goes from bad to unimaginably horrible. The pavement has decayed to such a point that in some places, the strip of tarmac has shrunk to a ribbon too thin for any vehicle to fit on it. Dirt tracks on either side with large rocks and potholes are the only recourse. There are also sections wide enough for a vehicle, but so pocked with potholes that driving on the side in the dirt is still a better option. The amount of dust kicked up by vehicles is amazing, and it will cause a pretty good coughing fit if you forget to close your window as a cloud drifts by. The roads are not just physically punishing for those attempting to use them, but are also dangerous. We saw a very clear indication of this on the very stretch of road indicated above, where a large truck had overturned, blocking most of the roadway, and a Peugeot had run off the road into a deep ditch.

In spite of the exasperating sections of the drive, Masai Mara is still worth the effort. We saw most of the species for which the park is famous: Thompson’s and Grant’s gazelles, impala, wildebeest, hartebeest, topi, reedbuck, giraffe, elephant, hippopotamus, eland, African buffalo, ostrich, marabou stork, vultures, sparfowl, guinea hens, secretary birds, various other birds of prey, lions (quite a few), hyena, cheetah, and black backed jackals. The antelope were fairly plentiful, even though we had come before the immense wildebeest migration of July in which over a million animals come up from the southern Serengeti Plain in Tanzania. We were able to get surprisingly close to many of the animals, who don’t seem to pay too much attention to the tour vehicles or to humans in them. Getting out of the vehicles is, however, not a good idea (and not really allowed). The usual routine is an early morning drive (6:30 a.m. or so), a return to camp around 10 or 11 for breakfast, down time at camp, a late lunch around 3:00 p.m., and then a late afternoon drive from 4:00 to 6:30 p.m., when all visitors must leave the park. The animals are mostly dormant at midday.

We also saw some interesting animals around the camp (and also heard some at night, including a family of elephants that passed pretty close to our tent at about 4:00 a.m. the first night). There was a troop of about 20 baboons in the area, but I wasn’t able to photograph them, as they were only around at or before dawn. There was also a small clan of vervet monkeys, who seemed to do pretty well picking through the trash in the camp for leftovers. These were easier to photograph, as they were active in the morning when we were at breakfast. They could be approached to a degree, and were easily visible from the tin-roofed pavilion where our meals were served. We also saw a group of mongooses move along the edge of the clearing, and I tried to photograph them as well, but they would let out a rough, high-pitched growl to warn their fellows and hide in the brush if approached, so any photos were pretty distant. Of course, due to the presence of local Maasai, we had the occasional herd of goats or sheep wander through. One group of goats was being herded by two small boys (maybe about age 6), who kept one eye on the goats and one on us. After a while, they ignored both the goats and us for a while and played with the soccer ball they had improvised out of what looked like a stuffed stocking.

After two full days of drives in the park, plus the evening drive the night we arrived, we were ready to return to Nairobi on Monday. I would recommend this experience for anybody who does not mind camping, just as long as you are prepared for actual camping. It is astounding to see wildlife so close, and the landscape is breathtaking and unlike any other place I’d seen.

We arrived back in Nairobi yesterday (Monday) at about 2:00 p.m., which gave me time to visit the ATM, and to check e-mail (I’d been suffering from withdrawal). Oddly, my mobile phone worked in Masai Mara, so I was able to pick up messages from both Dr. Kemoli, whom I’ll be meeting later this afternoon, and Fr. Kirwen, with whom I had dinner last night. I got a cab to the Nakumatt in Karen, which was to be our meeting point. There I was able to purchase packing tape for my box of books, a red permanent marker and drawing paper to make a label, and some magazines for the plane. Nakumatt is yet another one of the oddities of Kenya. Amidst the poverty and challenges of the poorer Kenyans, these stores are brightly lit, spotlessly clean, western-style grocery and general goods stores. It is basically a Kenyan Wal-Mart of sorts, frequented by middle- and upper-class Kenyans and with a much higher concentrations of whites than anywhere else – particularly the one in the suburb of Karen, a well-to-do suburb where many whites live. I have to admit, it was really a relief to be in a grocery store that felt like one in Europe or America (even though the size of my local Wal-Mart completely dwarfs Nakumatt).

Fr. Kirwen and I had dinner at a lovely Japanese restaurant in Westlands called “Tokyo.” It was slightly odd to have Kenyans in Japanese dress serving and cooking, but the food was excellent, and the owner, who is Japanese, came out to greet us and ask how our meal was. Kirwen and I talked about many things, including how we might increase the number of Saint Mary’s students coming to Tangaza for the Maryknoll program. In all honesty, I believe that this experience is a must for any of our M.A. in Human Services students. The ability to adapt to and understand differing cultures is a critical skill in this field, as well as in any kind of ministry, and I intend to push very hard for having SMU graduate students attend the program in the future.

Today is the last day in Kenya. My flight tonight is at almost midnight, so I have the full day in Nairobi. I’m meeting Maurice at 11:00 a.m., and will visit Dr. Kemoli in the afternoon. I have to be out of the room at Flora by noon, so I’ll finish packing after a trip to ACK this morning for an e-mail check and blog update. There are so many things to reflect upon as I prepare to leave Africa, and my final blog update after returning to the US will attempt to present some of the overall thoughts and impressions, as well as the profound effect the journey has had on me.

(8:50 a.m.)

Kenya Diary - Part Five

Photo: The Nairobi Skyline from across Uhuru Park, Sunday, June 18, 2006.

Thursday, June 15, 2006

After forcing myself to finish the draft of the paper, I went to bed last night at about 12:45 a.m. I was taking a bit of a gamble that my recovery from food poisoning would continue quickly even if I were to get less than optimal sleep. The gamble appears to have paid off, because I was able to turn in the draft today, and my digestive system is getting back to normal. I’ve been tired today, but on less than six hours’ sleep, I can’t be terribly surprised about that.

After classes today (and lunch), a Kenyan MP (member of parliament) came to Tangaza College to address the students in the program. Unfortunately, I did not write down his name, but he represents Kisumu Rurual district, which is apparently west of the city of Kisumu in Nyanza. He made a brief presentation, which basically boiled down to the point that the past authoritarian presidential governments (up to 2002) were bad, and that they stifled the economy by bottling up entrepreneurship. This was attended by much “power of the free market” talk, and also an insistence that large public works and infrastructure needed to be built to give unemployed people jobs and open new areas for economic development. It sounded very nice, but when he was finished, I could not decided if he was for unbridled capitalism or not, for small government (deregulation and minimal licensing and taxation) or big government (large public construction projects creating jobs). He emphasized that Kenya is in transition from authoritarian to democratic rule. “Transition” seems to be a convenient excuse for lack of visible achievement.

Following his remarks, the floor was opened for questions from the students. Those of us who are foreigners deferred to the Kenyans, who asked some fairly pointed questions (though always prefaced with some words of thanks and/or praise). His ability to evade questions was truly impressive, including giving detailed answers to about 10% of a question, or bogging down a question in fixating on the definition of a word (in this case, “ideology.” It was a fascinating exchange.

Today, Charles and I booked a 3-night safari to the Masai Mara Game Preserve on the Tanzanian border from Fri. June 23rd to Monday June 26th. We’ll go overland by private minivan (about 5 hours – nothing compared to the travel we’ve both seen) and then stay in a tent camp, which sounds rustic, but these are built to western standards with actual beds, western-style toilets, and communal showers. Food and park admission fees are included and the entire package will be about $400 per person. I’ve been planning to spend about this much, so it has worked out well.

The day before this trip, though, about 8 or 9 of us from the program will go on a one-day trip to the Aberdares National Park, north of Nairobi. This will present some tropical forest and significant elevations, habitat for different fauna, including elephants. We should see a very good contrast between this and Masai Mara.

Tomorrow is the last full day of classes at Tangaza, which is hard to believe! Fr. Kirwen has invited Charles and me, and I believe another MIAS staff member, out for a restaurant meal at a churrascaria – similar to the famous Carnivore restaurant here, but not quite the tourist trap. I am grateful that my stomach should be in good working order by then.

