I never did a ‘final’ post from Kenya/the summer, and I think that largely had to do with the simple fact I had no idea how to summarize in words what I was walking away with three and a half months after I began. As I settle back into the grind at Chapel Hill, it all now seems so surreal- like, I did that. The remnants of habits and experiences haven’t quite shaken off- after a month and a half sleeping on a mattress pad on a roof in the Old City of Jerusalem, I’ve decided I really like sleeping on the floor, so I don’t have a bed frame. Culturally, I’m finding myself having to re-adjust to the concept of private space- I have to consciously think about whether the person I’m interacting with would be okay with small physical gestures and touches (and in turn, how they interpret that…), which had become so surprisingly instinctual in Kenya. Culture shock from Kenya to New York was defined by complete awe at how sterile everything was, along with all the stunningly bright lights.
My ride to Kenyatta airport in Nairobi was a perfect tie-up to the 6 ½ weeks- the interstate traffic was at a standstill, with all the cars inching forward extremely slowly. Salim, my boss, was buying packs and packs of nuts that girls were walking around selling, which he would then give them back to them to eat and a promise they would go home and study. Then, the cars had the brilliant idea that since the other side of the interstate was relatively empty, they would cross the median and drive on the wrong side of the road. Naturally, when we got to this side of the road, we eventually met up with cars going in the other direction (which I’m sure, since they were actually on the right side of the road, they weren’t too happy at this blatant disregard for the few road rules Kenya has), and traffic was at a dead stop on this side, as well. I was dying with laughter at just how ridiculous this all was- goodbye, Africa.
It also took a few meals to re-adjust to processed foods. I find it funny I don’t get sick going to these countries, but give me a Subway sandwich and I’m wrenching. I’m still craving ugali, although I had some homemade kunafe and falafel the other night, which totally made my week.
I’ve had a few people ask me what was the most important ‘lesson’ or personal growth experience I had over the summer (not gonna lie, I dread this conversation now). At first, I kept thinking it was just being exposed to so many different elements of cultural understanding, which in itself changes and molds how we subconsciously digest and breakdown our surroundings. Then, I thought it was the work experience I gained, being able to hire researchers and really delve into understanding a community that had so recently been divided and devastated by ethnic divisions and politics. As I delve into 'just war' theory and articles examining the 'escalation of militarized disputes', I realize how much this stuff can’t be learned in a classroom-and how much it has reshaped my classroom experience. Then, maybe, I thought it was being exposed to a situation in Israel where every roadblock possible was thrown in my path, keeping me from seeing my project turn out they way I wanted to. Being in a university setting, opportunities are practically served to you on a silver platter, and it can be almost a little too easy. Being forced into that real world element where no, no matter what, not everything is going to go your way, was a critical experience to have now. I’ve never tried so hard and failed so miserably. I learned from that, though, that some things turn out much more amazing because you go through that process. I had some of the most emotionally devastating moral challenges I’ve ever had-and now, I know how to handle that personally when I do face it again in the future.
Next, it occurred to me that it could just be every thing I saw- whether on a daily basis walking through Damascus Gate, watching a community struggle with identity and societal acceptance while battling inner cultural demons, seeing what hate can produce in Hebron, the culture that can thrive despite the challenges in Nablus, the difficulty of survival in one of the worlds largest slums, how passion for a sport can change your world, the untouched magnificence of a national park in Kenya, the unexpected beauty in how humanity can adapt, and the list goes on and on. Or maybe it’s the new self-awareness I have- I don’t second-guess myself or my actions quite as much- its this injection of confidence, increased trust in myself to follow my instincts, while at the same time understanding that it is a greater risk, and sometimes I’m going to fall on my ass, and it will be okay: there is beauty in the breakdown. And, of course, at the top of the list, are the relationships. Those I will cherish for a lifetime, not only because each one was what made everything else above happen, but they, with their infinite wisdom and different perspectives on life, reminded me of the importance of investing in the old ones. The people that surround you, in the end, are all that matter. People like Salim, Lucy, Doha, my sisters, my friends both near and far, are a constant reminder of that.
I feel a sense of completion as I finish up this post, which brings on a twinge of sadness. I have no idea where I’ll be in a year- which is exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time. While I used to be so sure, I don’t know what I want out of life anymore- I’m actually really excited by that, and I'm going with the mantra that expectations are only limitations.
I do thank you all for being patient for my ramblings and sentimental nonsense.
Much Love,
TJ
Monday, November 9, 2009
Friday, August 7, 2009
How the Rest See the West, and the West Sees What it Wants
OK, I’m so far behind I’m not sure where to begin. Returning to the brief update style:
I’m starting to think I hit the jackpot when it comes to being in the right place at the right time for lessons in diplomacy, for a few reasons-
(1) I was in the Middle East for the big speech made by Obama in Egypt on Israel/Palestine, which redefined that status quo on our approach to the Middle East, and then hopped over to Kenya for when he traveled as President to Africa for the first time, also establishing his approach the region by using Kenya as the punching bag on corruption and inept governments. After eight years of the world seething with anger at American policies, it was part relief, part fascination at the reactions of the people around me as this administration began defining its foreign policy legacy (although they are quick to state words need to be followed by actions).---Awesome statement by John Brennan concerning the foundation goals on which Obama's foreign policy are built here. Sample:
"Rather than looking at allies and other nations through the narrow prism of terrorism—whether they are with us or against us—the administration is now engaging other countries and peoples across a broader range of areas. Rather than treating so many of our foreign affairs programs—foreign assistance, development, democracy promotion—as simply extensions of the fight against terrorists, we will do these things—promote economic growth, good governance, transparency and accountability—because they serve our common interests and common security; not just in regions gripped by violent extremism, but around the world."
(2) The Pope made his long-awaited trip to the Holy City, and while I’m not Catholic/religious, even I can appreciate the significance the visit held, watching the numerous papal flags doting the sky-line in the Jewish state. Then Hillary Clinton stopped in Nairobi for a few days for the AGOA (Africa Growth and Opportunity Act) talks, making the ceremonial tour of the poor visit to Kibera (good articles about that here and here). Part of me hopes she sunk a heel in the leftovers of a flying toilet on the way to her snazzy motorcade of over 40 cars, to highlight the extreme economic disparity that exists here- and how important it is for the United States and this administration to do its part in following through on the promises of transparency, accountability, and economic growth- particularly in dealing with a government in a country where the average citizen pays 30% of its income in bribes to officials to receive services they should be getting for free.
(3) Seeing the reaction on the ground of these major diplomatic events was truly eye-opening when it comes to seeing how the Rest sees the West. Undoubtedly, there is that wave of optimism following Obama's election (more in Kenya than in Israel- they still aren't happy with the US stance on settlements. Homes I drove by everyday on my way to work in the Sheikh Jarrah neighborhood just had their residents, who had occupied them since the '67 war, evicted for Jewish settlers to move in). Yet at the same time, all that has happened so far is a facelift- and most people recognize the need for substance before they can be won over. And when it comes to relations betweent the developing world and developed world, we are going to have to take a harder look at our relationship, even outside of following through on policies (althouh obvi, this is the biggy). Both in Israel and Kenya, when asking about the visit of the Pope and Secretary of State respectively, most people just gripped about the extreme security and traffic jams that they caused, or the amount of tax-payer dollars it was costing for Hillary's motorcade, shutting down entire major streets, causing hold ups all over Nairobi- while at the same time, water prices are sky-rocketing as supply wains, and power is being rationed all over the city, with every neighborhood facing blackouts two days a week. When it comes to aid workers and diplomats, they see the armed body guards, gated communities, and unwillingness to learn the language.They see the camera crew coming in their fancy SUVs, rolled up windows with air-conditioning, and representatives of aid organizations refusing to shake hands with someone in Kibera because their hands might be dirty (that one threw me for a loop). How are they supposed to respond when our levels of security demonstrate such mistrust towards the people we live among, building a barrier of fear? What does it say when aid workers spend more time at conferences with the moneyed-elite rather than in Kibera?
Being in these two places during these major diplomatic shifts has taught me the value of a strong, effective policy goals- but it is going to take the concerted effort of those of all walks of life representing us in other countries to truly change the image now projected. Engaging as partners, equals, and world neighbors rather than patting ourselves on the backs for handing out money and trumpeting our philanthropic ventures, while holding a latte (don't get me wrong- have all the lattes you want; I love frozen mochas. Just don't flaunt your latte-a-day lifestyle in the face of those who can't afford running water). Rather than seeing the aid dollars we are shelling out, we (the West) need to see the relationships- who they are with, their condition, and what they are building together. Ignorance concerning the people we choose to work with just doesn't cut it anymore.
Last week, I was chatting with three guys, maybe around 22, after a forum Jamii Ya Kibera held in the village of Lindi concerning poverty. Much of the forum had focused on how they, as individuals, could change their situation- I'll save some of the things I learned for another post. Of these three guys, two had started businesses selling things, and one was trying to find money to finish school. But what struck me about the conversation afterwards was the question they asked me, with such force and earnesty: What are we doing wrong? What else can we do? I didn't have an answer, left completely speechless. What can they do when they have to pay bribes to get a job? When over 50% of Kibera is unemployed? When school is privatized and fees are astronomical in comparison to the average paycheck? This is where the relationships need to happen- partnerships so there is something else they can do, because I really want to answer that question.
Well that quickly turned into a tirade. Sorry. This summer has been a wealth of learning experiences, shaping and reshaping my opinions and stances- and I'm sure that with each new experience they will continue to do so. Also, disclaimer on my part, this is not a generalization of all, but a reflection on what I've been exposed to. In both Israel and Kenya, I saw the drastic repercussions governments can have on the population because of distorted policies and approaches. There is no 'saving' that needs to be done in the long-term-, but evaluation and action on the part of these countries-where do their interests lie now, and where should they lie in the future. But as always, easier said than done. The pyramids weren't built overnight....(insert: irony).
4 days left.
I’m starting to think I hit the jackpot when it comes to being in the right place at the right time for lessons in diplomacy, for a few reasons-
(1) I was in the Middle East for the big speech made by Obama in Egypt on Israel/Palestine, which redefined that status quo on our approach to the Middle East, and then hopped over to Kenya for when he traveled as President to Africa for the first time, also establishing his approach the region by using Kenya as the punching bag on corruption and inept governments. After eight years of the world seething with anger at American policies, it was part relief, part fascination at the reactions of the people around me as this administration began defining its foreign policy legacy (although they are quick to state words need to be followed by actions).---Awesome statement by John Brennan concerning the foundation goals on which Obama's foreign policy are built here. Sample:
"Rather than looking at allies and other nations through the narrow prism of terrorism—whether they are with us or against us—the administration is now engaging other countries and peoples across a broader range of areas. Rather than treating so many of our foreign affairs programs—foreign assistance, development, democracy promotion—as simply extensions of the fight against terrorists, we will do these things—promote economic growth, good governance, transparency and accountability—because they serve our common interests and common security; not just in regions gripped by violent extremism, but around the world."
(2) The Pope made his long-awaited trip to the Holy City, and while I’m not Catholic/religious, even I can appreciate the significance the visit held, watching the numerous papal flags doting the sky-line in the Jewish state. Then Hillary Clinton stopped in Nairobi for a few days for the AGOA (Africa Growth and Opportunity Act) talks, making the ceremonial tour of the poor visit to Kibera (good articles about that here and here). Part of me hopes she sunk a heel in the leftovers of a flying toilet on the way to her snazzy motorcade of over 40 cars, to highlight the extreme economic disparity that exists here- and how important it is for the United States and this administration to do its part in following through on the promises of transparency, accountability, and economic growth- particularly in dealing with a government in a country where the average citizen pays 30% of its income in bribes to officials to receive services they should be getting for free.
(3) Seeing the reaction on the ground of these major diplomatic events was truly eye-opening when it comes to seeing how the Rest sees the West. Undoubtedly, there is that wave of optimism following Obama's election (more in Kenya than in Israel- they still aren't happy with the US stance on settlements. Homes I drove by everyday on my way to work in the Sheikh Jarrah neighborhood just had their residents, who had occupied them since the '67 war, evicted for Jewish settlers to move in). Yet at the same time, all that has happened so far is a facelift- and most people recognize the need for substance before they can be won over. And when it comes to relations betweent the developing world and developed world, we are going to have to take a harder look at our relationship, even outside of following through on policies (althouh obvi, this is the biggy). Both in Israel and Kenya, when asking about the visit of the Pope and Secretary of State respectively, most people just gripped about the extreme security and traffic jams that they caused, or the amount of tax-payer dollars it was costing for Hillary's motorcade, shutting down entire major streets, causing hold ups all over Nairobi- while at the same time, water prices are sky-rocketing as supply wains, and power is being rationed all over the city, with every neighborhood facing blackouts two days a week. When it comes to aid workers and diplomats, they see the armed body guards, gated communities, and unwillingness to learn the language.They see the camera crew coming in their fancy SUVs, rolled up windows with air-conditioning, and representatives of aid organizations refusing to shake hands with someone in Kibera because their hands might be dirty (that one threw me for a loop). How are they supposed to respond when our levels of security demonstrate such mistrust towards the people we live among, building a barrier of fear? What does it say when aid workers spend more time at conferences with the moneyed-elite rather than in Kibera?
