My first ten weeks in Kenya was spent in Peace Corps Pre-Service Training (PST). This was held east of Nairobi in the small town of Kitui. I actually lived in the village of Membe Tayari. This is the land of the Kamba tribe. My homestay Mama was Beatrice Matawa, a 63 year old widow and mother of six. I�m not positive that she actually gave birth six times; in Kenya counting your children is believed to be bad luck. You most definitely would never point to them and counting. They are referred to as, �the first born � son or daughter�, the �next born�, on and on until you reach the �last born�.
Most references are made from the first born son. Apollo is Beatrice�s first born. She is referred to as �The Mother to Apollo�. The children are given the names of their grandparents, starting with the husbands� father for the first born son, moving to his mother, then to the wife�s parents. When you run out of grandparents you begin naming them the eldest brother to the father (uncle) then on to the mothers side.
This accounts for the multitude of people with the same names. Christianity is also very present in the naming of children. They are given a tribal name and a Christian name. It is more common to refer to your first name, then the middle name (they call it the second name) and then rarely do they use the father�s surname.
I was given a Kamba name by the people in the marketplace. Ninaitwa Wende. (I am called Wende). Wende means the one who loves. My permanent 3 year site is in Cura Village with the Kikuyu. After they get to know me they will give me a choice of five names and allow me to select my own. So far I�ve been given Uria Ugucoka (the one who returns), and Uria Wendete Kuruta Wira (the one who likes work). I�m holding out for the others since I�m not sure about either of those.
The homestay experience in Kitui teaches the Peace Corps Trainee what it is like to live as a Kenyan. I drew water from the well, collected firewood for cooking, learned to bath in a bucket, how to cook on a jiko (tin can stove) with coal (kwa), and much of the day to day activities. Beatrice has a very large farm (shamba), so I learned a bit of agriculture and ate very well. Her husband died in an accident sometime in the mid-seventies. He�s buried in a garden within the compound. I guess you could say he�s pushing up peas. By the time I left the peas had been harvested. Trust me, there is nothing like Beatrice�s home grown peas! I�m not sure what influence her husband has on them, but they I�ve never been fond of peas until I had hers. The garden has been replanted. Husband to Beatrice is now blessing the kale (sukuma wiki). Sukuma wiki is not my favorite dish. It�s always served with ugali, a thick cornmeal mush dish that is boiled with water until it is so thick you cut it like bread. Both are eaten with your hands (Ohsha makona tafadali = wash your hands please). Both have a very bland taste. I�ll be happy to make them for you when I return. You can grind the maze into ugali flour while I cut the sukuma wiki into little shreds. Sounds like a real party.
Rural Kitui does not have electricity. Beatrice is preparing for the installation. Everyone says, �It is coming�. Actual power lines were run through the shamba and men cut down one of her trees to run the line up to her house. Maybe the next group of PCT will have life a bit easier. Or maybe not, perhaps sukuma wiki and ugali is best prepared and eaten in the dark!
Beatrice also has some indoor plumbing. She sold a portion of livestock and had an indoor toilet (choo) installed. There is a faucet in the kitchen, and one in the choo. Choo is synonymous with toilet, bathroom, restroom. crapper, or john. It is used as a verb and a noun. You use the choo when you go to the choo. I was considered privileged that my homestay had an indoor choo. Most everyone else had an outdoor choo. A choo is not your average pit latrine. I fondly referred to them as the �choo hole�. It is nothing more than a hole in the ground. Aim is very important! Choo Holes are the most common form of toilet in rural Kenya. (As well the bush and we are here to teach people to stop using the bush and go into the stinky choo.) The actual choo hole varies in size and shape. They are found in restaurants and most all residential locations. Beatrice has two that are used by the Shamba Boys (farm hands). She is preparing for her old age and had the porcelain toilet installed inside. Kenyans are so accustom to squatting that they will actually climb up on the porcelain bowl and perch. This accounts for the lack of toilet seats and explains the mud. It also eliminates the age old discussion between men and women about leaving the toilet seat up.