(11:00 p.m.)


Saturday, June 17, 2006

After Friday’s classes (the last full day of classes in the program) at Tangaza, Charles and I walked down the South Langata Road to what appeared to be a humble souvenir stand at the corner of Langata Road and South Langata Road. However, when we got inside, we discovered that it was much larger than anticipated, with carvings in stone and wood, shields, textile prints, clothing, and even some musical instruments. I was delighted to find an Orutu (two of them, actually, of differing construction). I may have to return and buy it, but at KSh 4,000 it is a bit expensive. However, this place takes credit cards (!) and even does shipping, so I am tempted to return on Wednesday. I did purchase a set of small (about 6” x 6”) textile prints of animals and a Maasai family. I bought seven (6 of animals and one of the family), for which I will get a custom mat and frame done when I return. They were a reasonable KSh 400 each. I also bought a lion and lioness (for my nephew and niece, respectively) carved from olive wood.

After an e-mail check back at Tangaza, I photographed some of the textile print artwork that is hanging in the various hallways in Imani House (the specific building of Tangaza where MIAS resides). These are vibrant in their colors and depict various scenes of African life and cultural themes. There were some as large as these at the souvenir shop I visited earlier, and I might invest in a larger one.

At 4:00 p.m., Fr. Kirwen, Charles and I left Tangaza and drove the 10 miles or so to the Ngong Hills (via Rongai and Kiserian), stopping at a little country club (so it was labeled) at Olepolos. From here there is a marvelous view of the Great Rift Valley, and I took some photographs. Kirwen said that the famous paleontologist and anthropologist, Louis Leakey, lives down in the valley not very far from this point, and had been, in fact, a Member of Parliament for the area, which includes the location of Tangaza College.

We came back to the vicinity of Tangaza through the town of Ngong and visited Fr. Kirwen’s home. It is a converted stable, which makes is sound terribly rustic. It is anything but that! The rather extensive apartment has a lovely sitting room, ample kitchen, full bath (with the first tub I’ve seen in Kenya thus far), a small washing machine (also a first on this trip), and a beautiful patio and series of narrow gardens of native plants winding back away from the patio. As other tenants left in adjacent apartments, Kirwen gradually took over a rather extensive adjoining space, making several more bedrooms and office space. Before the building of the present home of MIAS, much of the program was run out of this space, including a library of 6,000 books! He even has a small Yamaha spinet piano, which he plays quite well.

A man working for Fr. Kirwen, introduced to us as Michael, had prepared some very tasty snacks, and we sat on the patio eating these and enjoying drinks for a while. We moved inside when the mosquitoes became too annoying, and Kirwen called the restaurant we were to visit. Soon thereafter, we were off in his little 80s vintage Peugeot.

The restaurant was a Brazilian-style Churrascaria in a very fine hotel on the way out to Kenyatta Airport. Walking into the extensive commercial building was a very odd experience, almost like entering a deserted mall in the United States. On the first floor (what we Americans would call the second floor), we exited the elevator and walked by an appliance store, and a shop with lingerie in the windows (both closed, but surprises nonetheless), arriving at Pampa Churrascaria.

As we entered, I noted that it seemed a bit odd for Kenyans to be dressed as Gauchos (complete with the pants). World Cup soccer was, of course, playing on a very large projection television at one end of the dining hall. There was an extensive salad bar with soups. The basic idea of a churrascaria is that you hit the salad bar, and then after that you have a little card (green on one side, orange on the other) that you use to indicate whether or not you would like meat. Servers continually circulate with various cuts of meat on skewers. If one has something you’d like, you indicate “yes” and it is sliced at your table – you pick up the slices with a pair of tongs provided at your place setting.

This is an excellent way of sampling many different cuts of meat. In spite of my recent gastric disturbances, I managed to eat a pretty large meal, and tried a variety of meats. Most of the cuts were of beef, but even some of these were exotic (beef “hump,” for example, is that fatty thing above the shoulder on the back of some breeds of cow). I had several cuts of beef (including the hump, which I would not recommend all that highly), lamb leg, goat, ostrich, pork loin, and camel. I thought all were good, except for beef hump, as already mentioned, and camel (which was, to be honest, pretty nasty).

When you are through eating meat (Kirwen ate both me and Charles under the table), you are served roasted pineapple dusted with cinnamon – served the same way as the meat, carved off in slices from a skewer at your table. Accompanying the meal was draft Tusker beer, which is even better than the bottled variety. This was, by far, the biggest meal I had eaten in well over a month, and it came on the heels of eating relatively little for some days, so I was a bit concerned about how my system would react, but as of late Saturday morning, all seems to be well.

Kirwen drove Charles back to the ACK Guesthouse and me back to Flora, where I got in the gate at about 10:20 p.m., extremely tired, but having enjoyed the evening immensely. It seemed to me that it was the most fun Fr. Kirwen had had in some time as well. He is delightful company, and can spin so many stories from his 44 years of experience in Africa that you are held spellbound. It is also wonderful to watch him interact with Kenyans, particularly those who are of the Luo community. Having spent 25 years in Luo land as a missionary, he is fluent in the tongue, and this inevitably surprises those with whom he speaks.

Today, after sleeping late, I am diving into revisions on my paper. These are not extensive, but it must also be said that there are a few more interviews that will have to be added to the research summary in the coming days, and these may require some additional small changes. The research summary itself has to be typed up, but I now have exemplars of other MIAS papers to consult, and this should not be a difficult or terribly time-consuming task. Generally, Dr. Waruta seemed very pleased with the paper, stating that it held “excellent insights.” His only wish was that it made somewhat bolder recommendations for the future. These will be easy enough to include, and were withheld on the basis of academic restraint. It would seem that Waruta considers academic restraint a bit overrated.

(11:48 a.m.)


Monday, June 19, 2006

After doing some revisions on the paper and updating the field research summary on Saturday, I did not accomplish very much else, except managing to get on the Internet for a while at the Nairobi Youth Hostel. This actually took two trips, as on the first visit I discovered that they were experiencing the same power outage that affected Flora, which lasted about an hour in all. When the lights came back on at Flora, I went back and was the first to arrive there. The connection was actually reasonably good, and I was able to send another picture home.

On Sunday morning, I decided to attend the 11:00 a.m. Mass in English at Flora, in the little chapel they have in the compound. I was expecting a somewhat more subdued, European approach to the Mass, but what I observed was, in fact, that all of the music was sung in Kiswahili, with an approach similar to that observed at Holy Family Basilica and the Cathedral in Homa Bay. The readings, announcements, and homily were in English, but not one musical selection. Drums and shakers accompanied the choir, and there was hand clapping with much of the music.

It was difficult to tell if there was an actual ‘choir,’ as there is no place for one to sit apart from the congregation, but in the first few pews on one side sat the song leaders, the choirmaster/cantor and those playing percussion. There was four-part harmony in the room, but it was not clear if this was due to the presence of an ‘official’ four-part choir, or whether sufficient members of the congregation knew parts to the various songs to produce the effect. Whatever the case, it was very effective.

I attempted to sing along as much as possible. There were hymn books with only the words printed, so after a repeat or two of a refrain I was usually able to join. The lack of notated music was a frustration to my trained, western musician’s perspective, but the cost of reproducing the notation in a context where almost nobody in the congregation could read it makes little sense.

The congregation was virtually all African – I saw perhaps three Europeans, including one of the Consolata Sisters who did the Old Testament reading. The surprisingly young priest presented a very interesting sermon for the feast of Corpus Christi today, connecting the Eucharist, the Passover meal, and the place of eating and its implication of community in African culture. He also focused on the question, “Do we live to eat, or eat to live?”

Looking in a place where I would expect to find stronger European elements in Catholic worship, I have still found that there is a clear sense of African ‘ownership’ of the liturgical music.

