Safari Time

Having spent the first week in Kenya with Quaker communities and other friends, visiting and volunteering, we did not want to leave Kenya before taking a safari. So yesterday we were driven to the far western side of Kenya where it borders Tanzania. On the Tanzania side is Serengeti National Park, and on the Kenyan side it is called Maasai Mara Game Reserve. That is where we are. We are staying in a campground with some amenities – iron beds, those big canvas tents that you can stand up in, and a bathroom with running water. I would compare the level of luxury to an AMC hut – in other words, luxurious camping. We are provided beautiful hot meals, chicken and mashed potatoes with a tomato coriander sauce, and fresh fruit. Since it is the off season, we are the only guests. It is quiet and lovely.

We are in the forest, and the nights are very dark. Though the campground area is surrounded by tall thorn bushes, two Maasai men stay awake outside all night protecting us. Last night I heard their quiet talk in the dark, punctuated by long silences. Then came the unmistakable sound of lions roaring in the distance. This morning I hear fabulous and exotic bird sounds, with the lowing of Maasai cow herds as they are taken out to pasture.

To give a list of the animals we saw would be as boring as looking at someone else’s safari slides. Perhaps I should say that when our van approached the first herd of zebra, their dramatic black and white stripes absolutely filled my field of vision. Watching the baby elephants splash in the water within a few feet of us, seeing the gorgeous colors of the lilac-breasted roller bird or the head-feathers of the Abyssinian crane, the national bird of Uganda – all these things took our breath away. We saw one of only 2500 black rhinos left in the world, as so many have been killed for their horns. It stood near us regally, then turned and trotted off with a surprising speed despite its huge backside!

This morning we got up before dawn to see the animals at their most active. We saw lions eating a fresh kill – a wildebeest, those strange dark grey hoofed animals with the bearded faces. The tiny dik-diks raced away from us behind the bushes, and the refined impalas with their brown racing stripe and curved horns cavorted with each other on their elegant hooves looking like dancers.

The hooved animals are all variants of each other. The poor hartebeest drew the short straw, with stubby horns, a long face, and a dull brown hide. On the other hand, the topi with its beautiful glossy brown fur has a black burnishing on its flanks that is exotic and lovely.

We went to where the Mara River meets the Tanzanian border, and there lie the crocodiles in the rushing brown water. The stench rises from their recent kills, whose bodies lie bloated in the shallows, while bones from their earlier kills lie bleached along the river banks.

We were accompanied on our trip by David, our taciturn driver, and Dennis, a young Maasai man who knows best where the animals can be found. Dennis sat in front wearing his short red tunic and his clan’s trademark yellow shawl with enormous red polka dots. He told us this fabric identified him as a young person. Dennis has a year to go in boarding school, after which he hopes to attend university in Nairobi and become a surgeon. He is preceded by another young man in the village who is attending university now, the village’s first university student. Dennis is home over the holidays with his mother only, since his father was killed a few years ago by a water buffalo and his older siblings are away. His English is very good, and he is interested in sharing his culture with us.

We visited his village, where we were impressed at the cultural pride of the Maasai people. Maasai men can be seen all over western Kenya, wearing their bold red, pink and purple cloaks. All around the game reserve where we were, Maasai people have their villages, their enormous herds of cows and goats. They are wealthy in cattle, and they live very close to their animals. Their simple mud huts are built in a circle surrounded by thorn bushes, and at night the animals are brought into the middle of the circle for safety. Calves and baby goats sleep in a room in the hut with their masters. The Maasai alone among Kenyan tribes have chosen to retain their traditional ways, relying very little on money or the dominant culture. Though I am glad not to have been invited to share their traditional diet of cow’s blood, milk and meat, we all were so glad to have visited Dennis’ village and to see his people’s way of life. The image of tall Dennis with his shy smile and downy growth on his chin stays with me, and I pray that he is able to move through the modern world and bring back his training to help his people as he hopes.

Oh awlright, here are some photos....