Being in these two places during these major diplomatic shifts has taught me the value of a strong, effective policy goals- but it is going to take the concerted effort of those of all walks of life representing us in other countries to truly change the image now projected. Engaging as partners, equals, and world neighbors rather than patting ourselves on the backs for handing out money and trumpeting our philanthropic ventures, while holding a latte (don't get me wrong- have all the lattes you want; I love frozen mochas. Just don't flaunt your latte-a-day lifestyle in the face of those who can't afford running water). Rather than seeing the aid dollars we are shelling out, we (the West) need to see the relationships- who they are with, their condition, and what they are building together. Ignorance concerning the people we choose to work with just doesn't cut it anymore.
Last week, I was chatting with three guys, maybe around 22, after a forum Jamii Ya Kibera held in the village of Lindi concerning poverty. Much of the forum had focused on how they, as individuals, could change their situation- I'll save some of the things I learned for another post. Of these three guys, two had started businesses selling things, and one was trying to find money to finish school. But what struck me about the conversation afterwards was the question they asked me, with such force and earnesty: What are we doing wrong? What else can we do? I didn't have an answer, left completely speechless. What can they do when they have to pay bribes to get a job? When over 50% of Kibera is unemployed? When school is privatized and fees are astronomical in comparison to the average paycheck? This is where the relationships need to happen- partnerships so there is something else they can do, because I really want to answer that question.
Well that quickly turned into a tirade. Sorry. This summer has been a wealth of learning experiences, shaping and reshaping my opinions and stances- and I'm sure that with each new experience they will continue to do so. Also, disclaimer on my part, this is not a generalization of all, but a reflection on what I've been exposed to. In both Israel and Kenya, I saw the drastic repercussions governments can have on the population because of distorted policies and approaches. There is no 'saving' that needs to be done in the long-term-, but evaluation and action on the part of these countries-where do their interests lie now, and where should they lie in the future. But as always, easier said than done. The pyramids weren't built overnight....(insert: irony).
4 days left.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Circle of Life
Last week, I traveled northward to Hell’s Gate National Park, which is near Naivasha, for a day-and-a-half vacation with two Canadians and a Midwesterner. After an early wake-up call, we caught a matatu on River Road, the main drag through one of Nairobi’s poorest areas. After a few hours drive, we ended up in Naivasha, hopped on another matatu for 40 minutes to make our way to Fisherman’s Camp, our night accommodations on Lake Naivasha.
The drive up was largely uneventful, minus the beautiful sights- north of Nairobi, the drive takes you through forests seemingly out-of-place in stereotypical Africa, followed by the breathtaking views as you enter the Central Rift Valley. The Rift Valley holds significant ecological and historical importance in Kenya, a testimony to the changing animal and human population dynamics- before the arrival of the Europeans, it was dominated by the infamous Maasai, and is home to the Kalenjins (meaning ‘I tell you’), who are mostly farmers. The Rift Valley in general has been central to Kenya’s ethnic conflicts, even before the 2008 post-election violence. Former President Moi, known for entrenching corruption and ethnic-preference in the civil service during his long rule, is a Kalenjin- during the latter part of his time in power, the non-Kilenjin groups faced ethnic-cleansing in the run up to the 1992 and 1997 elections (the first multi-party elections post-independence), with the Kikuyu (both the previous President Kenyatta’s and the current President Kibuki’s ethnic group) being the main victims. Unsurprisingly, when Kibuki came to power, the Kalenjin of the Rift Valley felt targeted by the Kibuki administration. (Sorry, I can't not talk about this stuff...)
On the drive from Naivasha to Fisherman’s Camp and Hell’s Gate, we passed numerous greenhouses- Naivasha is home to a flourishing flower industry that exports to Europe, which was also apparent by the barrack-looking homes lining the road, occupied by the farm workers. It felt like home in Nairobi the minute the children starting yelling ‘How are you?’ to the wazungu in unending chorus from their homes.
Descending from the road to Fisherman’s Camp was like entering a haven, untold years-old trees extending their branches to cover a complete blanket of shade. Monkeys were jumping from tree to tree, and giant birds swooping to the ground. The camp is on the shores of Lake Naivasha, home to hippos- which was apparent by the numerous signs and the electric fence that switched on at 6:30 pm, warning of the world’s most dangerous animal (sadly, I didn’t get to see any of them). We stayed in a banda, and enjoyed a walk out on a precarious wooden walkway on the lake, further romanticized by a mountain backdrop; just beyond gorgeous.
We picked up some bikes and a guide (Marco!) at Fisherman’s Camp, to begin a 6 hour, 30 meter bike ride to and through Hell’s Gate National Park. So, these bikes were of a questionable nature, clearly showing the years of wear (I’m still sore a week later from the barely existent seat). It also probably didn’t help that one of the guys setting the pace is a cyclist…
Hell’s Gate National Park is what used to be a freshwater lake in prehistoric times, and the former shores form what is now Njorowa’s Gorge. Riding a bike through it was humbling- the massively expansive red walls, unending plains, and most spectacularly, how close you were to the wildlife- what was absolutely wonderful about Hell’s Gate is the sheer proximity between human and animal, which is harder to get on a typical safari. We rode past zebras, gazelles, water buffalo, giraffes, and Lion King warthogs (although none of them sang Hakuna Matata for me). In true Circle of Life-style, we stumbled upon an eagle finishing up his baby-gazelle meal, leaving the head for us. I also got to rock climb Fischer’s Tower, which is this giant skinny mountain in the middle of an open plain, a volcanic plug, or the remains of a former volcano. The numerous holes punctuating the side of it made it an easy climb, but exhilarating nonetheless to say I climbed in Kenya.
The bike-ride took us to a ravine, which a barely distinguishable path that required jumping and strategic straddling over 6 m deep water on an hour-long hike. We crossed paths with hot springs, and saw beautiful views from the look-out. Marco, a man of few but weighty words, had fun paining the wazungu up with red Maasai warrior paint.
The bike-ride was a little tougher back, since my butt was sufficiently sore and legs wobbly and tired, but every minute was worth it. Finishing up the day with a campfire, I slept like a baby underneath my malaria bed net.
It was a wonderful break from wonderful mixture of feces, exhaust, and trash of Kibera and Nairobi, and it was also great to see another side of Kenya- a testimony to the diversity of experiences, background, and history that make this country so intriguing (and hence, why I’m having a blast).
I realized I’ve been really bad about describing vacations and touristy stuff throughout the summer, so hopefully this was okay in making up for my previous failures- Kilifi and Mombasa will be in a separate post coming soon.
Less than two weeks before US touchdown, three weeks before heading home to the Southern part of Heaven- and the excitement of being at Carolina (and terror at the fact its my senior year) are setting in. I am SO unprepared for the whole real-life thing, demonstrated by the spontaneous, off the top of my head, name I gave the word document compiling post-grad plans—‘for when my life ends.’ I’m going to work on the whole optimism thing.
I'm getting lucky with the internet. Pics coming in t-minus 15 minutes.
The drive up was largely uneventful, minus the beautiful sights- north of Nairobi, the drive takes you through forests seemingly out-of-place in stereotypical Africa, followed by the breathtaking views as you enter the Central Rift Valley. The Rift Valley holds significant ecological and historical importance in Kenya, a testimony to the changing animal and human population dynamics- before the arrival of the Europeans, it was dominated by the infamous Maasai, and is home to the Kalenjins (meaning ‘I tell you’), who are mostly farmers. The Rift Valley in general has been central to Kenya’s ethnic conflicts, even before the 2008 post-election violence. Former President Moi, known for entrenching corruption and ethnic-preference in the civil service during his long rule, is a Kalenjin- during the latter part of his time in power, the non-Kilenjin groups faced ethnic-cleansing in the run up to the 1992 and 1997 elections (the first multi-party elections post-independence), with the Kikuyu (both the previous President Kenyatta’s and the current President Kibuki’s ethnic group) being the main victims. Unsurprisingly, when Kibuki came to power, the Kalenjin of the Rift Valley felt targeted by the Kibuki administration. (Sorry, I can't not talk about this stuff...)
On the drive from Naivasha to Fisherman’s Camp and Hell’s Gate, we passed numerous greenhouses- Naivasha is home to a flourishing flower industry that exports to Europe, which was also apparent by the barrack-looking homes lining the road, occupied by the farm workers. It felt like home in Nairobi the minute the children starting yelling ‘How are you?’ to the wazungu in unending chorus from their homes.
Descending from the road to Fisherman’s Camp was like entering a haven, untold years-old trees extending their branches to cover a complete blanket of shade. Monkeys were jumping from tree to tree, and giant birds swooping to the ground. The camp is on the shores of Lake Naivasha, home to hippos- which was apparent by the numerous signs and the electric fence that switched on at 6:30 pm, warning of the world’s most dangerous animal (sadly, I didn’t get to see any of them). We stayed in a banda, and enjoyed a walk out on a precarious wooden walkway on the lake, further romanticized by a mountain backdrop; just beyond gorgeous.
We picked up some bikes and a guide (Marco!) at Fisherman’s Camp, to begin a 6 hour, 30 meter bike ride to and through Hell’s Gate National Park. So, these bikes were of a questionable nature, clearly showing the years of wear (I’m still sore a week later from the barely existent seat). It also probably didn’t help that one of the guys setting the pace is a cyclist…
Hell’s Gate National Park is what used to be a freshwater lake in prehistoric times, and the former shores form what is now Njorowa’s Gorge. Riding a bike through it was humbling- the massively expansive red walls, unending plains, and most spectacularly, how close you were to the wildlife- what was absolutely wonderful about Hell’s Gate is the sheer proximity between human and animal, which is harder to get on a typical safari. We rode past zebras, gazelles, water buffalo, giraffes, and Lion King warthogs (although none of them sang Hakuna Matata for me). In true Circle of Life-style, we stumbled upon an eagle finishing up his baby-gazelle meal, leaving the head for us. I also got to rock climb Fischer’s Tower, which is this giant skinny mountain in the middle of an open plain, a volcanic plug, or the remains of a former volcano. The numerous holes punctuating the side of it made it an easy climb, but exhilarating nonetheless to say I climbed in Kenya.
The bike-ride took us to a ravine, which a barely distinguishable path that required jumping and strategic straddling over 6 m deep water on an hour-long hike. We crossed paths with hot springs, and saw beautiful views from the look-out. Marco, a man of few but weighty words, had fun paining the wazungu up with red Maasai warrior paint.
The bike-ride was a little tougher back, since my butt was sufficiently sore and legs wobbly and tired, but every minute was worth it. Finishing up the day with a campfire, I slept like a baby underneath my malaria bed net.
It was a wonderful break from wonderful mixture of feces, exhaust, and trash of Kibera and Nairobi, and it was also great to see another side of Kenya- a testimony to the diversity of experiences, background, and history that make this country so intriguing (and hence, why I’m having a blast).
I realized I’ve been really bad about describing vacations and touristy stuff throughout the summer, so hopefully this was okay in making up for my previous failures- Kilifi and Mombasa will be in a separate post coming soon.
Less than two weeks before US touchdown, three weeks before heading home to the Southern part of Heaven- and the excitement of being at Carolina (and terror at the fact its my senior year) are setting in. I am SO unprepared for the whole real-life thing, demonstrated by the spontaneous, off the top of my head, name I gave the word document compiling post-grad plans—‘for when my life ends.’ I’m going to work on the whole optimism thing.
I'm getting lucky with the internet. Pics coming in t-minus 15 minutes.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Pictures
I was finally able to get an album up (link on the sidebar)- considering how long it took to do so in relationship to my patience, it will probably be one a week tops. These are mostly of the people I work with and the activities that we do.
Hell's Gate and Kilifi were beyond expectations- but since I was on a bus from 10 pm last night to 6 am, then went straight to work to conduct a grueling information session, I'm going to bed. So the detailed post is coming soon.