In the afternoon, I attended a concert of the Nairobi Music Society (Ken Wakia, director) and Nairobi Orchestra. The program began with the Vivialdi Concerto for Two Violins in A Minor (Op. 3, No. 8), featuring two violinists that had been imported with assistance from the Austrian Embassy. The soloists were quite remarkable, although the orchestra itself had a few intonation problems (notably the double bass). This was followed by two short choral pieces accompanied by piano and French horn, and then the violinists returned for a selection from Charles de Beriot’s Duo Concertante (Op. 57, No. 3), which was also played brilliantly.

After a short intermission, the combined orchestra and choir presented two complete Chandos Anthems of Handel (Nos. 7 and 11). The Chandos Anthems are odd little cantata-like works, very Italianate in their conception, and among the earliest extended works of Handel setting the English language (written for the Duke of Chandos, for whom they were named, in 1717-18). After nearly 300 years, this was their premiere in Nairobi.

Handel’s inexperience with English is apparent in some of the odd syllabifications and text underlay, but there are certainly some good moments. The anthems were clearly a challenge for the choir, but overall it was a credible performance, and was clearly appreciated by the audience. Of particular merit were the tenor and alto soloists.

The audience was at least half white (it was one of those events that, as a white person in Nairobi, I found myself asking, “where have they all been hiding?”), and there were also some Indians and Asians, with Africans probably accounting for 30% in all. Part of the issue, to be sure, was the ticket price of KSh 400 (about $5), which is rather expensive for the average Kenyan. This, for example, would be approximately the cost of a long-range bus ticket to a place like Kisumu or Mombassa.

After the performance, I bought dinner for Ken and Maurice, who also attended, and we had a very interesting discussion about the emergence of a Kenyan ‘art music,’ and whether or not such a thing would be relevant for liturgical music in the Catholic Church here (the opinion was that it would not be relevant). Ken also approached me about the possibility of returning to Nairobi to guest conduct the Music Society in a future concert, and I told him that I’d be delighted if the details could be arranged. Funding, of course, is always an issue in such matters, as organizations such as NMS definitely do not have deep pockets.

Today (Monday), I headed into town on foot at about 8:20 a.m. (my first solo venture into central Nairobi on a weekday), and spent about an hour trying to find the office of Safari Seekers to place a deposit on the safari Charles and I will be taking beginning on Friday this week. Fr. Kirwen had given me directions to one part of the city, and there was nothing resembling it there. I asked at a shop for a current telephone directory, and found a listing on Kaunda Street, not very far from the Catholic Bookshop next to the Basilica (my eventual destination), so I then headed that way and scoured the street until I found the correct building.

On the 5th floor (not easy to reach, since the entry door that includes access to the stairs isn’t marked in any way), I searched in vain for the correct office. I then simply entered a travel office, and they said that Safari Seekers had moved. My confidence was not exactly building by this point.

Fortunately, I had a mobile number (none of the land lines from the directory were being answered), and the proprietor’s wife answered and told me that he would call back. She hung up before I could give her my number, but fortunately, the number seemed to have been captured, because Zul, the proprietor, returned the call a moment later. He apologized for the confusion, and said that it would be fine to pay the morning of our departure, but that half would need to be in cash to take care of park fees and other out-of-pocket expenses along the way. I said no problem and added an ATM stop to my errands for later in the day.

Browsing at the Catholic Bookshop, I found a number of interesting things, including one of the music editions of hymns in Kiswahili commonly used here. This will be a helpful resource. I also picked up two books that will be of value in my paper, and one entitled The Risk of Education by Luigi Giussani (translated only recently from the Italian) that appeared interesting, and which may prove relevant for my Oxford presentation. The greatest treasure from the bookshop, however, was a sturdy cardboard box! I asked if they might have some empty in the back (learning that one needs to use the word “carton,” not “box”), and they gave me one used for shipping bibles. It is perhaps 9” x 8” x 14” and accommodates the collection of books I have amassed here, including the new purchases. I believe that it will be best to simply check it as another piece of baggage rather than pay the hefty shipping charge to air mail it back to the U.S.

After stopping at the ACK for an e-mail check, I went to the NSSF building to hit the ATM, and the guard, predictably, wanted to see what was in my box. Since she had a rather tough-looking uniform and a metal-detecting wand (and since she outweighed me easily by some 50 lbs.), I was happy to let her inspect the books in it. And, as you would probably expect, when I passed by the soldiers in front of the Israeli Embassy, they wanted a look in the box as well. THEY had AK-47s, so there wasn’t much question about letting them check the contents of the box. I expected this, of course, so I wasn’t terribly troubled by it.

In the afternoon, Brother Geru Andu, a student De La Salle brother studying at Tangaza, came to Flora and took me to a place not far away, in the Hurlingham area of Nairobi, where he treated me to some authentic Eritrean food (which overlaps Ethiopian cuisine considerably). It was very tasty, and for the first time since I’ve been in Africa, I was able to eat a really spicy dish (a roasted, diced lamb dish made with a hot red curry). This was served on ingera, a very light type of spongy rice bread that is made with yeast and which is soft and easy to tear off. The method of eating is that you tear small pieces of this and use them to pick up the bits of meat, all people eating from the same central plate. We also had a second dish, which was a bit like fajitas, except that the pottery serving dish has a small compartment at the bottom for hot coals to continually heat the food on top. This was also served with ingera, and to drink we had a thick concoction of mango, papaya and avocado juices.

The most interesting part, however, was the coffee service at the end of the meal. Traditional Ethiopian/Eritrean coffee is very thick – boiled for a long time in a pot with the grounds. The entire pot is served with cups, a bowl of sugar, and (this was a surprise), a small dish of hot coals, upon which the server places some bits of incense, taken from a small basket that comes on the tray (apparently, one can put on more incense if this isn’t sufficient – it was). The feel was vaguely Arabic in some ways, or so I imagine.

The restaurant is divided into very private little rooms (wicker and fabric dividers), in which are small tables and usually four chairs. I found the atmosphere really very intimate and extremely refined and civilized. The only shortcoming was the background music from the radio, which was tuned to a station that seemed intent on playing American music from the 1970s. It is a bit of a challenge to stay in an authentic Eritrean mood while hearing Marvin Gay sing “Sexual Healing.”

Even with the Motown distraction, it was a truly wonderful experience. Afterward, we exited the restaurant and went to a nearby shop, where I was able to buy some authentic scarves and where Geru also purchased for me as souvenirs a very nice little basket (“for sweets in your office” he said), and an interesting metal cross mounted on a patch of velvet.

We had a very good conversation that covered a wide range of topics, and I learned much about his background in music, and how his work as a lyricist particularly is something very precious to him. It is, in every way, a personal expression of his faith, and it was moving to learn of the struggles he has had to come to Kenya to study, to become a De La Salle brother, and to be away from his family for the past six years. In fact, he cannot go home to visit, because there is presently a presidential order that will not allow anybody under the age of 40 to leave the country! So, if he goes back, he will stay there permanently. He faces the difficult decision in May 2007, when he completes the Bachelor’s degree, whether or not to return to Eritrea permanently. It is something that he prays about each day.

I returned to Flora at about 5:00 p.m., and left again almost immediately to meet Charles for “tea” at the Fairview Hotel. “Tea” has become our euphemism for any drinks, and these involve alcohol more often than not lately. My “tea” today was a double Absolut vodka and tonic, for example. The main reason for the brief meeting, however, was so that I could get the iBook computer back from him, which I’d let him borrow since yesterday afternoon. It seems to have been very valuable for his writing of the research paper, which we are both planning to finish tomorrow (he’ll be back in the ACK Cybercafe more or less all day).

Tomorrow I have an interview with Dr. Arthur Kemoli of Nairobi University at 3:00 p.m. – my last official research meeting. Maurice will meet me here at Flora at 2:00 p.m. and we’ll take a taxi, as I’m not sure of bus routing. It isn’t terribly far from here. Tomorrow night, I’ll finish my research report, and get any other things ready to turn in on Wednesday – the final day of the program. It is difficult to believe!

(8:54 p.m.)