Almost life size giraffe



Elegant Impala



Comparing notes with a baboon















 

Zebras with flamingos in background:  Lake Nakuru



Our tent at Maasai Mara




An old pal




Evan with Dennis and Steve





Going home for Christmas with live chickens on top

 



Stories from Kenya

Children’s Care Centre, Kakamega, Kenya:

This week we are living at the Children’s Care Centre. It is a home for children who were orphaned by AIDS. It was founded by Kenyan Quaker women, with the assistance of New England Quakers. The women had noticed children coming to their church service in search for food, and decided to build an orphanage for them to live in. Later, an organization recognized as a US non-profit organization, Friends of Kakamega, was founded to support this wonderful program. It operates under the care of the international United Society of Friends Women, USFW.

The Care Centre currently houses 35 children aged 6 to 12, with 10 others attending high schools who continue to receive support from the Centre. We visited after school had ended for the Christmas break but before the children had left.

The children are encouraged to maintain relationships with extended family and neighbors so that they will not lose contact with their areas of origin. But their home is really at the Care Centre. The staff members who live full-time with the children work to promote a caring, family-like environment.



Evan leading a drawing class



With the children, we played, sang, did arts and crafts programs, and introduced them to Frisbee. We had huge Frisbee and “football” (our soccer) festival at the local park. We also made individual photo portraits for each of them.

 

Conor helping create spinning tops





Pastor Ida at the Care Centre

  What was most remarkable was the caring and love that the children show for each other. They are encouraged to work out their problems with each other like brothers and sisters, which they seem to do. They are incredibly patient, waiting all day until we are ready to present an activity to them.  I think we all need practice in these skills! Their generosity is especially remarkable among children who have so little: generally only one outfit each, and very few personal possessions. At home they have few to no relatives, sometimes returning to an empty house for the holidays.

Kakamega Rain Forest:



Rain clouds over the Rain Forest



Today we met Job Ilondanga, (jobilondanga@yahoo.com, tel. +254 720 866 455) who works as a guide at the Kakamega Rain Forest. It is a gorgeous forest in the middle of the Western Province, near the equator. The green trees appear suddenly as a quiet oasis among the farms and villages of the Maragoli Hills in Kenya, one of the most most densely populated agricultural areas in the world. Job showed us colobus monkeys, all kinds of birds, and a cave where fruit bats live. The cave was dug by hand in a vain attempt to look for gold in the 1820s. After walking straight back into the hill for 40 meters, we came on the bats hanging from the ceiling. We woke them with our lights, and they rushed by our heads with a whoosh of air.

Job has dedicated himself to restoring the rain forest and educating people about it. With his earnings as a private guide, he visits schools and community groups, training them about forest ecology. He is restoring a forest corridor by planting trees that he is growing in his own nursery.

Esabalu, Amesbury’s sister community in Western Province:

Laura and I are staying at Sherry Otwama’s house, and Conor and Evan are staying with Priscilla and Jacopo Awasa. We are in the small village of Esabalu, sister community to Amesbury. The two homes are very well kept with lovely  gardens, flowering trees and tidy lawns. Just outside our bedroom door, two hens are being allowed to hatch their own eggs in the hall. They sit so calmly and quietly, hardly moving. Outside our window is the animal shelter with cows and dogs.

Our hosts are very courteous and kind. We are offered tea and bread whenever we go to see someone new. Everyone we meet in the village is introduced to us, though we will never be able to remember all their names. Our names are hard for them, as are their names for us! Conor has become Collins as this seems to be easier for them. Evan is generally Even but he doesn’t mind. This suits his temper well, actually.

Literacy class at Esabalu with 75 children

Sherry is a very motivated community organizer. One of the main organizers for the Sister City project, Amesbury for Africa, she coordinates local action on the water project, tree nursery, the health center, and other work that is being done through the Sister City. Right away, I can tell she is a strong and effective organizer. She watches the boys playing soccer with a critical eye, and she tells me she will not hesitate to correct a child who needs it. Children are raised by the whole community in the traditional way here, (though she tells me that this is changing as teens are more resistant to authority recently). Outside her outhouse she has a “tippy tappy”, a cleverly designed water dispenser for cleaning hands. She is promoting this concept in the village as an important sanitation device. She is very good at bringing resources and people together and volunteers all over the community.