In the meantime, the State Department is sending out ridiculously and overly terrifying emails about Kenya- while there is a reason to be aware of your surroundings, the emails sounds like all Westerners should shut themselves behind their security walls and electric fences. The boy who cried wolf, anyone? Maybe I'm naive, but sometimes I wonder if we inject so much fear into our daily lives, confusing the line between peaking around corners for the terrorists and having common sense about personal security. Things happen- all you can do is find the balance between living to the fullest extent and being smart about it. Terrifying emails three times only makes me delete them.
And dear family and friends, I love you all and thank you for the many birthday messages- and this seems slightly ironic as a follow-up to the last paragraph, but considering the multiple 'be safe!!!!!! (continued exclamation marks) and Mom playing postmaster for the family about sending the message I'm being to risky, I thought I would make a blanket statement in saying I'm fine, and while you all may have legitimate concerns about my common sense, most of the time I have people to keep me in check. Just kidding. But really, I have every intention of making it back to the US in one piece, and I'm finding the safety balance just fine.
Hell's Gate and Kilifi were beyond expectations- but since I was on a bus from 10 pm last night to 6 am, then went straight to work to conduct a grueling information session, I'm going to bed. So the detailed post is coming soon.
In the meantime, the State Department is sending out ridiculously and overly terrifying emails about Kenya- while there is a reason to be aware of your surroundings, the emails sounds like all Westerners should shut themselves behind their security walls and electric fences. The boy who cried wolf, anyone? Maybe I'm naive, but sometimes I wonder if we inject so much fear into our daily lives, confusing the line between peaking around corners for the terrorists and having common sense about personal security. Things happen- all you can do is find the balance between living to the fullest extent and being smart about it. Terrifying emails three times only makes me delete them.
And dear family and friends, I love you all and thank you for the many birthday messages- and this seems slightly ironic as a follow-up to the last paragraph, but considering the multiple 'be safe!!!!!! (continued exclamation marks) and Mom playing postmaster for the family about sending the message I'm being to risky, I thought I would make a blanket statement in saying I'm fine, and while you all may have legitimate concerns about my common sense, most of the time I have people to keep me in check. Just kidding. But really, I have every intention of making it back to the US in one piece, and I'm finding the safety balance just fine.
Friday, July 24, 2009
When You See Yourself in a Crowded Room
Back home, one of my favorite things to do is to find a corner of a coffee shop and indulge myself in my work-a-holic world, or on the rare days off, a book. I shove my headphones in my ears (often listening to Steve Jablonsky, A.R. Rahman, or a little of Hans Zimmer), and delve into email answering, blog reading, or paper writing. But here in Kenya, something different happens- if you grab a booth or table by yourself, more often than not, a random stranger will come up and sit across from you, sometimes asking, sometimes not. A smile of welcome, and short introductions ensue. Sometimes you engage in conversation, sometimes you don’t. Maybe a question about the iced coffee, or whether your meal was any good.
Being an introvert and very American when it comes to spacial issues, my concept of personal space and alone-time has been spun on its head in Kenya. If I put my headphones in at work, someone walks by and takes them out, eating alone is rare (example above), and when I go home, Tua and Eric are pulling me this way and that way. Someone is always leaning on you, holding your hand, playing with your hair, or grabbing your arm, conversing and chatting. At first, it was exhausting, and took some time to get used to- it would have been intolerable for me three months ago. I was yearning for time alone, when I could just burrow deep in the confines of my thoughts when I needed to think or contemplate my navel. Yet, now, I’ve kind of grown to like it- there is something more personal, caring, creating a deeper understanding when it comes to interaction between people. A careless arm grab demonstrates a sensitivity to noticing how someone is uncomfortable in their surroundings, the close placement of bodies in a sitting group and hand-holding demonstrates sisterhood when cheering for a teammate. The boundary of air that I have always been so comfortable with when it came to everyone now is so apparent to me when someone isn’t filling it. I don’t mind hugging anymore, which is a BIG woah.
The last few days of work have been completely consumed with working on the questionnaires for Jamii Ya Kibera- there were a few set-backs, which were partly my fault in not always being a clear communicator (lesson of the week, still need to work on the fact not everyone is in my head), partly misunderstandings of what was expected by all parties involved. Yet the Executive Director swooped in and saved the day, and things are going swimmingly. I’m actually really excited now- we are bringing on trained researchers to conduct the questionnaire I developed, 7 in all (along with 7 ‘guides’), to go out and complete the questionnaire on the effectiveness of Jamii Ya Kibera and the post-election violence. I’m kind of in heaven working on this, and can’t wait to see the results. Further, the GHETTO session on public speaking I led went really, really well, and this week we are discussing conflict resolution on a personal level. The girls I am working with are just coming together as a group, so there is often still that hesitancy about being completely open around new people; it was great to see them take up the public speaking activities and put themselves out there, although I think me making a fool of myself by butchering Kiswahili Tongue Twisters probably made them feel like they couldn’t do any worse.
Yesterday, the older girls team raced with Toby, a really awesome guy that is really good friends with Salim, the Executive Director of CFK (this guy has connections like no other-I will forever be slightly envious he is friends with K'naan. Cool side note: he is using a business in Kibera to design a key chain that will be given out to his fans). He started Shoes4Africa, which is also the name of the team. It was a blast- the girls and some of the other boy members with CFK did a 3k around Kibera (I had 200 shillings on the girls winning-by the way, Toby used to be a marathon runner), and I was standing up in the back of Cantar’s pick-up with the video camera, holding on for dear life as I was being whipped around as Cantar drove typical crazy-Kenyan style through the streets of Nairobi. Adrenaline rush to the extreme. At the end, Toby gave out soccer shoes to the girls- after seeing so many of them playing in bare feet the past weeks, it makes you realize how the smallest things can make such a big difference. We also celebrated Salim’s birthday this week, which included Christmas in July and some memorable decorating.
I head to Hell’s Gate National Park tomorrow to camp overnight, and Sunday night to Kalifi (on the coast) with some friends for my 21st birthday on Sunday for three days- so I’ll be out of touch for a while. Until then, kwahiri!
Being an introvert and very American when it comes to spacial issues, my concept of personal space and alone-time has been spun on its head in Kenya. If I put my headphones in at work, someone walks by and takes them out, eating alone is rare (example above), and when I go home, Tua and Eric are pulling me this way and that way. Someone is always leaning on you, holding your hand, playing with your hair, or grabbing your arm, conversing and chatting. At first, it was exhausting, and took some time to get used to- it would have been intolerable for me three months ago. I was yearning for time alone, when I could just burrow deep in the confines of my thoughts when I needed to think or contemplate my navel. Yet, now, I’ve kind of grown to like it- there is something more personal, caring, creating a deeper understanding when it comes to interaction between people. A careless arm grab demonstrates a sensitivity to noticing how someone is uncomfortable in their surroundings, the close placement of bodies in a sitting group and hand-holding demonstrates sisterhood when cheering for a teammate. The boundary of air that I have always been so comfortable with when it came to everyone now is so apparent to me when someone isn’t filling it. I don’t mind hugging anymore, which is a BIG woah.
The last few days of work have been completely consumed with working on the questionnaires for Jamii Ya Kibera- there were a few set-backs, which were partly my fault in not always being a clear communicator (lesson of the week, still need to work on the fact not everyone is in my head), partly misunderstandings of what was expected by all parties involved. Yet the Executive Director swooped in and saved the day, and things are going swimmingly. I’m actually really excited now- we are bringing on trained researchers to conduct the questionnaire I developed, 7 in all (along with 7 ‘guides’), to go out and complete the questionnaire on the effectiveness of Jamii Ya Kibera and the post-election violence. I’m kind of in heaven working on this, and can’t wait to see the results. Further, the GHETTO session on public speaking I led went really, really well, and this week we are discussing conflict resolution on a personal level. The girls I am working with are just coming together as a group, so there is often still that hesitancy about being completely open around new people; it was great to see them take up the public speaking activities and put themselves out there, although I think me making a fool of myself by butchering Kiswahili Tongue Twisters probably made them feel like they couldn’t do any worse.
Yesterday, the older girls team raced with Toby, a really awesome guy that is really good friends with Salim, the Executive Director of CFK (this guy has connections like no other-I will forever be slightly envious he is friends with K'naan. Cool side note: he is using a business in Kibera to design a key chain that will be given out to his fans). He started Shoes4Africa, which is also the name of the team. It was a blast- the girls and some of the other boy members with CFK did a 3k around Kibera (I had 200 shillings on the girls winning-by the way, Toby used to be a marathon runner), and I was standing up in the back of Cantar’s pick-up with the video camera, holding on for dear life as I was being whipped around as Cantar drove typical crazy-Kenyan style through the streets of Nairobi. Adrenaline rush to the extreme. At the end, Toby gave out soccer shoes to the girls- after seeing so many of them playing in bare feet the past weeks, it makes you realize how the smallest things can make such a big difference. We also celebrated Salim’s birthday this week, which included Christmas in July and some memorable decorating.
I head to Hell’s Gate National Park tomorrow to camp overnight, and Sunday night to Kalifi (on the coast) with some friends for my 21st birthday on Sunday for three days- so I’ll be out of touch for a while. Until then, kwahiri!
Sunday, July 19, 2009
In Lieu of Pics
So I am blatantly stealing this straight from Alex's blog, one of the other CFK volunteers, but only because she is stunningly and unbelievably amazing. Here is more chances to see Kibera:
Thank you Alex :)
- "The Constant Gardener": All of the slum scenes were filmed in Kibera. The railroad, overhead shots of the house tops, and all of the children shouting "How are you?" are very classic snapshots of Kiberan life.
- "Kibera Kid": a movie filmed in Kibera, starring a local kid. In the vein of Slumdog Millionaire though the Kiberan actors haven't been nearly as well recognized or compensated as the stars of Slumdog.
- Kiberan art project by French artist, JR: He took beautiful photos of women in Kibera, blew them up and pasted them on the tops of homes, the sides of the hills and even on the train that runs through Kibera several times a day. The coolest part is that he sliced the photos up, putting part on the hillside bordering the railroad trakcs and the middle part on the train so that when the train passed by this specific area, the parts all line up perfectly to display the whole face. I absolutely love art that turns everyday locations/materials into masterpieces as well as investing back into the community.
Thank you Alex :)
Thursday, July 16, 2009
In These Stories Pages
Since I can't get pictures up/haven't really taken any, if you go to 3:50 in this video, this is Kibera, and CFK is the organization they are featuring for the clinic and soccer game, for some visuals.
For the last few days, I have had a searing pain in the right side of my chest that has made eating and drinking like taking a knife and jabbing it in the same spot over and over again, topped off with a dull residual pain, making eating a game of balancing the growling in my stomach and dealing with the repeat stabbing. Three days in, deciding that I really wanted to enjoy food again, I was off to the hospital.
Now, anyone else who travels abroad is aware that drinking the water and eating certain places in developing countries can have nasty side effects for the digestive system- but since in Egypt I never had a problem like other students, I decided that I would risk it, and I drink the water in Kibera and Nairobi. Yet it wasn’t my water or food source choice wreaking havoc on my health, but my prescribed malaria pills that caused the side effect of gastritis, leading to acid eating away at my esophagus. So now I’m on pills for my pills. I find it slightly ironic.
So I’m not sure how much coverage it got in the United States compared to here, but President Obama’s first visit to Africa as president, specifically Ghana, was a HUGE deal. It was interesting to make the comparison to Obama’s speech in Egypt last month- in both, the country I was residing in was targeted and criticized- In Israel, Obama focused on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, pointedly calling for a freeze on the settlements (a smack in the face to Israel), and in Ghana, he used Kenya as his punching bag for calling out weak democratic institutions and corruption (pulling the heart strings by using the poverty of his family as an example).
While it is difficult to make generalizations, and I’ll say first that this assessment hardly applies to all, but in Israel I remember a good majority just being pissed- Obama was being unfair, he didn’t understand the situation, he’s pandering to terrorists, etc. Even some individuals who lean liberal surprised me by going on the defensive, as if his statements were personal insults to the Israeli national psyche. A friend still in Israel mentioned in her blog that some boycotted the 4th of July because of their new disdain for American policy.
Yet here in Kenya, most Kenyans seemed to sigh in relief at Obama’s stiff and criticism- many Kenyans have voiced to me that the message was exactly what the government needed to hear, and they are glad he said it- for those individuals that it was aimed at, they just ignored it (apparently it’s a very Kenyan thing to do-ignore what you don’t like?) Instead of focusing on whether Obama was right or wrong about his statements, it was whether the politicians would get the message or not.
It’s difficult to make this comparison, because there is obviously more contention about the Israeli/Palestinian issue versus fighting corruption and political ineptitude- but I was still intrigued about the difference in reactions. It may be the sense of national identity, or the sensitivities of the issues at hand, or the fact that the everyday Kenyans feel the effects on a daily basis of the problems facing the country, while the average Israeli does not. In any case, a good lesson in how diplomacy works.