Kenya Diary - Part Four

Thursday, June 8, 2006

Classes proceeded normally today, except for a section entitled “Pastoral Reflection” at the end of the day. The title was somewhat misleading, but the activity itself was quite informative. Two of the course sections were charged with giving short skits illustrating problems in Kenyan society today.

The first presented a couple with a new baby in a hospital. First, some younger friends come to visit, and are told that the baby has been named “Alexander.” They compliment the name, wish the couple well and depart after a time. Next, the grandparents and another elder visit and are very upset that they were not consulted about the name, which should be taken from their lineage after consideration and an opportunity for the Ancestors to make known which name the child should have. Ultimately, they insist that the child’s name must be changed, and they depart. The couple is then left with a difficult problem, as the child has already been given the name Alexander in official records, and the father prefers that name.

Naming patterns are extremely important in traditional African societies, for it is by the means of naming that Ancestors are able to continue their existence (nominal reincarnation). In East Africa, most have been also given European Christian names at the time of their baptism, generally with the instruction that they must take the name of a saint when they are baptized (and in extreme cases, baptism may be withheld until they agree). For some generations now, these names have been added to the traditional practices, so that there are Western Christian names represented in multiple generations of a lineage, but there is definitely controversy as to whether or not these Western names should be dropped in a return to purely African practice. Conversely, some Africans still wish to identify with the West with respect to perceptions of wealth and material success, and choose to abandon their traditional names, often to the great frustration and sorrow of their families. While no real consensus was reached on the question of which is the superior path, it was generally agreed that both systems could work together, with Western names grafted on to traditional naming formulas, but that individuals should be able to decide what is best for their situation.

The second skit presented the issue of land rights, which is an extremely sensitive subject. The British Colonial Administration in Kenya moved peoples off ancestral land, appropriated vast tracts, and devoted many areas to the growing of cash crops. When the British left, in many cases, large estates were simply turned over to the leaders of the independence movement, who never returned or redistributed it. Thus, there is the perception that the Kenyan government leaders are no better than the Colonial Administration, and are, in fact, simply operating on the same principles.

Specifically, the skit presented a rich British man (title and all) coming into a tribal chief’s office and offering a large sum of money for a tract of land (one that he wished to fence off for a private ranch, saying “… and I don’t want the natives running around on my property”). The chief was very compliant, but said that he had to talk to the tribal elders, and that some more money would help to “mobilize” them. When a price was agreed, the chief went to the elders, presented the land deal in the most positive light. On a split vote the elders decided against the sale.

Immediately, the chief informed the British aristocrat that the sale was approved, and that he should meet with the elders. Only those who agreed with the sale came to the meeting, and while the deal was being finalized, the other elders angrily burst into the chief’s office (end of skit).

The matter of land rights is thorny, to say the least. In Kenya, at least some of the land is held as communal land for the Maasai, but in other areas, especially Central Province where the British carved up much of the territory, historical wrongs continue to go unaddressed, with very large tracts of land owned by somebody (usually a crony of a powerful politician), but not under cultivation and cut off from use by those who had occupied it ancestrally.

Land tenure is a powder keg in Kenya. Eventually, somebody will light the fuse, and if this happens, it will be a serious, and probably bloody, mess. The government should, if for no other reason than its own self-preservation, begin the process of dealing with the issue immediately in a manner that avoids favoritism toward certain ethnic groups (e.g. Kikuyu, Kalenjin) over others who have been marginalized (e.g., Luo). Unfortunately, one of the most enduring lessons of the wazungu (white people) is that of greed and the desire for personal gain at the expense of the community.

Following the skits, we broke up into four randomly-selected groups for discussion, and then returned for designed spokespeople to give reports from the groups. The currents of the conversations in the four groups must have been remarkably similar, considering the content of the brief reports. I came away from this session earnestly wishing that the Kenyans in the MIASMU program were running the government here. Perhaps, one day, some of them will.

The conversations, especially about land rights, continued on the school bus back to town, and the ride was longer than usual owing some inexplicable traffic jams along the route, forcing the driver to take back streets (the bumps were pretty intense). There is even a sense that revolution is possible if the problem persists long enough, and the issue of food security and supply is, in some ways, tied up with the matter of land rights as well. Certainly, depriving people of food and the means to make even a subsistence living can, and has, motivated peoples to revolt in the past.

Corruption at all levels of government siphons off precious funds in an economy that cannot spare them. Indeed, if the money allocated for various projects actually went into completing them, Kenya’s infrastructure and economy would be in a far better condition. Sadly, many politicians and officials see access to government resources as a way to line their own pockets, and they have become fat feeding at this trough. Clearly, temptation will always cause some to falter, but the proportion of those skimming funds here is almost unimaginable in the West. Some of this stems from prior regimes’ use of imprisonment of political opponents, and even torture. The people have become convinced that one cannot oppose the government, but that will change if the conversations of young Kenyans I’ve heard are any indication.

Corruption and waste are also major impediments to raising funds to assist African countries. There is a pervasive view in the West that funds sent to African simply disappear into the pockets of corrupt politicians, and never arrive at their designated projects or sites. This is not entirely true, but it can easily happen if one is not careful about how money is transferred and to whom. Simply throwing money at Africa without any follow-up or accounting will actually only make the problem worse. However, providing resources for leaders who have proven their credibility and organizations who keep overhead to a minimum and devote most of their funds to actual aid activity can make a significant different in people’s lives here.

Ultimately, if the West is to help Africa, it must get to know Africa. We cannot simply remain unengaged and uninterested, occasionally sending aid to countries or donating to charities and trusting that they will “take care of it.” This will not suffice. Unless Western nations forge closer ties with African countries, hold them to account financially, and demand that oppression and violations of human rights be addressed in order to receive aid, the situation will continue. Giving money to assuage a vague sense of guilt for our affluence is both intellectually lazy and utterly pointless.

I am not suggesting that the West should lament its affluence. Indeed, guilt is a terrible motivation for doing anything, and it is a poor substitute for genuine interest and caring. Westerners have, in many respects, earned their affluence, and it has come at a price. However, with affluence comes responsibility. I am emphatically not talking about the so-called “white man’s burden.” Color, in fact, has nothing to do with it. American conservatives are fond of stating that the United States is a “Christian nation.” While this may be debated, if this is their view, then as Christians they should seek to use their resources to assist those in the international community that are less fortunate. This is not a matter of superiority (as some cultures have tried to make it), but rather it is an aspect of community. If we are to coexist on this planet in a community of nations, we must value all members of that community, and we must assist all who wish to live peacefully together to succeed.

(7:39 p.m.)


Wednesday, June 14, 2006

I have much catching up to do on this diary! First, I must relate the saga of journeying to the tiny village of Nyatuoro in the North Kadem area of South Nyanza – Maurice’s home. The trip proved more challenging than I had imagined. First, we left Flora Hostel at 5:30 p.m. on Friday evening, June 9th. We got on a matatu headed for the city center, and immediately were stuck in a traffic jam. So, we decided to get out and walk. 45 min. later, we were at the location where the “public” busses stop in central Nairobi.

A word of explanation: There are two kinds of long-range bus in Kenya. The more expensive (usually) kind, requiring advance tickets is called Akamba. These tend to go on smoother routes when possible. The other kind is simply called a “public bus” which can be of more or less any size, from 14 passengers to 60. These stop at a street corner in the eastern part of downtown that is not marked – you just have to know where it is, and they simply put out signs with their destinations. You purchase a ticket, which may vary in price according to demand, and then you go whenever the bus is full or nearly full. This latter kind was the type Maurice and I were to take.

By this time it was 6:15 p.m., and the “normal” time for departure, Maurice said, was about 7:00 p.m. However, as we waited, no busses with the destination “Karungu Bay” appeared. We saw one for Homa Bay, which was an unattractive 2nd option that would add about 3 total hours to the journey, and many for places even less helpful (especially Oyugis). Time passed, and as we walked up and down the dirt stretch of street, occasionally men would approach us to either try to sell us tickets for somewhere we didn’t want to go, or else just to ask why a white man was in this part of town after dark (I was beginning to wonder that myself). This uneasy situation continued for some time, until finally Maurice made the decision that we would go to Homa Bay if a bus arrived with that destination first. A bit before 8:30 p.m., one finally did, and we boarded (not a particularly orderly affair) and paid the much higher-than-average KSh 700 each for tickets (Maurice was convinced that this was part of a plan to jack up prices, which might well be the case).