Beatrice has not yet purchased sinks, but the water faucets are there. I guess the sinks are coming, like the electricity. Sometimes the water actually runs, mostly at night when it isn�t needed. I think the Ministry of Works (MOW) turns it off during the day. Beatrice has a couple of large water jugs she fills. She also has a well. When the water is turned off for days she fills the jugs with well water. Right after I arrived one of the main pipes broke. We spent the first few weeks carrying buckets of water into the house. Either way, the water is not safe to drink untreated. It�s a funny brownish color with chunks of stuff. They don�t seem to mind. They consider themselves blessed to have it.
A large portion of Kenya does is not so lucky. On the worst of days we just walk outside the house to the well. Many people walk several kilometers and carry their water home on their backs or their heads. Several NGOs are working to bring water into villages so the young girls can continue attending school. Men do not �fetch� water! It�s amazing how you can conserve when you need to. All water is reused. Nothing flows down a drain. It�s saved in a pail and used to water the garden or wash. You�d be doing the same if you had to pull every drop of water you consumed out of a hole.
This is one of the hardest adjustments I�ve had to make. The daily struggle for safe drinking water gets to be very complicated. The local people have just come to accept a constant state of diarrhea. They just dip their cup into the holding jug and drink it as is. There isn�t much point in treating the jug. Each time they reach inside for a cup of water they contaminate the entire jug with their dirty hands. (Ohsha makona tafadali has become one of my favorite phrases). Oral fecal transmission is a major problem and one all Public Health PCV are taught to fight. I treat smaller buckets and keep plastic bottles filled with my own drinking water. Teaching them to treat their water and wash their hands is a major part of my work here. It�s not malaria or AIDS alone that kills them. It�s the combination of illnesses. The dehydration from diarrhea on top of malaria kills most of the infants. It sounds so simple. A few drops of Water Guard or a few minutes of boiling can save a child�s life. Unfortunately, it�s easier said than done.
Coffee is a foreign beverage. They drink Chai each morning. It�s made with fresh milk. This first task of the day is milking the cow. Those without a cow send a child to a neighbor with a few shillings to purchase a small plastic bottle of milk. The chai has a bit of pounded ginger added to some loose tea leaves and lots of sugar. Initially they laughed at my black coffee, but they eventually admitted it was much easier and faster to make then chai. I�d be on my second cup of coffee before they had the first cup of chai prepared. Chai is just a part of life here. Whenever company comes over (and you can count on a long stream of them) they are offered chai. I�ve even had to get all the ingredients to serve my company. They are truly offended when they stop to visit and you don�t have it to offer them.
Each weekday morning and most Saturdays were filled with Peace Corps training classes. These were comprised of intense language (Kiswahili), cross-cultural, technical, medical, Public Health (HIV/AIDS & hygiene), and last but definitely not least Safety & Security lessons. Each of these topics is specifically directed towards life in a rural Kenya village. The PC Staff & Trainers represented every tribe in Kenya. Tribalism is very strong here. I only hope that it does not cause problems during the next election. Politics are the biggest threat to the PC program. Candidates do not campaign on issues. They simply promote their tribal affiliation. When a person votes a straight ticket--Three Votes -- it means voting for the guy from your tribe.
All of the Volunteers complained of the lack of organization within the training process. I believe it was an intentional part of the learning process. They taught us in the style of learning Kenyans are accustomed. There didn�t seem to be a plan or agenda. The only difference is that they were prompt and we have been told to expect a 2 to 3 hour delay in our programs at site. That is if anyone actually shows up at all.
One of our first tasks at site is to create a seasonal calendar. If you don�t understand the harvest and planting seasons your doomed to failure. Couple that with the academic calendar and you soon realize there isn�t much leisure time available for hanging out with the munzungu to talk about washing your hands.