In other Kenyan news, the tribunal issue still bounces back and forth between the Hague and the local tribunal, although they just rejected a bill that would have created the local tribunal, and Ocampo, the prosecutor at the Hague, opens the envelope tomorrow. The other big story is the water shortage, which is leading to predictions of increased starvation.
In my little world of CFK, I’m content as a bee (I think the actual saying is content as can be, but I like the image of a content bee). After battling to get things done for two months in Israel, it is a relief to work with an organization that (1) has the capacity to actually accomplish things, (2) does what it can to support you in projects and tasks instead of promising to then letting you drown, and (3) has people who are just awesome. I think that is the one thing that has truly made working with CFK a joy so far- the caliber of individuals I interact with on a daily basis. Whether volunteers, part-time, or full-time staff, each individual has impressed me with their dedication, intelligence, and personality. It’s like CFK put out a bright light radiating ‘work here!’ and everyone with talent flew in like flies. Ok, that was a weird analogy, but I think the point was made. You constantly meet individuals who got involved with CFK in one of their programs in primary school, whether playing soccer or as a girl in the Binti Pamoja program, who are now part of leadership and decision-making. Something some of the other volunteers and I have talked about is how incredible CFK staff is when it comes to working in the community. Watching them interact with people, facilitate forums, energize youth to talk about subjects like ethnicity, ‘mobilize’ (they love that word) people from all walks of life to participate in events,and their knowledge of the community, I think is one of the most critical aspects of what makes CFK good at what it does, following the belief that Kiberans are the ones who know the solutions to their problems. There are still obstacles and difficulties, of course, particularly with organization and evaluation (I can only speak with the program I’m involved with), but there is this complete openness to developing and attaining these skills. While I hardly have the experience that many do, I’m truly impressed with how CFK has effectively married western assistance and grassroots, community level driven development. But that is a whole other topic.
I have a few different projects going on, and I’m enjoying them all. Last Sunday I helped develop a 2-hour session on conflict resolution, and this weekend we the new G.H.E.T.T.O curriculum I got to help develop with Lucy, Maureen, and Alice, beginning with a session on public speaking- I’m designing the Communications unit. The questionnaire is going well; I’ve gotten to talk to the people who were the brains behind starting Jamii ya Kibera, and it has been an amazing learning experience. The profiles for the G.H.E.T.T.O girls is moving right along, with a slight snafu—normally, I would go after work to the field where the girls practiced, and would sit with them individually, taking their picture and recording them. But last night, in the same field, a group of mzungus went to the field with lots of cameras, tripods, and video equipment, and ended up being mugged and robbed at about 6 in the evening. When Lucy told me this, she said don’t worry- that group was with a Kenyan who wasn’t from Kibera, and she said the fact I was with CFK, working with Cantar, (who is a local soccer celebrity), was the best protection I could have. Yet to be on the safe side, she wants to do the rest of the interviews in the homes. Once again, the whole community legitimacy thing hitting home.
Tua says hi to everyone!
For the last few days, I have had a searing pain in the right side of my chest that has made eating and drinking like taking a knife and jabbing it in the same spot over and over again, topped off with a dull residual pain, making eating a game of balancing the growling in my stomach and dealing with the repeat stabbing. Three days in, deciding that I really wanted to enjoy food again, I was off to the hospital.
Now, anyone else who travels abroad is aware that drinking the water and eating certain places in developing countries can have nasty side effects for the digestive system- but since in Egypt I never had a problem like other students, I decided that I would risk it, and I drink the water in Kibera and Nairobi. Yet it wasn’t my water or food source choice wreaking havoc on my health, but my prescribed malaria pills that caused the side effect of gastritis, leading to acid eating away at my esophagus. So now I’m on pills for my pills. I find it slightly ironic.
So I’m not sure how much coverage it got in the United States compared to here, but President Obama’s first visit to Africa as president, specifically Ghana, was a HUGE deal. It was interesting to make the comparison to Obama’s speech in Egypt last month- in both, the country I was residing in was targeted and criticized- In Israel, Obama focused on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, pointedly calling for a freeze on the settlements (a smack in the face to Israel), and in Ghana, he used Kenya as his punching bag for calling out weak democratic institutions and corruption (pulling the heart strings by using the poverty of his family as an example).
While it is difficult to make generalizations, and I’ll say first that this assessment hardly applies to all, but in Israel I remember a good majority just being pissed- Obama was being unfair, he didn’t understand the situation, he’s pandering to terrorists, etc. Even some individuals who lean liberal surprised me by going on the defensive, as if his statements were personal insults to the Israeli national psyche. A friend still in Israel mentioned in her blog that some boycotted the 4th of July because of their new disdain for American policy.
Yet here in Kenya, most Kenyans seemed to sigh in relief at Obama’s stiff and criticism- many Kenyans have voiced to me that the message was exactly what the government needed to hear, and they are glad he said it- for those individuals that it was aimed at, they just ignored it (apparently it’s a very Kenyan thing to do-ignore what you don’t like?) Instead of focusing on whether Obama was right or wrong about his statements, it was whether the politicians would get the message or not.
It’s difficult to make this comparison, because there is obviously more contention about the Israeli/Palestinian issue versus fighting corruption and political ineptitude- but I was still intrigued about the difference in reactions. It may be the sense of national identity, or the sensitivities of the issues at hand, or the fact that the everyday Kenyans feel the effects on a daily basis of the problems facing the country, while the average Israeli does not. In any case, a good lesson in how diplomacy works.
In other Kenyan news, the tribunal issue still bounces back and forth between the Hague and the local tribunal, although they just rejected a bill that would have created the local tribunal, and Ocampo, the prosecutor at the Hague, opens the envelope tomorrow. The other big story is the water shortage, which is leading to predictions of increased starvation.
In my little world of CFK, I’m content as a bee (I think the actual saying is content as can be, but I like the image of a content bee). After battling to get things done for two months in Israel, it is a relief to work with an organization that (1) has the capacity to actually accomplish things, (2) does what it can to support you in projects and tasks instead of promising to then letting you drown, and (3) has people who are just awesome. I think that is the one thing that has truly made working with CFK a joy so far- the caliber of individuals I interact with on a daily basis. Whether volunteers, part-time, or full-time staff, each individual has impressed me with their dedication, intelligence, and personality. It’s like CFK put out a bright light radiating ‘work here!’ and everyone with talent flew in like flies. Ok, that was a weird analogy, but I think the point was made. You constantly meet individuals who got involved with CFK in one of their programs in primary school, whether playing soccer or as a girl in the Binti Pamoja program, who are now part of leadership and decision-making. Something some of the other volunteers and I have talked about is how incredible CFK staff is when it comes to working in the community. Watching them interact with people, facilitate forums, energize youth to talk about subjects like ethnicity, ‘mobilize’ (they love that word) people from all walks of life to participate in events,and their knowledge of the community, I think is one of the most critical aspects of what makes CFK good at what it does, following the belief that Kiberans are the ones who know the solutions to their problems. There are still obstacles and difficulties, of course, particularly with organization and evaluation (I can only speak with the program I’m involved with), but there is this complete openness to developing and attaining these skills. While I hardly have the experience that many do, I’m truly impressed with how CFK has effectively married western assistance and grassroots, community level driven development. But that is a whole other topic.
I have a few different projects going on, and I’m enjoying them all. Last Sunday I helped develop a 2-hour session on conflict resolution, and this weekend we the new G.H.E.T.T.O curriculum I got to help develop with Lucy, Maureen, and Alice, beginning with a session on public speaking- I’m designing the Communications unit. The questionnaire is going well; I’ve gotten to talk to the people who were the brains behind starting Jamii ya Kibera, and it has been an amazing learning experience. The profiles for the G.H.E.T.T.O girls is moving right along, with a slight snafu—normally, I would go after work to the field where the girls practiced, and would sit with them individually, taking their picture and recording them. But last night, in the same field, a group of mzungus went to the field with lots of cameras, tripods, and video equipment, and ended up being mugged and robbed at about 6 in the evening. When Lucy told me this, she said don’t worry- that group was with a Kenyan who wasn’t from Kibera, and she said the fact I was with CFK, working with Cantar, (who is a local soccer celebrity), was the best protection I could have. Yet to be on the safe side, she wants to do the rest of the interviews in the homes. Once again, the whole community legitimacy thing hitting home.
Tua says hi to everyone!
Monday, July 13, 2009
Life is Hard.
I have been putting off describing Kibera, because I’m not sure I can do justice to everything I see, hear, and learn- and there is also the fact that there is so much about this place that I can never know, being an outsider and mzungu (the designated name for white people- you always know the people around you are talking about you when you hear mzungu, mzungu!). So I ask that you please keep that in mind when reading this.
Most people know what a slum is, or have some basic understanding. Kibera is composed of 11 villages, holding over 1 million people (1/4 of the Nairobi’s population), making it the largest slum in Africa. Kibera first started on the outskirts of Nairobi, land given as a reward to the Nubians who had fought for the British during WWI; at the time Kenya was still a British colony. Kibera has always been designated as a ‘temporary’ settlement, and as a result, the houses are semi-permanent, constructed from mud and pieces of tin, to allow for easy demolition. Therefore, the government has no obligation to provide infrastructures such as water and sewer services. As a source of cheap housing, Kibera expanded drastically in population during the 1950’s with the migration of Kenyans from the rural areas, leading to an influx of Kikuyus, Luos, Luhya, and 38 other ethnic groups; 50% of Kibera today is rural migrants.
One of the interesting things about Kibera is how large the youth population is- the founder of CFK, Rye Barcott, examined youth culture in Kibera for this senior thesis. Because of the extremely high unemployment rates, youth are often prime candidates for engaging in crime. Because the government does not provide services, many criminal groups composed of youths act as ‘shadow governments,’ providing services that are lacking, regulate business practices within Kibera, and are often groups to hire by politicians to promote their political interests in the community. During the 1997, 2002, and 2007 elections groups such as the Baghdad Boys and Mungiki were recruited to instigate and further violence against opponents. Youth in Kibera even have their own language outside of Kiswahili, English, and their ethnic mother-tongue, called Sheng. Sheng is normally a mix of the languages, and is unique to each generation- Cantar tells me that his generation does not understand the Sheng of another generation, and vice versa. It even varies between different slums- a youth from Mathare slum doesn’t understand the Sheng from Kibera.
Along the lines of limited governmental services, security is rare. That means when the Women’s soccer team goes for a run, it has to recruit one of the males to go with them- Lucy told me that when they go out, they have to stay out all night because its not safe to return to their homes in Kibera. Rape is a huge problem, along with HIV/AIDS, youth pregnancy, and low intensity crime. Which, by the way, since there is little to no police presence, the public has taken it upon themselves to deal with petty theft with mob justice. A few days ago, just around the corner from CFK’s office, three boys were caught stealing a radio from a women’s home, and for punishment, they were stripped, cut with machetes, and would have been doused with lighter fluid and burnt to death if the village chief hadn’t intervened. Just another example of how perception shapes everything in cultural differences: what is justice? For whom?
And obviously, poverty is a huge problem. I’m building profiles for the G.H.E.T.T.O program girls, and most can’t afford soccer shoes to play in, and often describe hunger when talking about their lives in Kibera. Following this trend, many attend informal schools, and don’t make it past primary level- the girls described home problems being a huge pressure on their ability to perform in school. ‘Life is Hard’ was repeated over, and over, and over again.
The streets are lined with trash, and in some hills you can see how the years of trash and dirt have created layers on each other-one of the most heartbreaking things is to see the children digging through it. I would like to give a shout out to my Grandma, because the random animals that roamed the house and yard, leaving lovely presents behind wherever they go, made the dogs, chickens, and goats, roaming in and out of houses and throughout the streets seem normal, although I haven’t met anyone who has a sheep living in the house. Walking around the inner parts of Kibera requires skillful climbing, ducking, and maneuvering, in between tight pathways, up trash hills, and over giant sludge puddles (contents unknown), which I haven’t always been successful at avoiding. Knowing when to breath deeply and when not to in hopes of avoiding some extremely undesirable smells becomes an art.
Kibera is so full of life- despite all the difficulties and obstacles of daily life, there is so much color, vitality, noise, smells, and movement. From the shops on two sides of a road blasting reggae as if in a competition to who can be the loudest, to the shops painted in bright, in-your-face colors, the fires burning trash, the smells of unknown foods, and the constant shout-outs to friends and neighbors, Kibera is a community brimming to the top with culture and relationships. Here, you shake everyone’s hand in greeting- a welcoming, a connection, a signal of a friendship, even if you never see them again.