We sat on the bus for what seemed like an eternity (probably some 35 min.) while hawkers rapped on the windows of the bus trying to sell bottled water, watches, radios, flashlights, snacks, handkerchiefs, and all manner of other small items, while yet other hawkers boarded the bus itself and squeezed themselves up and down the impossibly small aisle. After they were cleared from the bus (and this was not done hurriedly), we left the “depot” and headed into the city center.

At this point, I thought we were on our way. I was mistaken. After driving around and being caught in a traffic jam for a few minutes, the driver abruptly turned around and drove back to a service bay we had passed, and the bus had the oil changed while we were on it (well, some people got off). The air filter was also cleaned (they apparently don’t change them if they can help it, but blow compressed air through the filter making it semi-clean), and then there was some trouble starting the bus – cold oil does not help a diesel engine start. So, the bus was pushed back and then forward and the clutch popped to try to start it – about 7 times. Finally, it was running, and those outside boarded. We were on our way!

Almost. On the way out of Nairobi, we stopped again at a filling station. But, as fate would have it, it was closed, so we exited, turned back toward Nairobi, stopped at an open station, and they filled up with diesel. By now it was after 10:00 p.m. After this, we were finally headed out of Nairobi.

To say that the roads were bad would be the most ridiculous understatement. Particularly horrible was the stretch in the Great Rift Valley between Narok and Bomet. It was dark, and therefore impossible to see the road conditions, but one can only imagine. There were several occasions where the bus bounced so violently that I flew up in the air and was jerked back down by the lap belt I was (thankfully) wearing. Needless to say, there was very little opportunity to sleep. From Bomet, things got a bit better through Sotik and Kisii, over to Rongo, but the road from Rongo to Homa Bay was again quite rough.

We arrived in Homa Bay about 6:00 a.m. and hand to take a matatu from there to Karungu Bay, some 48 km to the south (where we would have gone directly had a bus been available). This took until about 7:30 a.m. (and included retracing part of the bad road to Rongo). At Karungu Bay, we stopped for a bit, bought some fresh fish (which would come to haunt me) and sugar for Maurice’s mother. I took some photographs fo the village and the beautiful bay on Lake Victoria.

From Karungu Bay, we then took a car (shared taxi on a fixed route – basically a matatu in car form) to a small crossroads called Onger (no signs), where the car turned right, but we needed to go left. At this point, the next step down in transportation available to us was the “boda boda.” These bicycle taxis got their name for making the run across the “border” from Kenya to Uganda, but are actually called “nguare” in the local language of Luo. We hired three of these (one of the bags and one for each of us) and were off.

It was about another 4 km to Nyatuoro. Of course one only rides on a “boda boda” downhill or on the level. When a significant uphill stretch is reached, the driver calls out “pole, pole” (“sorry, sorry” in Kiswahili) and you walk. We had three such “pole, pole” incidents before reaching Maurice’s tiny home village of Nyatuoro, the center of which consisted of some seven buildings and a well. There is no electricity around for kilometers, nor running water in any homes in this region.

The countryside is quite beautiful – almost entirely undeveloped. Nyanza is the poorest of the Kenyan provinces, and though it manages to elect political leaders that could wield some power and influence, for some reason they have always failed them. Life is astoundingly difficult for the people here, with most eking out a living through subsistence farming and raising of livestock. There is no industry, no infrastructure, marginal access to education, and not much hope for better prospects for the rural people. Paradoxically, there is GSM mobile phone service, but I do not know who, apart from visitors, would have phones (or a place to charge them).

Maurice’s family home, just past the main village, consists of his father’s house, what remains of his elder brother’s house (recently destroyed by fire), his house, and his younger brother’s house, plus a partially-completed workshop building, a metal machine shed that houses a presently inoperative diesel milling machine, and a small tin outhouse (squatting only). In truth, this is a fairly extensive compound in this area, on good land with an excellent view of the surrounding countryside. Maurice’s father chose a fine spot when he moved the family here from nearer the lake in Maurice’s youth. The buildings are generally wooden frame with mud plaster filling and finish, painted, with tin roofs. The tin has slowly replaced thatch as roofing for its waterproof quality, but it is inferior to thatch in repelling the heat in a climate measurably hotter than Nairobi.

Upon arrival, we rested at Maurice’s house. I was extremely tired, but greeted all the family members (father, mother, elder brother, sister, various nieces and nephews, and Maurice’s wife, Martina, who had come from the district where she teaches to meet us the day before). While resting, I was a bit alarmed by two very large black wasps flying around, but was assured that these were not dangerous (they looked dangerous to me, but I did my best to disregard them). At one point, Maurice’s older brother looked up where one of the walls met the ceiling and said something in Luo, fetched a glass of paraffin oil (used for lamps), moved a couch, and then splashed the oil at the junction of wall and roof. Immediately a thin, orangey snake fled across the top of the wall and down into another crevasse. The general agreement was that the oil would eventually kill it, so no need to chase it further. “That one is not dangerous – the black ones, THEY are dangerous.”

Upon Maurice’s arrival, there was a more or less constant procession of relatives giving him the latest news, seeking his opinion, and generally complaining about things. As the only child to be educated, and the only one attempting to find work in Nairobi, Maurice has assumed a role beyond that traditionally held by a younger son. He is expected to fix various things and make right what goes wrong in his absence – a difficult task when one has limited means, six children of his own and a wife, plus his own expenses for a modest place in Nairobi.

I interviewed Maurice’s father, Pius Opiyo, about his memory of traditional music and his experiences of music in the church, as well as the various missionaries in the region and their differing levels of tolerance of traditional forms of expression in worship. He proved a fascinating subject, and seemed eager to relate his memories and perceptions. As he does not speak English, Maurice translanted.

At 3pm, we had a late lunch of fried and boiled fish, rice, ugali and potatoes. I ate a bit of the ugali, rice and fried fish. This, I believe, was my undoing, but more about that later. In this rather traditional setting (entertaining the ‘honored guest’), the men are seated and served by the women, who do not eat with them. I found that a bit strange culturally. The food was tasty, and the only annoyance of eating outside was the congregation of animals (chickens, cats, dog, goats) constantly attempting to edge in for a scrap. The men of the family had no hesitation in smacking them quite hard with a stick if they came too close.

Following this lunch, we borrowed a car (the only one in the village) to visit a nearby archaeological site I had read about – Thimlich Ohinga. It was described as a 15th-century stone enclosure that mimics a traditional Luo homestead, but on a larger scale. The scale, actually, is vast. The main enclosure is some 300m across, with many smaller houses within it, as well as livestock pens, a forge for smelting iron, and even what is surmised to be a form of athletic playing field. I was amazed that this place was not presented as a national treasure, with a paved road providing access and a small western-style tourist hotel provided for accommodation. This single monument clearly refutes the notion that there were no builders of great buildings in Sub-Saharan African before colonization. Seriously, this thing should be on the 1,000 shilling bank note instead of Jomo Kenyatta.

That night, my stomach began to become unstable, so that by dinner time (8:30 p.m.), I was able only to eat half of a small boiled potato. I soon retired for the night in a bed (with an actual frame) they had fashioned for me in the sitting room of the house of Maurice’s younger brother (he and his wife and two children slept in the other room). Although there was no pillow, they had set out a mattress with sheets and a blanket, and had also set up a mosquito net. Given the challenges of the surroundings, it was clear that they had gone to some significant trouble to make me comfortable – including bringing a basin of warm water at bed time so that I could wash outside (complete with wooden folding chair – I had brought soap and towel). I settled in to sleep, thoroughly exhausted, setting my watch alarm for 5:00 a.m.