One difference between Kenyan and Moroccan women: in Morocco, the hamman or baths are a place of retreat and relaxation. Women go to the hamman to clean and pamper their bodies, to breathe the warm air of relaxation, and to visit with their friends.  I do not see such an option for Kenyan women. Women in Kenya universally work very hard. Up at 5:30 to clean the livestock areas, feed the chickens, sweep out the dirt floors, milk the cows, and prepare breakfast. They work all day taking care of the children, preparing all the meals, bringing water from the spring (5 times a day up the muddy path), sweeping, and farming. The Quaker women attend their conferences and prayer groups in addition to their regular jobs. Walking down the roads we frequently see women representing all the different churches. They stand out in their freshly cleaned matching dresses and head scarves.

At the Care Centre orphanage in Kakamega, the staff members sleep in regular bedrooms and share the facilities with the students. They are available around the clock for the children, only going home for holidays to see their families. It is known that Kenyan women are the ones who do more of the work, and the ones to trust with money as well!

We were able to reduce the load for the few days we were at Esabalu, helping to carry water, do the washing, and harvest the beans for seeds.

Getting up early, I went out to the yard and saw the hibiscus flower blooming.  There were no stars since the cloud cover was complete, and no lights anywhere in the village. It was completely dark except for the white hibiscus flowers blooming quietly in the pre-dawn darkness.

 Our friends say electricity is coming here eventually. For now, some have a small solar unit to power their cell phones, the only electricity being used. Others go to kiosks for their “charge up” as well as their “top up” (adding minutes). Kerosene lamps are used in the homes, though the orphanage had electricity in every room and running water, being close to the town of Kakamega.

Here one can see the disparity in energy use between parts of the third world and our energy use in North America. With no electricity or running water, almost everything is made by hand. Packaged bread and juice are brought out only for visitors, while our hosts generally purchase unprocessed foods cooked on a charcoal or wood brazier. Night is dark, and day also inside the small houses. The markets are an efficiently designed processor for our discarded goods. T-shirts, shoes, magazines and other items that we all donate are sorted and sold according to a definite system. Within the market, there are separate streets for used clothing, shoes, cooking pots, hardware items, rehabilitated electronics, etc. An entire section is devoted to fresh mangoes. I was in heaven there!



finches at Casa Encendida, Madrid

The most interesting artwork I saw today was a roomful of colorful finches. There were grasses and nesting areas set up for them. There were also several electric guitars and cymbals set up at the right height for them to perch on. When they did, they effectively played music on them. Random music for sure, but with a certain grace reflecting their finch-like ways. Hopping up and down  the neck of the guitar, dropping bits of hay on the strings, etc. One little bird fell asleep on one of the guitars, resting its beak among its feathers.  They were not shy, and we could watch them from very close by.

What was most lovely to me was the way people who entered became part of the artwork. People tended to slow down and wander around quietly, and sometimes to share glances in a bemused way.

Unfortunately photos were discouraged. But I am inserting several photos from our last few days in Madrid, as autumn turned to winter.



Quaker Meeting in Madrid




Holiday lights



Lucifer statue in Retiro Park

Snow in Madrid November 29

Ham for sale

Where have Laura and Conor gone?

All this week and the last, Laura and Conor have been busy researching and writing on their chosen topics. Laura will place Picasso's Guernica in Spanish history and the art world. Conor will detail the Moorish contributions to modern Spain and Europe. Perhaps they will choose to publish their papers here!

Thoughts on words and other themes

Upon listening to a lecture on engineering in the third world: Three solid hours of listening hard, trying to understand the scientists’ university lecture. Sometimes I repeat the words silently, let them roll around in my mouth, hoping that their hard shells will give way to reveal the soft sweetness of understanding within. The Spanish words are like flamenco singing, strong consonants like castanets, alternating with guttural soft “g”s where you do not expect them. Sometimes the speech goes too fast to hold onto a single word, and my mind skims over the cold hard stones. They escape my grasp, and I cannot crack open any of them. Tired, I let them slide by.

Signs: English-language signs are in fashion, lending a sense of the latest style to the goods being sold. We English speakers snicker at the way that foreigners put words together. Instead of “Dunkin’ Donuts”, the name of the chain is altered here to “Dunkin’ Coffee”. What is being dunked? A nearby cafeteria is called “Flunch”, altering the word “lunch” with a zesty “f”. Doesn’t it make you want to try the food? I love the sign on a store “So JHappy!”, reminding Spaniards that in English the “h” is not silent.  