So just a beginning picture, and hopefully a beginning description to build on in the coming weeks, because I’m learning something new about it everyday. I'll try to get pictures up eventually, but the connection is terrible, plus, there is the whole sensitivity to Kiberans, so I haven't taken too many.
I’ve been continuing the work previously described, and I’m loving it- frustrating, slow, yet fulfilling, enlightening, and dynamic. Next post (and I’ll get to it sooner rather than later this time) will be more about the personal experiences I’ve had, but this post needed to happen first.
PS I saw baby elephants! And monkeys (the ones with the funny butts)! And a rhino!
Most people know what a slum is, or have some basic understanding. Kibera is composed of 11 villages, holding over 1 million people (1/4 of the Nairobi’s population), making it the largest slum in Africa. Kibera first started on the outskirts of Nairobi, land given as a reward to the Nubians who had fought for the British during WWI; at the time Kenya was still a British colony. Kibera has always been designated as a ‘temporary’ settlement, and as a result, the houses are semi-permanent, constructed from mud and pieces of tin, to allow for easy demolition. Therefore, the government has no obligation to provide infrastructures such as water and sewer services. As a source of cheap housing, Kibera expanded drastically in population during the 1950’s with the migration of Kenyans from the rural areas, leading to an influx of Kikuyus, Luos, Luhya, and 38 other ethnic groups; 50% of Kibera today is rural migrants.
One of the interesting things about Kibera is how large the youth population is- the founder of CFK, Rye Barcott, examined youth culture in Kibera for this senior thesis. Because of the extremely high unemployment rates, youth are often prime candidates for engaging in crime. Because the government does not provide services, many criminal groups composed of youths act as ‘shadow governments,’ providing services that are lacking, regulate business practices within Kibera, and are often groups to hire by politicians to promote their political interests in the community. During the 1997, 2002, and 2007 elections groups such as the Baghdad Boys and Mungiki were recruited to instigate and further violence against opponents. Youth in Kibera even have their own language outside of Kiswahili, English, and their ethnic mother-tongue, called Sheng. Sheng is normally a mix of the languages, and is unique to each generation- Cantar tells me that his generation does not understand the Sheng of another generation, and vice versa. It even varies between different slums- a youth from Mathare slum doesn’t understand the Sheng from Kibera.
Along the lines of limited governmental services, security is rare. That means when the Women’s soccer team goes for a run, it has to recruit one of the males to go with them- Lucy told me that when they go out, they have to stay out all night because its not safe to return to their homes in Kibera. Rape is a huge problem, along with HIV/AIDS, youth pregnancy, and low intensity crime. Which, by the way, since there is little to no police presence, the public has taken it upon themselves to deal with petty theft with mob justice. A few days ago, just around the corner from CFK’s office, three boys were caught stealing a radio from a women’s home, and for punishment, they were stripped, cut with machetes, and would have been doused with lighter fluid and burnt to death if the village chief hadn’t intervened. Just another example of how perception shapes everything in cultural differences: what is justice? For whom?
And obviously, poverty is a huge problem. I’m building profiles for the G.H.E.T.T.O program girls, and most can’t afford soccer shoes to play in, and often describe hunger when talking about their lives in Kibera. Following this trend, many attend informal schools, and don’t make it past primary level- the girls described home problems being a huge pressure on their ability to perform in school. ‘Life is Hard’ was repeated over, and over, and over again.
The streets are lined with trash, and in some hills you can see how the years of trash and dirt have created layers on each other-one of the most heartbreaking things is to see the children digging through it. I would like to give a shout out to my Grandma, because the random animals that roamed the house and yard, leaving lovely presents behind wherever they go, made the dogs, chickens, and goats, roaming in and out of houses and throughout the streets seem normal, although I haven’t met anyone who has a sheep living in the house. Walking around the inner parts of Kibera requires skillful climbing, ducking, and maneuvering, in between tight pathways, up trash hills, and over giant sludge puddles (contents unknown), which I haven’t always been successful at avoiding. Knowing when to breath deeply and when not to in hopes of avoiding some extremely undesirable smells becomes an art.
Kibera is so full of life- despite all the difficulties and obstacles of daily life, there is so much color, vitality, noise, smells, and movement. From the shops on two sides of a road blasting reggae as if in a competition to who can be the loudest, to the shops painted in bright, in-your-face colors, the fires burning trash, the smells of unknown foods, and the constant shout-outs to friends and neighbors, Kibera is a community brimming to the top with culture and relationships. Here, you shake everyone’s hand in greeting- a welcoming, a connection, a signal of a friendship, even if you never see them again.
So just a beginning picture, and hopefully a beginning description to build on in the coming weeks, because I’m learning something new about it everyday. I'll try to get pictures up eventually, but the connection is terrible, plus, there is the whole sensitivity to Kiberans, so I haven't taken too many.
I’ve been continuing the work previously described, and I’m loving it- frustrating, slow, yet fulfilling, enlightening, and dynamic. Next post (and I’ll get to it sooner rather than later this time) will be more about the personal experiences I’ve had, but this post needed to happen first.
PS I saw baby elephants! And monkeys (the ones with the funny butts)! And a rhino!
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Jamii ya Kibera
So we are probably all sick and tired of hearing about Swine Flu, at least I know I am. On my flight to Ethiopia, the Ethiopian government handed out pieces of paper that said on the top ‘SAVE THE NATION from the Swine Flu!’ As it ended up, the same day I arrived at the Kenyan airport, a British student arrived as well, bringing the Swine Flu with him to Kenya, leading to a complete domination of the Daily Nation headlines. It was funny reading the reports of the government defending their procedures of detecting the flu, particularly since the process they said they put every passenger through upon arrival, I didn’t.
Two other major events are in the headlines, one being Somalia. A country on the border of Kenya devolving into complete anarchy, is having major effects here. There is a huge refugee population, and there are concerns that the Somalian population within Nairobi and other urban areas could cause problems, particularly since the Shabaab, or the warlords who are fighting the internationally supported transitional government, has declared war on Ethiopia and Kenya- leading to beefed up security.
The issue in the news that most closely relates to my day-to-day life here is the tribunal for the perpetrators of the post-election violence. Unless they begin the process of establishing an internal court by September (and even then whether they can proceed without corruption seeping in), the International Criminal Court holds an envelope with names that it is threatening to open and press charges, an envelope that could include the names of some very prominent officials. Further, for President Obama's first trip to Africa, he is pointedly and openly passing over Kenya, the homeland of his father, because of his disappointment in the democratic process and rule of law. This was a huge deal here, blowing up the newspapers, particularly because of his visit three years ago and the family he has here.
Just a brief outline, before the 2007 elections, Kenya was seen as the bright light of Africa, with a growing economy and improvements in social conditions within the country. But with accusations of vote-rigging in 2007 against President Mwai Kibaki from the opposition candidate Raila Odinga, Kenya devolved into violence. Because Kenya’s political parties breakdown by ethnic lines, most of the conflict was ethnically-based, and led to 1,000 deaths and thousands displaced. It shook the country to its core, tearing apart former neighbors, wrecking the economy, and dealt a severe blow the democratic process. While former UN Secretary General Kofi Annan came in to negotiate a power-sharing agreement, the underlying tensions and memory of the ethnic violence are still here- the United Nations just released a report that 500 people have been killed by police death squads. Kibera, a slum that is ethnically heterogeneous, representing all 5 major groups in Nairobi, was the location of some of the worst violence- the burnt kiosks and buildings are still visible today.
All of this playing out at this time is providing an interesting perspective for what I’ll be working on over the next six weeks- as I mentioned before I’ll be working with the Sports Program, but more particularly my focus is going to be the Jamii ya Kibera program, which was established after the post-election violence to promote conflict mediation and peace initiatives. In the immediate aftermath, CFK trained around 22 adults and 20 youths in conflict mediation skills, and now use them for community outreach and facilitation during forums they hold throughout the slum discussing ethnicity, violence, poverty, etc. They also had this really awesome outreach media campaign, promoting peace over violence in Kibera.
I’ve had multiple meetings over the past few days with Cantar, Program Coordinator for the Sports Association, Kennedy, head of Jamii ya Kibera, Lucy, coordinator for the Girls’ Soccer Program, and Sele(iman), coordinator of the Boy’s tournaments. How meetings happen here are kind of funny- there is no set time, it is just whenever people drift in and out, and you can find somewhere to sit down and talk- and it always works. They have laid out for me what they would like me to do in helping out, including a questionnaire about how residents now view the post-election violence and the tribunal proceedings, developing a curriculum for a conflict mediation program to be implemented within CFK groups and schools around Kibera, working with the youth and adults that were trained in conflict mediation by Jamii ya Kibera, creating profiles on the girls involved in the CFK soccer team, tag along on home and school visits, which follow up on the schooling and home life of the girls, and just help out in general with the tournaments, letting Cantar, Sele, Lucy, and Eric tell me what to do.
I’ve figured out the matatus, their form of public transportation (really old buses that play really loud music, drive like they are being chased by the police, and decorate with really bright colors and pictures of American popstars), have accumulated now three different Swahili/Shang teachers, fallen in love with the staple food ugali (literally just maize flour and water), and enjoyed some amazing soccer/football games. If you can’t tell, I’m loving it.
Happy 4th of July, America!
Two other major events are in the headlines, one being Somalia. A country on the border of Kenya devolving into complete anarchy, is having major effects here. There is a huge refugee population, and there are concerns that the Somalian population within Nairobi and other urban areas could cause problems, particularly since the Shabaab, or the warlords who are fighting the internationally supported transitional government, has declared war on Ethiopia and Kenya- leading to beefed up security.
The issue in the news that most closely relates to my day-to-day life here is the tribunal for the perpetrators of the post-election violence. Unless they begin the process of establishing an internal court by September (and even then whether they can proceed without corruption seeping in), the International Criminal Court holds an envelope with names that it is threatening to open and press charges, an envelope that could include the names of some very prominent officials. Further, for President Obama's first trip to Africa, he is pointedly and openly passing over Kenya, the homeland of his father, because of his disappointment in the democratic process and rule of law. This was a huge deal here, blowing up the newspapers, particularly because of his visit three years ago and the family he has here.
Just a brief outline, before the 2007 elections, Kenya was seen as the bright light of Africa, with a growing economy and improvements in social conditions within the country. But with accusations of vote-rigging in 2007 against President Mwai Kibaki from the opposition candidate Raila Odinga, Kenya devolved into violence. Because Kenya’s political parties breakdown by ethnic lines, most of the conflict was ethnically-based, and led to 1,000 deaths and thousands displaced. It shook the country to its core, tearing apart former neighbors, wrecking the economy, and dealt a severe blow the democratic process. While former UN Secretary General Kofi Annan came in to negotiate a power-sharing agreement, the underlying tensions and memory of the ethnic violence are still here- the United Nations just released a report that 500 people have been killed by police death squads. Kibera, a slum that is ethnically heterogeneous, representing all 5 major groups in Nairobi, was the location of some of the worst violence- the burnt kiosks and buildings are still visible today.
All of this playing out at this time is providing an interesting perspective for what I’ll be working on over the next six weeks- as I mentioned before I’ll be working with the Sports Program, but more particularly my focus is going to be the Jamii ya Kibera program, which was established after the post-election violence to promote conflict mediation and peace initiatives. In the immediate aftermath, CFK trained around 22 adults and 20 youths in conflict mediation skills, and now use them for community outreach and facilitation during forums they hold throughout the slum discussing ethnicity, violence, poverty, etc. They also had this really awesome outreach media campaign, promoting peace over violence in Kibera.
I’ve had multiple meetings over the past few days with Cantar, Program Coordinator for the Sports Association, Kennedy, head of Jamii ya Kibera, Lucy, coordinator for the Girls’ Soccer Program, and Sele(iman), coordinator of the Boy’s tournaments. How meetings happen here are kind of funny- there is no set time, it is just whenever people drift in and out, and you can find somewhere to sit down and talk- and it always works. They have laid out for me what they would like me to do in helping out, including a questionnaire about how residents now view the post-election violence and the tribunal proceedings, developing a curriculum for a conflict mediation program to be implemented within CFK groups and schools around Kibera, working with the youth and adults that were trained in conflict mediation by Jamii ya Kibera, creating profiles on the girls involved in the CFK soccer team, tag along on home and school visits, which follow up on the schooling and home life of the girls, and just help out in general with the tournaments, letting Cantar, Sele, Lucy, and Eric tell me what to do.
I’ve figured out the matatus, their form of public transportation (really old buses that play really loud music, drive like they are being chased by the police, and decorate with really bright colors and pictures of American popstars), have accumulated now three different Swahili/Shang teachers, fallen in love with the staple food ugali (literally just maize flour and water), and enjoyed some amazing soccer/football games. If you can’t tell, I’m loving it.