I awoke at 5:00 a.m. to the alarm, went outside (still quite dark with a full moon on the horizon), and shaved, washed my face, and brushed my teeth using the remainder of my bottled water. After dressing and repacking my things, I thanked Maurice’s brother for his hospitality, and he walked me back to Maurice’s house. By this time it was nearly 6:00 a.m., and the “village car” was to come at 6:15. The owner had sent his son to give us a ride to Karungu Bay in exchange for fuel money.

The ride to Karungu Bay was not bad. The matatu ride to Homa Bay was more problematic – slow, very bumpy, and before arriving, the driver abruptly stopped at a crossroads and told us all to get off! No explanation was given (perhaps his license was invalid, making a trip into town risky?). So, from there, we had to find another small matatu, and this one had its own problems, including getting stopped and cited by the police (in spite of an attempted charade of being out of fuel with the overload passengers jumping off to push). After getting into Homa Bay, it was a 3-person (carrying 5) 3-wheel taxi to the cathedral.

At the Mass in Homa Bay, I saw the same vibrancy observed in Nairobi at Holy Family Basilica. In fact, the were using the same Kiswahili Mass parts (Gloria, Sanctus, etc.). The service presented a mixture of Luo, Kiswahili, and even a bit of English in the sermon. At the offertory, a group of girls performed a dance in traditional Luo costume (skirts of long dried plant fibers, dyed purple at the ends). The Mass itself lasted nearly two hours. I was honestly amazed by the quality of the singing by the choir of about 30 (half the normal number, I was told) - strong, resonant, well-blended. Drums and other percussion (including tambourine) were incorporated, and the music was clearly connecting with the congregation most effectively. From my perspective as a foreigner, I would never have expected such wonderful sounds and such care in vocal training and fine singing in such a remote place.

Following the Mass, I interviewed the two co-choirmasters about their techniques and backgrounds, as well as their working relationship with the clergy. They revealed that only they read music, and thus teach every part to the choir by rote, working from song books. In teaching each phrase one at a time, they are able to address production issues, vowel formation, and the overall tone of each section's sound, which contributes greatly to the choir's beautiful, unified singing.

Following my interview of the choirmasters, Martina got a taxi for us, as I was feeling increasingly sick, and we went to the “Tourist Hotel” on the lake shore – an adequate place by Western standards – for refreshment. It was here that my digestive system completely rebelled, beginning with diarrhea, with vomiting soon following that – it was fortunate that I was sitting outdoors when that happened. We stayed a bit longer than intended, but I managed to get myself settled down enough to travel a bit, thinking the worst was over.

Considering my stomach, Maurice and Martina decided to keep the taxi to transport us to where she lives with the children – on the grounds of the school where she teaches, not too far from Homa Bay. We arrived there about 4:00 p.m., and I met Maurice’s children, plus those that are staying with his wife (not unusual for nieces/nephews whose parents cannot care for them, etc.). The houses at the school were similar to the ones of Maurice’s homestead – very basic accommodations. Maurice and Martina have beautiful children, and I wish that I had been feeling better and spent more time with them.

Maurice then took me to the home of the parish priest, Fr. Charles, who put me up in his guest room. This was an absolute mercy, because by that time, I was deeply in the throes of food poisoning, with fever, chills, and severe gastric disturbance. I was resting in the guest room by 4:30 p.m., and awoke about 7:00 p.m. to ask for the mosquito net that was earlier being washed. My perception of time was wildly off, and when somebody woke me to check on my in what I thought was the middle of the night, it was about 8:00 p.m. I then checked my temperature, and was disturbed to read 102.9 F. I took some naproxen sodium tablets (Aleve) and brought the fever down. I am very fortunate to have taken those with me!

There was fortunately a bathroom off the guest room, of which I made frequent use in the night. At one point, there was a very heavy thunderstorm, and I realized that the window I slept next to had no “window,” but only a metal grate and a shade, which blew in with the wind and rain fell over me. I was too exhausted to do much about it, and chose to ignore it. I woke up about every two hours, and checked my temperature, which remained controlled.

At 4:30 a.m. I got up, washed, brushed my teeth, and got dressed. I packed my bag and sat out in the living room, where Fr. Charles appeared momentarily, asking if I had been waiting long. He asked how I felt, and I said (lying) a bit better. I had just taken 3 naproxen and my remaining 2 immodium hoping to survive the trip back to Nairobi. The priest had a 4WD truck which got us out of his extremely muddy road, to the main road where Maurice was waiting about 5:50 a.m. We then went to Kendu Bay, but the bus we were to take had already left, so after taking fuel, we went on to Oyugis, where we caught the bus. The road back was not as bad (or as long) as the ride out, but the stretch between Nakuru and Naivasha is still very bad. All of this was amplified by my very bad stomach and sore system generally. In spite of the heat, I still occasionally had chills. It was a very special form of torture.

We arrived in Nairobi about 4:30 p.m., and took at taxi to Flora (I strongly suggested this to Maurice), arriving there about 4:45. I crawled into bed, continuing to fight fever, which went to 103.8 F that night at one point before I got it back down again, and more chills.

Tuesday morning (June 13), Maurice called, and I agreed that I should see the doctor. We went to Dr. Rajan Kaushal in Westlands (about 15 min. by taxi), who has a good relationship with Tangaza. He saw me about 12:30 p.m., and by 1:00 p.m. I was taking the first doses of Immodium (again), Buscopan, and Tetracycline. I slept most of the day and evening, but was by dinner able to have some soup and a few small potatoes.

Wednesday morning (June 14) looked much better, and I ate more for breakfast. I was able to attend class with no major difficulties, and so today seemed relatively uneventful as we began the final week of class. My only great concern is that I am now far behind on my paper, but I will work hard tonight to catch up on this. All in all, this weekend was perhaps more of an adventure than anticipated. Even with the food poisoning, there was much to remember and treasure about the visit to Nyanza.

(9:04 p.m.)

Kenya Diary - Part Three

Monday, June 5, 2006

This morning I made a beeline for the National Social Security Fund buildings to purchase some additional telephone airtime cards, and to also try to find some foot powder. I was, in fact, successful on both counts at the little pharmacy just inside the building (I say “just inside,” but in reality, one goes through a significant security gate, around the large building that fronts on Bishop Road, and then inside a very well concealed entrance from the vantage of the street. Having so quickly taken care of that business, I enjoyed an hour online at the ACK Guesthouse cybercafe.

Today marked my first solo excursion on Nairobi public transit. I was able, after a 25-minute wait, to pick up the Citi Hoppa #126 from the Kenyatta Hospital stop to Rongai, an outer suburb where Maurice stays, and where he had set up for me an interview with Henry DeWhite Onunga, an older Luo man whom I was to interview. Stepping of the bus in Rongai, one is definitely not in Kansas anymore…

In any American context, Rongai is a slum, but in Kenyan reality I would have to characterize it as lower middle class. Slums are really beyond Western imagining here. A fair number of goats wander along the dusty roadside and nibble at what grass and trash they can find. A chaotic jumble of kiosks and tiny storefronts line the main street with hand-painted signs inserted more or less randomly along the road. The sole establishment with any Western polish (and that is minimal) is the Kobil gas station (looks quite a bit like Mobil to me…), where I met Maurice. A woman attendant was sweeping the brick paving with a short whisk broom, which most definitely annoyed the goats.

My interview with Henry Onunga was fascinating, as he had very interesting perspectives on the history of Luo traditional music, the use (or suppression) of this in Christian liturgy, and the changes he’s seen in his lifetime. Of particular interest to me was the fact that he dealt mostly with Seventh Day Adventist missionaries, who had suppressed the use of instruments (traditional or otherwise) in church until very recently. He described various traditional instruments and their manner of playing, and even had a couple cassette recordings which I was able to play on the spot with my portable cassette recorder.