Our PST training continued regardless of our state of health. All PCV experienced various bouts of diarrhea and nausea. It just becomes a part of life. Talks of who was sick, which end it was coming out of, and how often, became common conversation topics. You make sure you have two �night buckets� in your room. Once you get into bed and shut your door, you don�t open it again until morning. A few PCV have stories of their trips to the outdoor choo at night. You only make that journey once in life. The roaches are much larger and bolder in the dark. At least their roaches lived outside. With running water in the house you can�t control them. Since Beatrice had bats in the house I didn�t get outside my mosquitoes net at night. I tucked that baby in real tight around the mattress and just held my choo till morning. I was only sick enough to get up in the middle of the night once. After that I demanded my own water. I sat Beatrice down and explained that there was no way I could spend the next 10 weeks throwing up and with diarrhea. I explained that my vegetables had to soak ten minutes in a bowl of treated water and that all my food had to be cooked to a boiling temperature. Life got much better afterwards.
I made a �Leaky Tin� for her choo and put soap on a rope. A Leaky Tin is a jug of water hanging by a rope. You puncture a hole in the bottom and insert a stick. When you want to wash your hands you simply twist the stick until the water dribbles out. I�ll never forget the day I filled the leaky tin from the faucet only to find several roaches in my jug. I was told they like to climb up into the pipes. Make mental note, let the water run a second before capturing. Don�t worry, it is captured into plastic tub and reused.
As appalling as it might sound, I loved Kitui. My Mama is Kamba, I�ll always be Kamba. Beatrice and I would sit and laugh over the silly events of the day. I remember the time the Shamba Boy couldn�t find the big cow. Seems he didn�t tie the old girl up good enough and she escaped into a neighbor�s shamba. A very serious matter, but in the end good for a hardy laugh. Then there was the time I came home with lassos from town (Pieces of colorful printed cloth that have become a part of my daily attire. You wrap them around your waist to cover your lower half. Works to hide the fact that you have legs and doubles as an apron. They are also used to cover your shoulders and head. You wouldn�t want anyone to actually see you have shoulders. They must be covered at all times!) Well, we were having my favorite dish for dinner, chapatti (a cross between naan and flour tortilla). These are prepared on the hottest possible cast iron grill. Beatrice and her daughter-in-law were so excited over my lassos that they left the kitchen unattended to laugh at the silly munzungu. Note that chapatti is best hen prepared with too much oil. Hot pan & oil left unattended? You guessed it, Flame On in the kitchen. It was the most light in the evening that kitchen has ever seen. I was shocked, they laughed their heads off. Later Beatrice and I had a hardly laugh over dinner. We were grateful that all the chapatti didn�t burn up.
Dinner with Beatrice was always a laughing matter. Here the women are big and the men are skinny. I wouldn�t dare leave my plate unattended with Beatrice in the room. I�d return to find it overflowing. She kept bragging about how the previous PCV had gotten fat. The entire homestay mama clan seemed to be holding a contest on who can fatten up their volunteer the most. She caught me once putting food from my plate onto hers. I thought I�d have to pick her up off the floor. She thought that was the funniest thing. She talked about it for days, telling all the neighbors and friends who stopped by. After that we both guarded our plates.
Covering the PC Volunteer up with lassos and feeding them until they couldn�t move were our two favorite topics in role playing for cross cultural class. Trying to get out of the house and to class in the morning was a real feat. It was always one more cup of chai, another piece of bread with �Blue Band� (not butter or margarine but some yellow spreadable grease), a packed lunch of fresh fruit, and wait, don�t you need a lasso?
Yes, I�m already missing Mama Beatrice. I�m glad to be in my site and with the kids here at Cura Village Rotary Home. The Kikuyu are a great tribe. I�m going to learn to love them too, but my Mama Beatrice is Kamba and once a Kamba always a Kamba. I am even sleeping through the whole night. My home in Cura does not have bats. Instead of the rooster waking me in the morning I have kids playing outside my window. But that�s story for another day. You can bet that if you come to visit me we are taking the three hour matatu ride to Kitui to see Mama Beatrice. She�ll cook up a pot of fresh peas and a stack of chapatti for us. Come hungry!