Happy 4th of July, America!
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Michaela Harrari
Two posts in one day! Making up for previous slacking....
So, as promised, I'm going to start posting interviews as I get then transcribed. I debated between editing and leaving then raw, and when I can and it still makes sense, I decided to just leave them as is. I apologize for those who aren't interested in this part, so skip if you get too bored. Kenya posts will keep coming.
Michaela Harrari is a board member of the Domari Society for the Gypsies of Jerusalem. A Jew who made aliya in the 1990's, she is now married to Moshe Amirav (I'm using his most recent book Jerusalem Syndrome for context research), and is a flamenco dance teacher and English teacher in training, with background in non-profit work. She is the first person I recorded, and this is the first of two parts- the second was recorded later because of interruptions (which happened a lot with these interviews).
Michaela Harrari
(unimportant introductions)
T: Where to start, because your perspective is as someone who is on the board.
M: You can ask Amoun about how active I am.
T: You also teach classes to the kids, yes?
M: I think all of four classes.
T: Oh, well, better than none. So how did you come across the Gypsies?
(Side conversations)
M: How did I meet Amoun. An email from an acquaintance who is an musician, who knew I was interested in Gypsy music. He had found out from someone that there was an evening at the Jerusalem Hotel, which is next to the bus station, and I went, and I met Amoun. I don’t remember the year, 2000.
T: How did you get involved in the capacity as a board member, rather than just an acquaintance?
M: They asked me. I got caught! I have some background in non-profit organization in the States.
T: Oh, what did you do in the States?
M: I worked in various kinds of non-profit marketing jobs.
T: How did you get interested in Gypsy music?
M: Because of my work. I teach flamenco dance. I perform flamenco dance. One of my goals in my flamenco activities is to make some kind of connection with the communities in this area, and so there is a connection between the Domari and the Gypsy roots of flamenco. At the end of the day, I discovered actually, the connection isn’t really a live connection, because there aren’t active artists in the Jerusalem area. But on the other hand, it was certainly an interesting project, and with my social work background, I thought I could be of some assistance.
T: What do you do today?
M:I am a flamenco dancer teacher, and I am the director of a performing group of musicians and dancers, and I have children, and that’s about it. Oh, and I’m also learning how to be an English teacher.
T: Oh, ok. To teach where?
M: In a public school.
T: Wow, that’s hard.
M: Yeah, but I like children, I like the classroom. (side conversation) So it seemed right that I should be connected with Amoun, and I really admire what she is doing, and it’s a great step to take. I hope that at some point in time we will find some kind of cultural meeting point, and that’s why I came back to the girls, some of them did a little part of a show that I organized last year with three other professional dancers. We did a show about the Gypsy trail, and each dancer took one aspect of Gypsy dance and performed it, and we opened the show with Amoun’s nieces.
T: I know you talked about that cultural aspect really isn’t in this community anymore, are you trying to bring it back, or try to reinvigorate that aspect of it? Because you have a lot of background knowledge in Gypsy dance?
K: I actually don’t have background knowledge. I don’t have dance material that relates to their style. This particular gypsy community is different than the Andalusian Gypsy community. They have their own music, and their own language, and their own dance, so I don’t really see myself as a catalyst for anything; however, in my flamenco work, I would like to reach out to more children in the Arab community, and maybe my relationship with the Domari is a window. I don’t know, we’ll keep trying.
T: What kind of stuff do you teach the girls in the dance music, what kind of stuff do you do?
K: The truth this, this dance class has an unknown content that we discover as we go along, there has only been 4 or 5 meetings. Normally I start with general warm-up, and then I teach rhythm, and then I teach steps. And then I teach choreography. That is the general scope of the flamenco learning. However, this group doesn’t know if they even want to do flamenco, and I don’t even know if it is right they do flamenco. I think it is better to strengthen what natural movement then have by themselves. I am trying to pick up on that, and have them repeat them over and over and get confidence. Understand what physically they are doing; body awareness. But usually when you teach kids, it has to be goal-oriented; they aren’t so process oriented. So the goal is to let’s make a piece. I let them choose the piece, I brought them some fusion music, that has Arab elements and Spanish elements, and they liked it so now we are making a piece. But we don’t really have the conditions, because dance is visual, and there is no way they can see themselves. I hope, my goal is to have some kind of framework, where the same girls could come, and we could bring in other girls from the area, and maybe I could bring in someone who is a little more familiar with Middle Eastern dance. Another possibility is to hitch on to one of the dance forms that is accepted and performed in Jerusalem, and that is depka.
T: Depka? Could you describe that for me?
M: Depka is line dancing, it is usually for social and family special events.
T: Is it something practiced throughout entire Jerusalem, or is it more of a Jewish tradition?
M: It’s not Jewish at all. Depka comes from, as far as I understand, Circassian roots. But there are also of Bedouin roots. It’s a line dance it’s a folkdance. It has a lot of footwork in it. But that is why I thought, because of the footwork, we could find some kind of common language. The Gypsy don’t do depka so developed; however, I have heard about, and I have seen a number of depka projects come out of Jerusalem. With other groups of people. Depka, at least what I saw, is reserved for the young. However, at family events and weddings, everybody gets into it. It is a folk art that has developed into a performing art. It is the national Palestinian dance in a way, but it also goes beyond Palestine in a way, it is done in Syria and Iraq and Iran.
T: I had no idea.
M: It is the folk dance of the Levant. It doesn’t’ have the sensuality problem that oriental dance has. I can’t remember the Egyptian word, the Arabic word for dance.
(side conversation)
T: How did you come to Jerusalem?
M: I made aliya in 1992, I came with my first, now ex-husband, we made aliya from New York, and I got a job in Jerusalem, so we lived here.
T: I guess, based on, so you’ve been involved since 2000 with the Domari community. How has it really grown since you’ve been here? What have you seen changed, developed?
M: I can’t tell you about the community, because I am not part of the community, but I can tell you about the organization. It is evolving, and its certainly changed, I think the self-perception of some of the people in the community, the notion of empowerment, identity, those things, that maybe weren’t so strong before Amoun started it, have really crystallized. The organization is all the time in transition. It has a lot of growing pains, because we are talking about an oriental culture, and then all kinds of criteria that culture places on definition, and activities, and behaviour, so there is a culture clash, but on the other hand, I think Amoun has struck a pretty good balance. I think that participation in organization itself is not a natural attribute of Oriental people. They are much more family-planned and the whole notion of being part of an organization is foreign to them, being part of a family is not. So in that sense, the Domari organization is a family organization. That is the way it has to be, or its not expressing the nature of the people it represents.
(finish)
So, as promised, I'm going to start posting interviews as I get then transcribed. I debated between editing and leaving then raw, and when I can and it still makes sense, I decided to just leave them as is. I apologize for those who aren't interested in this part, so skip if you get too bored. Kenya posts will keep coming.
Michaela Harrari is a board member of the Domari Society for the Gypsies of Jerusalem. A Jew who made aliya in the 1990's, she is now married to Moshe Amirav (I'm using his most recent book Jerusalem Syndrome for context research), and is a flamenco dance teacher and English teacher in training, with background in non-profit work. She is the first person I recorded, and this is the first of two parts- the second was recorded later because of interruptions (which happened a lot with these interviews).
Michaela Harrari
(unimportant introductions)
T: Where to start, because your perspective is as someone who is on the board.
M: You can ask Amoun about how active I am.
T: You also teach classes to the kids, yes?
M: I think all of four classes.
T: Oh, well, better than none. So how did you come across the Gypsies?
(Side conversations)
M: How did I meet Amoun. An email from an acquaintance who is an musician, who knew I was interested in Gypsy music. He had found out from someone that there was an evening at the Jerusalem Hotel, which is next to the bus station, and I went, and I met Amoun. I don’t remember the year, 2000.
T: How did you get involved in the capacity as a board member, rather than just an acquaintance?
M: They asked me. I got caught! I have some background in non-profit organization in the States.
T: Oh, what did you do in the States?
M: I worked in various kinds of non-profit marketing jobs.
T: How did you get interested in Gypsy music?
M: Because of my work. I teach flamenco dance. I perform flamenco dance. One of my goals in my flamenco activities is to make some kind of connection with the communities in this area, and so there is a connection between the Domari and the Gypsy roots of flamenco. At the end of the day, I discovered actually, the connection isn’t really a live connection, because there aren’t active artists in the Jerusalem area. But on the other hand, it was certainly an interesting project, and with my social work background, I thought I could be of some assistance.
T: What do you do today?
M:I am a flamenco dancer teacher, and I am the director of a performing group of musicians and dancers, and I have children, and that’s about it. Oh, and I’m also learning how to be an English teacher.
T: Oh, ok. To teach where?
M: In a public school.
T: Wow, that’s hard.
M: Yeah, but I like children, I like the classroom. (side conversation) So it seemed right that I should be connected with Amoun, and I really admire what she is doing, and it’s a great step to take. I hope that at some point in time we will find some kind of cultural meeting point, and that’s why I came back to the girls, some of them did a little part of a show that I organized last year with three other professional dancers. We did a show about the Gypsy trail, and each dancer took one aspect of Gypsy dance and performed it, and we opened the show with Amoun’s nieces.
T: I know you talked about that cultural aspect really isn’t in this community anymore, are you trying to bring it back, or try to reinvigorate that aspect of it? Because you have a lot of background knowledge in Gypsy dance?
K: I actually don’t have background knowledge. I don’t have dance material that relates to their style. This particular gypsy community is different than the Andalusian Gypsy community. They have their own music, and their own language, and their own dance, so I don’t really see myself as a catalyst for anything; however, in my flamenco work, I would like to reach out to more children in the Arab community, and maybe my relationship with the Domari is a window. I don’t know, we’ll keep trying.
T: What kind of stuff do you teach the girls in the dance music, what kind of stuff do you do?
K: The truth this, this dance class has an unknown content that we discover as we go along, there has only been 4 or 5 meetings. Normally I start with general warm-up, and then I teach rhythm, and then I teach steps. And then I teach choreography. That is the general scope of the flamenco learning. However, this group doesn’t know if they even want to do flamenco, and I don’t even know if it is right they do flamenco. I think it is better to strengthen what natural movement then have by themselves. I am trying to pick up on that, and have them repeat them over and over and get confidence. Understand what physically they are doing; body awareness. But usually when you teach kids, it has to be goal-oriented; they aren’t so process oriented. So the goal is to let’s make a piece. I let them choose the piece, I brought them some fusion music, that has Arab elements and Spanish elements, and they liked it so now we are making a piece. But we don’t really have the conditions, because dance is visual, and there is no way they can see themselves. I hope, my goal is to have some kind of framework, where the same girls could come, and we could bring in other girls from the area, and maybe I could bring in someone who is a little more familiar with Middle Eastern dance. Another possibility is to hitch on to one of the dance forms that is accepted and performed in Jerusalem, and that is depka.
T: Depka? Could you describe that for me?
M: Depka is line dancing, it is usually for social and family special events.
T: Is it something practiced throughout entire Jerusalem, or is it more of a Jewish tradition?
M: It’s not Jewish at all. Depka comes from, as far as I understand, Circassian roots. But there are also of Bedouin roots. It’s a line dance it’s a folkdance. It has a lot of footwork in it. But that is why I thought, because of the footwork, we could find some kind of common language. The Gypsy don’t do depka so developed; however, I have heard about, and I have seen a number of depka projects come out of Jerusalem. With other groups of people. Depka, at least what I saw, is reserved for the young. However, at family events and weddings, everybody gets into it. It is a folk art that has developed into a performing art. It is the national Palestinian dance in a way, but it also goes beyond Palestine in a way, it is done in Syria and Iraq and Iran.
T: I had no idea.
M: It is the folk dance of the Levant. It doesn’t’ have the sensuality problem that oriental dance has. I can’t remember the Egyptian word, the Arabic word for dance.
(side conversation)
T: How did you come to Jerusalem?
M: I made aliya in 1992, I came with my first, now ex-husband, we made aliya from New York, and I got a job in Jerusalem, so we lived here.
T: I guess, based on, so you’ve been involved since 2000 with the Domari community. How has it really grown since you’ve been here? What have you seen changed, developed?
M: I can’t tell you about the community, because I am not part of the community, but I can tell you about the organization. It is evolving, and its certainly changed, I think the self-perception of some of the people in the community, the notion of empowerment, identity, those things, that maybe weren’t so strong before Amoun started it, have really crystallized. The organization is all the time in transition. It has a lot of growing pains, because we are talking about an oriental culture, and then all kinds of criteria that culture places on definition, and activities, and behaviour, so there is a culture clash, but on the other hand, I think Amoun has struck a pretty good balance. I think that participation in organization itself is not a natural attribute of Oriental people. They are much more family-planned and the whole notion of being part of an organization is foreign to them, being part of a family is not. So in that sense, the Domari organization is a family organization. That is the way it has to be, or its not expressing the nature of the people it represents.