After the interview, we ordered lunch (nyama choma again, but at 1/10 the price paid at Bomas of Kenya), and I went to see Maurice’s place while it was prepared (45 min. to an hour). Maurice’s apartment is entered through a metal outer door closed over a wooden inner door, both padlocked, opening on a central courtyard with three residential buildings and the back of the row of shops forming the four sides (one walks through a tiny alley between shops to reach the courtyard). The courtyard was full of clotheslines with clothing drying, and two small children were playing under the watchful eye of their mother, who was doing more laundry. Maurice has a small sitting room (which was all I saw), perhaps 10’ square, into which is wedged a couch, tiny coffee table, a chair, and a very small table and several stools. He has a small black and white TV which gets only one channel (badly), in spite of the wire extensions he improvised on the ends of the antennae. Still, in the truest spirit of Luo hospitality, he had earlier bought some fresh fruit (a mango, several bananas and some oranges), which he washed in the next room and set out for us to nibble on as we visited. He was insistent that regardless of how short a visit, it is Luo custom to offer food and hospitality to the guest. I enjoyed looking through a photo album of his family members and friends, and several of the photos were taken at his home in Nyanza, where we will go at the end of this week.

We returned to the restaurant for the meal. Now, I should back up a bit and explain how the food is ordered. In the tiny storefront window, there are legs and/or sides of the various animals hanging (mutton in this case). You indicate how much meat you want (the usual increments are ¼ kilo, ½ kilo or 1 kilo), and if you wish to have it mixed with anything (greens and potatoes were on the menu). Then, in front of you, the meat is hacked off with a large knife and weighed. I am certainly no vegetarian, nor did the experience cause me to consider swearing off meat, but we in the West are certainly isolated from this sort of scene – from window to butcher’s block to scale to the fire.

Now, all this while, I was noticing the general level of cleanliness (or, more accurately, lack thereof) and the many flies buzzing around. A small candle had been lit inside the front window, which seemed to be killing many of the flies. At any rate, I simply put e. coli out of my mind for the moment, trusting that the roasting of the meat would kill anything problematic. It is now after 8:00 p.m. and I’m feeling fine, so I think I’ve dodged that bullet. I did take the precaution of drinking only bottled soda with the meal, as I was definitely not about to trust the water supply (and, stupidly, I had not brought any bottled water with me today).

The serving of the meal was actually very nice, in spite of very basic surroundings (an outside courtyard behind the restaurant, where we were closely observed by four cats who were hoping for leftovers). A waiter first came around with a basin which had a bar of soap in it and a pitcher of warm water. The custom is to have the eldest man (Henry in this case) wash first, and then the others. This was repeated after the meal, as nyama choma is traditionally eaten with the hands. The meat was slightly tough, but flavorful, and the greens and potatoes accompanied it well. Served on the side was a large helping of ugali (cornmeal paste). All of us ate from the same large dish, which is also customary.

We were joined by another Luo man who was only introduced to me as Peter. He was especially keen on politics, and demonstrated a very thorough knowledge of American political events. He was especially complimentary of Senator Barak Obama, who is, as it turns out, Luo and from the same area of South Nyanza that all three (Maurice, Henry and Peter) men call home. Apparently, Obama endeared himself to his ancestral community by coming home to bury his father and honoring tradition in this way, as well as bringing his bride there after their marriage and staying for two weeks. Peter also said that he was paying the school fees for the children of the entire village – something that has not gotten really any press at all in the U.S., and something that I believe gives us an important insight into Obama’s heart and character.

Following the lunch, which lasted a solid hour, Maurice and I went to the cybercafe adjacent to his home so that he could check on an account he set up on an online networking community, and 10 minutes later, it was back across the street to wait for the City Hoppa #126 back to Flora Hostel. After about 15 minutes, one came, and Maurice was kind enough to wait with me the entire time (particularly since he had to make a run into town himself to the bank, and could have taken any one of a dozen matatus that came by while we waited).

As luck would have it, it was the same Citi Hoppa with the same conductor as that morning (I suppose a lone white guy this far away from tourist areas does get noticed), and the conductor remembered me and asked, helpfully, if I had gotten where I was going. I had verified with him that we had reached Rongai that morning before getting off the Citi Hoppa. I assured him that all was well and that I hadn’t gotten lost.

Arriving back at Flora about 2:45 p.m., I made a quick stop at my room and then headed back to the ACK Cybercafe to spend some additional time online, and, for a special reward, I then went to the Fairview Hotel, bought The Nation (the principal newspaper in Nairobi), and read it and some other material while having tea for nearly an hour. Then it was back to Flora about 5:00 p.m. amidst the brisk pedestrian and automobile traffic of rush hour on Bishop Road (but nothing like downtown!).

At dinner I met a professor (Bill) from Concordia University in Moorhead, MN, who had just arrived in Nairobi after several weeks in Tanzania leading a student group on a program promoting AIDS awareness. He is now taking some vacation time in Kenya, grateful to be away for a while from adolescent energy.

And, best of all, tomorrow is my “day off,” which isn’t entirely accurate, as I’ll be reading and writing quite a bit, but there are no scheduled classes or research sessions. Perhaps I’ll be able to connect with Charles – maybe for tea in the afternoon. I’ve been wondering how his day was today. In any case, I am gaining confidence in this strange environment, and I am less apprehensive of the trip to rural South Nyanza than I was even a few days ago. I am certainly never going to be daunted by travel in Europe or North America again.

(8:32 p.m.)


Tuesday, June 6, 2006
12:38 p.m.

Thought for the day: In America, if you are squatting in your shower washing clothes in a plastic basin with a bar of soap, you are angry – probably because your washing machine is broken. In Africa, you are grateful, because you are fortunate enough to have a shower, basin, and soap.

The above occurred to me as I was washing clothes this morning in the manner described. The relative luxury of this was pointed out by my trip to Rongai yesterday, where most of the residents would consider themselves incredibly fortunate to have all of these things. There is much time to think when doing laundry this way, particularly since the distraction of my radio is no more. The already tenuous connection between the antenna and the internal wiring broke today – which was inevitable, given that the antenna was not properly anchored to the body of the radio. It still gets many local stations, but I can no longer pull in Voice of America, which was a real treat for a brief while. The shortwave receiver never seems to have worked particular well. Oh well, a KSh 2,000 learning experience: inspect the goods carefully.

After laundry and my own shower this morning, I went down to visit the supermarket in the NSSF building. Unfortunately, the supermarket was no longer there. Apparently, taking down outdated signs is something that happens only infrequently in Kenya (the signs for the defunct cybercafe at the bottom of the hill on 5th Ngong Ave. and Bishop road that I tried to find just after arriving here are still up as well). I didn’t really need anything specific, but it was irritating. I then went to the pharmacy in that building and purchased some more pre-paid mobile phone time, anticipating that I might not be able to do so all that easily while in the west of the country over the weekend.

I spent about an hour and 15 minutes online at the ACK Guesthouse cybercafe – even reading some news on the CNN web site (things are not improving much in Iraq), where I bumped into Charles. He had a research appointment in town today, and will phone me when he gets back, about 5pm, so that we can meet for tea. I then returned to Flora for lunch, and while waiting for it to be served, I began constructing the outline for my research integration paper. This outline is due tomorrow, and it is a bit disconcerting to construct an outline for a research paper when only about 1/3 of the research has been completed. I suppose there is room for revision, of course, but it is still a challenge. Given the pace of the program, however, I admit that it is necessary to begin moving on the paper this early in the sequence of things.

Every day when I walk to the ACK Guesthouse, the NSSF Building or the Fairvew Hotel, I pass immediately in front of the Israeli Embassy on Bishop Road. It is, in fact, directly across from the Fairview. This explains the armed roadblocks on this stretch of the road, of course, and the compound itself is a fairly impressive fortress. A tiny sign with a buzzer/intercom by a door in the compound wall is the only identifying feature. This door has a small awning and a light. Occasionally, I have seen a white man in a khaki vest and baseball cap in the area, speaking intermittently into a microphone, sometimes on one side of the street, sometimes the other. He’s obviously Israeli security. Passing him the other day, I greeted him simply with a nod, which was returned. I didn’t want to offer a verbal greeting, as these guys are generally pretty focused on business.