When we’re done snickering, we go back to trying to understand the fluent Spanish all around us. When you trip over verb tenses and can’t find basic vocabulary words, it’s hard to remember that you’re a capable adult!

Thanksgiving: It is of course a day like any other here. We decided to move it to the weekend so that our hosts could join us in a meal. We looked high and low for cranberries without success. We did find a turkey, and chestnuts and wonderful ice creams. Calabaza (squash) will substitute for pumpkin, though we did hear that the large orange variety we call pumpkins are sometimes available. We’ll be making stuffing by hand, which will do us good. And apple pie can be made everywhere!

Weather: Yesterday was the first frost. Almost a month later than at home, where we usually can count on a frost by Halloween. I went for my morning run and the grass was crispy and white. We do not have our winter coats, so each daily drop in the temperature is greeted by a sense of foreboding. Not wanting to carry extra clothes with us to warm Kenya next week, we tough it out with sweaters and the old standby, layering. I tell the kids that it doesn’t matter what we wear here. Shirts under shirts and socks over socks – who cares?

Flamenco: It is Spanish to the core. A mix of Moorish music in the minor key, red and black and drama for Spain and its bloody history, and gypsy mystery, from the Roma people who originated in India many centuries ago. Many of the songs voice the same familiar laments as cowboy tunes, the words just as cheesy. But still they give me goose bumps. A people (or peoples, since flamenco was born in the gypsy/Jewish ghettoes of Spain) oppressed, singing about the tragedy and injustice of life. The songs give voice to the deepest sadness in the world.

What I see in the marvelous dancing is a pride, a regal bearing. The woman tosses her scarf over her shoulder and gives the man a haughty look. The insistent tap dancing moves call attention to the strength and pride of the dancers. Yet the people who created this music originally lived in caves in Granada, in the Sacramonte hills, where they worked as potters and rag sellers. Metalworking was the most elevated profession, one to aspire to. The holy spot for flamenco today is a warehouse in the urban Roma ghetto outside Sevilla, the Poligono Sur. Flamenco today is mixed with drugs and violence, yet flamenco dancers have an incredible mystique. To be a flamenco star is to be a hero in Spain.

The Annunciation - Conor

The Annunciation

While visiting the Thyssen Bornemisza Museum in Madrid, one painting in particular stood out for me. I had seen a lot of religious paintings from the 15-16^th century, with Flemish and Italian painters. When I saw the Annunciation by El Greco, nicknamed the Greek for his long and cumbersome actual name, I was surprised by the fluidity and freedom of his lines. Although this subject was portrayed with a more Gothic style, El Greco’s take on the scene was refreshing. Here is the picture:

At the Art Museum - Laura

At the Art Museum

               

A bright pink flower and a bright pink bird, splashing color onto the stormy mountains. Bird and flower sing fragile, handle-with-care songs, but those water balloon clouds don’t seem to be listening.  Helpless, they wait for the clouds to pop and the wind to roar and gobble them up. So small, so beautiful, so colorful, they wait.

                A child watches the sea. It rolls; a fascinating jumble of green and blue and purple, and bubbly white at the edges.  The bubbles reach their fingers out to her, pleading her to throw off her shoes and let the cold climb up her feet.  Laughing shrieks from barefoot children tug at her legs, willing her to come in and play. But she tells them not now, because right now she is very busy. Right now, she’s tying the sand and the sea and the sky into one big bow on the back of her dress.

                 Gray shards of reality mash together.  Somewhere, an orange slice moon washes the world in blue strokes of light. Sometimes, a hand flies over an instrument’s neck, bathing the world in music. Or maybe the moon plays the music and the hand paints the light, and all around them, reality bends lines into geometric shapes. Where and when are thrown away, here is there, and now is never. Time has gotten confused and is running circles around a musician, who plays lonely songs under the moonlight.

                                How still everything is. Not a leaf flutters or a wave crashes. Even light stops moving.  Everything is caught mid-thought, mid-storm, mid-song, all stopped by a paintbrush. Each painting is a world on pause, and I’m free to explore every detail, until I could slip into the canvas. Until I could jump in next to the bird and the flower and feel dizzy because we’re right on the edge of the mountain and the ground is so far away.  And when I leave the museum, my whole world is moving a little slower, and it seems like everything is just waiting to be painted.