(finish)
Karibu to Kenya!
So internet is a little less available here than it was in Israel, so I apologize for the more infrequent posts. I didn’t realize how addicted I was to the constant flow of news until it was cut off- I now have to rely completely on the printed Kenyan newspaper. I zeroed in on an Economist I saw my host father carrying, so I’m going to ask to borrow that to fulfill my insatiable addiction.
I arrived in the wonderful country of Kenya Monday after 18 hours of travel. Unfortunately, my departure from Israel wasn’t as easy as my arrival, and my security risk jumped from a 1 to a 5- (so much for the Jewish last name)-. They literally don’t have any concept of privacy (its pretty obvious Israel doesn’t have that whole issue with balancing privacy and security that America does), shifting through every piece of luggage, taking everything out, which was particularly awkward with my dirty laundry. At the same time, they were extremely courteous about it all; I got personally escorted through the entire airport when they weren’t sure if my bag was an appropriate size. Last notes, Ethiopian Airlines had great food, and Ethiopia looked pretty nice from the airport.
Cantar, the program coordinator for the Sports Program, and Alex, one of the volunteers, were there to greet me at the airport. The drive in was wonderful- so. Much. Color. I didn’t realize how little color there was in the Old City and Jerusalem in general until I got here, where everything is colorful- blues, greens, reds, yellows- I love it.
My homestay, well, is not what I expected- they told us from the beginning that we would have to stay outside of Kibera, since it wouldn’t be safe for us or the family to stay in the slum- for obvious reasons. While I never felt a threat walking around in Israel, here you have to be much more aware of your personal security- you don’t walk around at night, and on the way from the airport, Kantar moved my bags from the back of the truck, saying people might pull my luggage out of it in the traffic. Kibera is safe during the day, but nighttime is a whole other story.
Anyway, we drove up to this compound- a giant gate, security guard, surrounded by wire and an electric fence. I was greeted by the nanny/housekeeper, Rachel, and the two children, Tua(9) and Eric (11). Rachel showed me to my room, and it was just like, wow. I have a whole room to myself, wood floors, twin beds, a desk, and an entire wall of windows overlooking a green, luscious garden- A far cry from my roof accommodations and not-always-functioning public bathroom in Israel. I kind of didn’t know what to do with myself at first- the confusion was only compounded further when I woke up for dinner, which entailed a meal of soup, fish and chips, fruit, and milky tea.
My family is extremely well-off by typical Kenyan standards- both Tua and Eric attend private schools, and English is their main language- they speak English to their parents and Rachel over Swahili, which was a little shocking at first (for those less familiar with Kenyan history, it was a British colony until independence). It is going to take me a while to get used to waking up to a full, laid out breakfast of cereal, toast, hot tea, and orange juice, just sitting on the dining room table as I stumble half-asleep out of my bedroom. When I tried to do my own dishes, much less take it to the sink, the woman who does the laundry (she is only here in the morning) looked at me like I was crazy. I get home from CFK, and Rachel lays out for me a silver platter with tea and a snack. She makes my bed and organizes my stuff. Considering I’ve never had that in my entire life, it makes me slightly uncomfortable- I asked her to show me how to make the tea (since it is different here) so that I could do it myself and not make her go out of the way, and while she showed me, I’m still not allowed to do it myself. Rachel is this soft-spoken, tiny woman, who is responsible for the well-being of the children and house- she is here when I wake up in the morning, and still here when I go to bed. The children are absolutely taken with her. I love talking to her, and she is going to teach me some Swahili and how to cook Kenyan food.
The parents, Sam and Christine, are extremely gracious and welcoming, although they are not in the house often, leaving for work in the morning and coming back late at night. The mother works for the government (according to the children, the third most senior individual in the tax collection agency), and the father is involved in some kind of consultancy. This morning, I had a great conversation with them concerning Iran, politics within Kenya, how the violence in Somalia is affecting the country and increasing security concerns. Me, sitting drinking tea, talking politics with Kenyans with very British accents. I laughed a little in my head.
Anthony (aka Tua- he’s mad at me right now for sharing his name is Anthony) and Eric are so freaking cool and ridiculously smart- at 9 and 11, they knew the Dome of the Rock in my picture, never having been, and Eric asked me about the recent coup in Madagascar. I didn't even know Madagascar existed at 11. After two days with them, I’m convinced I want boys when that whole kid thing happens- they are so much easier, and playing soccer definitely beats playing with hair. Eric in particularly is great to talk to- because of the quality of their education, he knows more than most individuals who graduated from my high school do. Last night, he talked to me about aerodynamics and his favorite author Ronald Dahl. But the favorite topic of conversation is football (soccer). Their favorite Nintendo game is football, they both play football, and they follow football. Eric is going to Sweden in the middle of the month for a tournament. Kibera, as a slum, is an entire world away from their home- but football transcends all, as the obsession with it is the same there.
I’ll save my first few days with Carolina for Kibera, for another post, mostly because I’m not sure I can do it justice yet- just two days, and I’m already overwhelmed with how impressed I am. The people, what they do, how they do it, is just, well, wow. It is going to an amazing month and a half.
I arrived in the wonderful country of Kenya Monday after 18 hours of travel. Unfortunately, my departure from Israel wasn’t as easy as my arrival, and my security risk jumped from a 1 to a 5- (so much for the Jewish last name)-. They literally don’t have any concept of privacy (its pretty obvious Israel doesn’t have that whole issue with balancing privacy and security that America does), shifting through every piece of luggage, taking everything out, which was particularly awkward with my dirty laundry. At the same time, they were extremely courteous about it all; I got personally escorted through the entire airport when they weren’t sure if my bag was an appropriate size. Last notes, Ethiopian Airlines had great food, and Ethiopia looked pretty nice from the airport.
Cantar, the program coordinator for the Sports Program, and Alex, one of the volunteers, were there to greet me at the airport. The drive in was wonderful- so. Much. Color. I didn’t realize how little color there was in the Old City and Jerusalem in general until I got here, where everything is colorful- blues, greens, reds, yellows- I love it.
My homestay, well, is not what I expected- they told us from the beginning that we would have to stay outside of Kibera, since it wouldn’t be safe for us or the family to stay in the slum- for obvious reasons. While I never felt a threat walking around in Israel, here you have to be much more aware of your personal security- you don’t walk around at night, and on the way from the airport, Kantar moved my bags from the back of the truck, saying people might pull my luggage out of it in the traffic. Kibera is safe during the day, but nighttime is a whole other story.
Anyway, we drove up to this compound- a giant gate, security guard, surrounded by wire and an electric fence. I was greeted by the nanny/housekeeper, Rachel, and the two children, Tua(9) and Eric (11). Rachel showed me to my room, and it was just like, wow. I have a whole room to myself, wood floors, twin beds, a desk, and an entire wall of windows overlooking a green, luscious garden- A far cry from my roof accommodations and not-always-functioning public bathroom in Israel. I kind of didn’t know what to do with myself at first- the confusion was only compounded further when I woke up for dinner, which entailed a meal of soup, fish and chips, fruit, and milky tea.
My family is extremely well-off by typical Kenyan standards- both Tua and Eric attend private schools, and English is their main language- they speak English to their parents and Rachel over Swahili, which was a little shocking at first (for those less familiar with Kenyan history, it was a British colony until independence). It is going to take me a while to get used to waking up to a full, laid out breakfast of cereal, toast, hot tea, and orange juice, just sitting on the dining room table as I stumble half-asleep out of my bedroom. When I tried to do my own dishes, much less take it to the sink, the woman who does the laundry (she is only here in the morning) looked at me like I was crazy. I get home from CFK, and Rachel lays out for me a silver platter with tea and a snack. She makes my bed and organizes my stuff. Considering I’ve never had that in my entire life, it makes me slightly uncomfortable- I asked her to show me how to make the tea (since it is different here) so that I could do it myself and not make her go out of the way, and while she showed me, I’m still not allowed to do it myself. Rachel is this soft-spoken, tiny woman, who is responsible for the well-being of the children and house- she is here when I wake up in the morning, and still here when I go to bed. The children are absolutely taken with her. I love talking to her, and she is going to teach me some Swahili and how to cook Kenyan food.
The parents, Sam and Christine, are extremely gracious and welcoming, although they are not in the house often, leaving for work in the morning and coming back late at night. The mother works for the government (according to the children, the third most senior individual in the tax collection agency), and the father is involved in some kind of consultancy. This morning, I had a great conversation with them concerning Iran, politics within Kenya, how the violence in Somalia is affecting the country and increasing security concerns. Me, sitting drinking tea, talking politics with Kenyans with very British accents. I laughed a little in my head.
Anthony (aka Tua- he’s mad at me right now for sharing his name is Anthony) and Eric are so freaking cool and ridiculously smart- at 9 and 11, they knew the Dome of the Rock in my picture, never having been, and Eric asked me about the recent coup in Madagascar. I didn't even know Madagascar existed at 11. After two days with them, I’m convinced I want boys when that whole kid thing happens- they are so much easier, and playing soccer definitely beats playing with hair. Eric in particularly is great to talk to- because of the quality of their education, he knows more than most individuals who graduated from my high school do. Last night, he talked to me about aerodynamics and his favorite author Ronald Dahl. But the favorite topic of conversation is football (soccer). Their favorite Nintendo game is football, they both play football, and they follow football. Eric is going to Sweden in the middle of the month for a tournament. Kibera, as a slum, is an entire world away from their home- but football transcends all, as the obsession with it is the same there.
I’ll save my first few days with Carolina for Kibera, for another post, mostly because I’m not sure I can do it justice yet- just two days, and I’m already overwhelmed with how impressed I am. The people, what they do, how they do it, is just, well, wow. It is going to an amazing month and a half.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Africa!
My flight for Nairobi, Kenya leaves tomorrow night. And I am completely psyched about it. Tonight, a friend who is doing a journalism project on Sudanese refugees in Israel, invited me to a dinner at the home of an individual named Gabriel, who happened to be the nephew of the infamous leader, Dr. John Gurang, of the Southern People's Liberation Army. After decades of civil war in Sudan, the Comprehensive Peace Agreement of 2005 stalled the fighting of the second Civil War between the Muslim/Arab north and the Christian/Animistic south (throw in oil revenues to complicate it all), giving the south autonomy for six years, and a role in the northern government. In 2011 there will be a referendum that will decide the future of the south. Gabriel, and his friends I met, are in Israel after fleeing political persecution in Sudan and Egypt. Type 'Comprehensive Peace Agreement' into the search engine and you'll get more information than you'll ever need.This dinner was awesome for a few reasons: (1) They were SO excited about the fact I was going to Kenya, and convinced me of how much I am going to love Africa, the people, and the freedom. (2) Gabriel is connecting me with his rebel commander cousin to meet up with, (3) He's the nephew of Dr. Gurang- and when and if S. Sudan gets a government of its own, he's going to be one important dude. He already is- Oprah is meeting him in October. All I could really do was sit and think, what is my life? Two people who have met Oprah in one summer? (4) They were genuinely just crazy awesome people! So nice and friendly, intelligent, eloquent. Granted, they are the cream of the S. Sudanese elite crop, but still. (5) Their perspective of Israel- one shared with me how he sympathizes with Israel's situation, seeing many parallels with the development of the state of Israel and the Southern Sudanese struggle. He told me how he sees lessons that SS can learn from how Israel was able develop and secure its position as a state. (hmmm.....) I don't know a lot about this, but I'm so lucky that there are so many other cool Carolina kids in Israel I can piggyback off of for epic experiences :)
Anyway, all this got me insanely excited for Kenya. Carolina for Kibera, the organization that I will be working with, has done some truly amazing things. Established by a former Carolina student, CFK is now composed of health clinic, women's rights center, community waste-management program, and sport's association. CFK has highlighted many of the problems facing Kibera, the largest slum in Africa. It hosted President Obama during the election, and inspired a Representative David Price and Brad Miller to introduce the SLUM Assistance Act to Reduce Global Poverty. CFK is run on the ground completely by Kenyans, and received Time Magazine's 'Hero of Global Health' in 2005. Honestly, I have no idea why they picked me for this, and I feel so humbled to be a part of such an amazing program.