The compound fence has barbed wire with electrified fencing above that. There is a car entry gate (solid metal), and about eight feet in front of this is a post that retracts into the ground to allow a car to pass. There are video cameras in several places, a semi-spherical mirror just inside the car gate mounted high enough to see it over the wall, and during business hours at least, I generally see at least four Kenyan Army soldiers manning the roadblocks (in addition to at least three or four security guards for the gates of the Fairview across the street and occasionally the Israeli security man).

Clearly, the Al Qaeda attack on the American Embassy in Nairobi some years ago was a catalyst to upgraded security for all foreign missions here, but I imagine that the Israelis had always been somewhat cautious in this environment. I have not visited the American Embassy here, nor the memorial gardens at the site of the old embassy, but I may try to do this before leaving Nairobi. I do feel my blood pressure rise a bit whenever I’m near areas where tourists are likely to gather in the city, particularly since Westerners taking part in the Maryknoll program are not encouraged, as a matter of safety, to frequent such locations.

8:41 p.m.

The outline is finished! Not only was I able to get it done, but I was also able to print out two copies at the ACK Cybercafe. It cost KSh 10 ($0.14) per page, but they threw in two staples for free (wow). It came out to three pages, and I was able to include a fair number of references to quotes I intend to use from five books, so it should be fairly easy to flesh out. As it was then almost 5:00, and Charles was expected back shortly, I hung around and sent a few e-mails. Charles called at 5:20 or so, and when I told him I was in the cybercafe, he came over.

We decided that since he had a rather frustrating day (broken appointments, lots of waiting around in the city center, and ultimately only one interview with a nun at the basilica for about 30 minutes), it was acceptable for us to have a drink at the Fairview in the poolside restaurant. With a double gin and tonic for Charles and a Tusker beer (the local brew, which is really quite good) for me in hand, we processed the last 48 hours or so in preparation for returning to class tomorrow. We also indulged in an appetizer (popcorn shrimp), which seems like such a little thing from a Western perspective, but was rather an extravagance here. The fact that I washed laundry in a plastic bucket this morning made me feel better about indulging.

Given that I am taking a course entitled “African Traditional Religion Interprets the Bible,” I thought a quote from the Bible would be a good way of starting my outline and paper. In the spirit of avoiding the European accretions to the scripture that have so often accompanied missionary activity, I chose the following (Proverbs 30:5-6):

Every word of God proves true;
He is a shield to those who take refuge in Him.
Do not add to his words, lest he rebuke you,
And you become a liar.

The emphasis in the context of my paper, and of the overall theme of the course, is that Africans must themselves interpret what Christianity means to them based on the reading and contemplation of scripture, especially in their own native tongues. The same is true for Christian worship, which includes the use of music that speaks appropriately in an African context. To be sure, there is a wide range of what will be considered appropriate from community to community, but it must speak to their cultural norms and have relevance in their frame of reference.

I did consider another quote, but this seemed a bit too easily read as an attack on all missionary activity (Proverbs 13:17):

A bad messenger plunges men into trouble, but a faithful envoy brings healing.

Of course, it is the definition of “bad messenger” that is problematic. Many Evangelicals would likely say that indigenous interpretations of scripture are deviating from the “true” message (i.e., the Evangelicals’ interpretation), and that the African must be “educated” in the “true” practice of Christianity. Hogwash.

Dinner was punctuated tonight with a blackout of about 10 minutes’ duration, but the staff quickly lit battery-powered fluorescent lights (these were permanently installed in the dining area) and a large kerosene lantern. The timing would have been far worse if this had happened earlier, when food was being prepared!

Another group of American teens and twenty-somethings arrived either this morning or last night (there were at breakfast). They are yet another mission group on their way to do something. I don’t mean to be callous, but I’m not sure how much of the culture such a group can absorb. They stay together in a pack, interacting little with people outside the group. Then again, understanding the culture is not, I suspect, their agenda. They have come to “do good,” and will build something or volunteer – and these are not bad things, I suppose. But somehow, Americans (especially this age group) are without a doubt the loudest people in the room. This last observation has been consistent throughout my stay here thus far.

Classes resume tomorrow, and I believe I’m ready. I’m well along on reading, the outline is completed, my laundry is done and my shirts are ironed.

Medical note: My digestive system seems not to have emerged entirely unscathed from my nyama choma experience in Rongai yesterday. Immodium appears to be doing the trick.

(9:15 p.m.)


Wednesday, June 7, 2006

It was truly a pleasure to return to class today. In an environment that avoids many Western distractions, it is amazing how one’s mind becomes eager for the engagement of the classroom, the contact with fellow students, and, in all honestly, the sanctuary that an academic setting such as Tangaza College provides. It is no wonder that students in Africa apply themselves to their studies! I confess that I wish my own students in America had a few less distractions and a bit more thirst for knowledge. Clearly, we just have too many toys.

After returning from Tangaza College, my fellow student (and next-door neighbor in Flora Hostel), Stembridge and I took a walk to the ATM in the NSSF building, and then I treated him to tea at the Fairview Hotel. I figured this was the easiest way to illustrate a typical Western experience. Stembridge is from southern Zambia (his native tribe and language is Tonga), and is a 28-year-old Christian Brother (not De LaSalle) who has taken first vows, but not yet perpetual vows. We had a marvelous conversation, which we continued on the walk back to Flora. He came to my room and we went through the photo library I’ve amassed so far on this journey (some 120 photos).

At dinner, we sat with a man from Tanzania – the coastal area near Zanzibar. He provided some very interesting opinions of the Kenyan dialect of Kiswahili, as he is from the area where the language originated. It is definitely different here, he assured us (I have no doubt that it is). We also discussed the difficulties of Westerners coming to an African environment, that is those Westerners who do not remain inside the “tourist bubble” of arranged tours, expensive European-style hotels, and taxi cabs. In Kiswahili, white Westerners are often referred to as “yai,” which means “egg.” This refers to both a white color, and to the fact that we are perceived as fragile. It’s actually a very apt description.

I also had another brief conversation with the young Eritrean De LaSalle Brother, Geru Andu, who gave to me his demo CD. Taking into account that the limited technical resources available to him, one can forgive the somewhat antiquated MIDI and drum machine sounds of the various tracks. It is certainly conceived as popular music – a sort of Eritrean Christian rock, if you will. However, past that there is real substance in what he is doing. I was particularly fond of a track called “Amen Kberely,” which has an interesting polyrhythmic texture, with contrary accents to the overall triple meter set up by a pattern of repeated syncopations. This polyrhythmic texture “resolves” to a purely triple meter in the refrain. I only wish I had a translation for the texts (and I also don’t know which language it is, though the titles are in both Latin and Amharic script, so I’m guessing that it is Amharic, Tigrinya, or one of the others that would use that script). I will have to find some time to sit down with Br. Geru and learn more about this recording and ask for some translations. He is presently seeking some assistance in producing a quantity of the CDs, as the master is finished, and I will try to find some resources when I return to the U.S.

I am definitely going to have to ship books home to the United States from here. I have now collected some 10 books on African culture, theology, ethnography, and research methodology. These will be invaluable as I write my paper, and I am sure that they will be excellent references to have at home, but I am already well over any reasonable airline luggage weight limits at this point, considering my menagerie of carved animals and other souvenirs. I did find a shipping service in the NSSF building, but have not asked about prices yet. I’ll try to do that tomorrow perhaps, depending upon when we return from Tangaza.

I also withdrew money from an ATM today to fund the trip to South Nyanza over the weekend. Maurice suggested that I bring KSh 10,000 to be safe. I’m bringing KSh 15,000. One never knows what might come up, and this is definitely a cash economy – almost entirely so outside Nairobi (and most places in Nairobi as well). In fact, the only place I’ve actually used a credit card outside an ATM so far is at the Fairview Hotel.

All in all, it was not as eventful a day as others have been, but the stability of the schedule and brief retreat to the “bubble” of the Fairview made it fairly pleasant. I suppose I’m storing up that sense of comfort as I approach the unknown of this weekend trip.

(8:51 p.m.)