I'll be working with the sports program (we'll see how quickly those 8 years of soccer come back), since its focus is on building leaderships skills and easing ethnic tensions through team building. I don't know exactly what I will be doing yet, although at one point it was described to me as 'capacity building-' no one quite knew what that meant, or how I would be remotely qualified to do anything that it might suggest. Oh, and I'm banking on Swahili being as easy as everyone says it is- because I don't know a lick of it right now.
One month to the birthday. I'm not sure what can top camping in the Sinai Desert (although Dahab left much to be desired), but I have a feeling that Kenya won't fail me.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Have you heard that it was good to gain the day? I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won.-W. Whitman
If I were to judge the success of the past two months based on how I envisioned it then, I think it would probably be safe to say I am a complete failure. As of May 5, 2009, as my flight left, I was on a mission to collect oral histories from members of the Domari community, in relation to understanding their interaction as a community in the unique city of Jerusalem, while volunteering at the center by teaching English. That, I did not do.
After the first two days, I realized that there was an entire back story that was going to drastically shift my relationship with the center. I found out that the perfected English of her past emails was not hers', but that of a Polish volunteer that had left. In reality, the English that Amoun had learned on the street was just that- street English. She couldn't write an email, or update the website. Since that time, anything related to proposal writing, answering emails, drafting updates, writing the newsletter, was waiting for someone else to come along. But it was okay- the Polish volunteer, Kaisa, was going to come back- at that point, I could remove myself from the administrative stuff, and get back to focusing on my project and teaching English.
But just kidding. Kaisa then decided that she wasn't coming back. And she left no records of what she had done for the center in the last year- financial information, what proposals had been submitted, who she was in contact with, how to access the website (which she decided not to do the entire year that she was there).
As it became clearer how limited Amoun's computer and written communication skills were, I realized that she had relied completely on Kaisa to keep records, information, emails, etc. And she hadn't done it. As a result, the proposals for funds were horribly written, outdated, financial records barely kept, computer files a mess. And Amoun expected me to fix it. There were times I wanted to pull my hair out because she expected me to fix a years' worth of sloppiness, and didn't understand why I wasn't comfortable fudging financial information they had failed to keep records on, or that I witnessed were different than what was being reported. It wasn't intentional- Amoun's complete reliance on others made her extremely suseptible to this, though. Plus, I was amazed this wasn't something the center had run into before, relying completely on volunteers to do such critical work for a non-profit.
I'll be honest, I was kind of pissed, particularly since she has REFUSED to help me with this project, while she had promised to translate what I couldn't and recruit people. I felt abused, and there were days when I just wanted to give up. I had not signed up for this, and while I was more than willing to help, she wasn't doing her part, throwing me into fits of panic.
I decided to evolve my project, and while I'm still disappointed the oral histories didn't work out, when I realized the real reasons WHY it didn't, it was just as enlightening as if it had.
The reason I chose this community (outside of being in Jerusalem) was because I thought they would be open to this sort of project. I based this off of news articles, comments, and information shared by Amoun, stating how the community wanted to show the world their true colors, to dispand the wrongful stereotypes surrounding them. What better way to do that than with oral histories, an easy way to reach out and tell your stories? Since I laid out the first four weeks as a part of becoming acquainted with the community, I saw that I was not the only one interested in this unique story- documentarians, photographers, journalists, all stopped into the center, wanting to get an interview, photograph the community, share her story as a female fighting years of patriarchal society and societal oppression. Yet all she turned away, or only gave them an interview after the urging of a board member. Even then, it was the standard line found in ALL the news articles- as I listened to each one, I thought I was listening to a broken tape recorder. I was slightly confused- how was this opening up the community to the outside world? Futher, these were professional documentarians and photographers offering their services for free. And then I realized that Amoun had agreed to help me because she needed my help- and that actually getting her to uphold her end was going to be an uphill (and probably unsuccessful) battle. Up goes in smoke my critical component to making this happen.
When this became clear to me, I re-oriented my project, looking more at the current engagement with the municipality Amoun, as the center director, is having. At the beginning of the month, she had a meeting with Mayor Nir Barkat, who committed to finding a way to improve the situation of the Gypsies. I became intrigued in how this group would work to achieve that, particularly since how the Jerusalem municipality works concerning East and West Jerusalem is so convoluted and bizarre. How would this community, straddling the political and economical divisions, achieve their goals (separate post some other time)?
Anyway, it became clear that Amoun is teetering precariously on cultural boundaries, and THAT was why she was avoiding, as much as possible, my project. In reality, while she may say the community is ready to open up, you are only talking about 10%--aka, her family. While they want the services and funds she brings them, they are not interested in the rest. The reason is twofold: one, identifying as Gypsy in the community is a source of pride, but to others brings issues of discrimination- hence their advanced assimilation into Arab society. Two, she is a woman. What she is doing does not jive well in am entrenched, patriarchical society. Her brothers- people I admire, grew friends with, know she is the breadwinner (indicated by how she is the first to sit at the table during a meal, and they call to let her know what they are doing), but still enforce authority when they can. It is not a part of their culture to share with the outside world, and Amoun is breaking with that- at a price. This mirrors the constant culture clash that the 10% deals with wihtin the community and in their interactions with others- being a part of Arab culture, yet not accepted, compounded by their relationship with Jewish Israel. Good example: Amoun faced the potential of being branded a 'collaborator' by the Palestinians, her neighbors, because of her meeting with Nir Barkat, and was concerned about information about it getting out. It is constantly her culture, the culture she is surrounded by, clashing with those who have the means to acheive what her community needs.
Further, I think it is an issue of pride for Amoun. She hand-picked who she would let me talk to, and it was by far the most educated. Certain brothers and sisters were off limits- they were too 'simple' for this kind of thing, and would be of no use (despite my protests otherwise).
Another limitation on the direction I wanted to go was an internal feud between Amoun and the mucktar, or British-designated leader, of the community. She, and what she does, challenges his authority- despite the fact he does nothing positive for the community, outside of charging them to translate their governmental documents into Hebrew. I cut myself off to anyone on his side from the beginning simply by associating with Amoun. When Amoun went around with a researcher around 2000 to collect information, he started rumors about her, damaging her reputation (everything for a woman here, particularly since she is not married) and demanding people not participate. I was definitely not interested in putting her through that again.
I mean, I can't say this was the case for sure- but I got more than most people, sitting down with her sisters and brothers, than anyone else outside of a researcher who has worked with the community for years, and while they were so few, and hardly a picture of the whole community I was hoping for, it was a step. I learned SO much about Jerusalem, the Domari, and subject matters I hadn't anticipated. There is success in that, for sure.
I can go on talking about this forever, but I think I'll wait until I am able to put it into a more cohesive flow. In summary, I think I learned more from not achieving exactly what I wanted than if I had. Amoun and I had culture clashes of our own- which maneuvering and overcoming were a huge part of my education here.
PS I was still able to do a lot with identity and academic-oriented frameworking, so I'll put snippets of that together for a post eventually. Also, some parts of the interviews shall be posted for your viewing pleasure. Hope no one gets bored to death :)
Sunday, June 21, 2009
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in the old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are,
One equal-temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
-Ulysses, Lord Alfred Tennyson
I've recently had a literature craving, and read this poem for the first time (this is the end), and kinda fell in love. Dorkfest.
Highlights from the Past Week:
1- Found out if I was at the center, in East Jerusalem, and was on the verge of death because I was choking on an olive, then the ambulance would wait for a security escort to come get me. Apparently, I have been violating the terms of my agreement with UNC since day one: they don't include East Jerusalem in the areas I'm allowed to travel, since my insurance wouldn't cover me there. I thought I had waited until day two when I went to Nablus in the West Bank to ignore every single authority figure. I mean, I get the whole territorial thing is complicated with annexation and international dispute of Israel's right to do so, but I find it somewhat funny West Jerusalem asserts the concept of United Jerusalem by building a god-awful speed train through East Jerusalem, rather than providing a stinking ambulance in a decent amount of time. I'm avoiding olives this next week.
2- I think my Hebrew vocab bank has hit 10 words! Thank you, Ariel.
3- I now have officially 4 interviews with Domari, after multiple sit down come to Jesus meetings with Amoun that I was not giving up on making this happen. I had to buy a cheesecake, but she gave in. Also got some insanely amazing stuff from outside people, as well. I'll be posting some excerpts soon.
4- I've been at the hostel for so long, I was included in a dinner with all the people who work at the hostel. I decided to stay on the roof, so I've been sleeping outside for 4 weeks. I can't even describe how amazing it is- this morning, I woke up to watch the sun rise over the Old City and to hear the Call to Prayer. I'm going to miss this place so much, particularly hearing the owner, Chris, tell new people that his philosophy is "minimum cleanliness at the cheapest price".
5- This weekend I took a trip to Haifa and Akko in the northern part of Israel (pics up on side). It was purely for fun, and I don't think I've walked that much in a really, really long time. We couch-surfed (a service that connects you with people willing to share their couch for a few days for free). We stayed with two Israelis, one who was an American who made aliya after meeting her husband. It was interesting for me, because I didn't realized how immersed I was in East Jerusalem and the Old City, and being plopped in a Jewish home was a little bit of a culture shock at first. I'm going to save some other stuff about the trip for a separate post, but the highlights were:
(1) Not realizing that Lonely Planet maps are NOT drawn to scale, and that 10 minute walk is actually 2 hours;
(2) IDF Naval Officers on a sketch beach in Haifa, including one who was an excellent wingman for his non-English speaking friend (hey, Ariel, you like sailing and hiking? What do you know, so does he!);
(3) Walking out to a small reef in Akko and sitting on a rock in the sea;
(4) The multitudes of extremely friendly people, creepy fishermen who like 'free' beaches included;
(5) Akko in general;
(6) Shalom, y'all;
(7) Arabic, Hebrew, English, just pick one!!
(8) Druze Village
(9) Realizing that I'm okay on having to rely on others when needed;
(10) Peach beer?
I had to start taking my malaria pills for Kenya today, which really hit home that I only have one week left. This place is so vexing, frustrating, emotional, yet enlightening, challenging, stimulating, adventurous, and a mirror to hold up to yourself in pushing your comfort zones and preconceptions. In many ways, its where I feel most comfortable and content. I'm not sure I have the guts or patience to handle routine or normality anymore. For that reason, I really, really, don't want to leave. And I have no idea if that makes sense to anyone but me, but I'm sticking to it.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
The Arabs' Arab
At what point do we say enough is enough? What standard of living is considered decent? What line do we draw and say, that is the best we can do?Sure, they walk the streets to be spit on, see their homes set on fire, are called to the front of the classroom to be called 'nawar,' or dirty Gypsy, in front of all the students. Yeah, so they have the highest drop-out rate with less than 50% making it past middle school, the children are begging on the streets, most of the men are unemployed. They have clothes on their back. While food is carefully budgeted, they don't starve. They may crowd 8-10 in a room, but they still have a roof over their head. There are so many that don't even have this. Why don't we just call it a day, and say, insha'allah, things will change?
While many of West Jerusalem's services were extended to the Old City and East Jerusalem after 1967, including mandatory education, water supply, etc., today, when focusing on the Jerusalem population, the political, social, economic treatment is undeniably 'separate and unequal,' as described by Amir Cheshin, former advisor on Arab Affairs to Mayor Teddy Kolleck from 1984 to 1993. One doesn't need the words of an inside policy-maker to convince you of this- when I visit my friend in Rehavia, an Israeli neighborhood, I take the bus through East Jerusalem, walk by the Old City and then continue into West Jerusalem. One only needs eyes to see the drastic disparity in standard of living, public services, and infrastructure investment. Why this is the case is not the point here, so I want to leave the argument of Arab rejection of these services (because it would mean Israeli authority) versus the municipality's choice to only inject the minimum much needed money in East Jerusalem aside. Either way, it is obvious that disparity in basic governmental services exists. This leads to poorer schools, higher drop-out rates, limited infrastructure development, economic stagnation, and overall the exacerbation of the needs of the Palestinian population. A 'united' Jerusalem, but one with two very different appearances. One word that has been latched onto, as demonstrated in Roger Cohen's recent op-ed when he quoted Adam Bittlingmayer of Google, and in Obama's speech, is humiliation.
I traveled to Tel Aviv to meet Omri Kabiri, an Israeli lawyer who represents the Domari community pro-bono. His office is located in the Moshe Aviv Tower, the tallest in Israel, and the 8th tallest in the Middle East. In many ways, it is a testament to Israel's magnificent growth, matching its thrust onto the world stage politically with equal economic power. Amid many other towering skyscrapers, the modern cafes and trendy youth were a stark contrast to my typical surroundings of kaik bread and vegetable and fruit stands of Shu'fat and the Old City. And in this tower of modernity, in this wonderful man's office, I heard him use the phrase that was truly the summation of my observations and experiences over the past two months- the Doms were the Arabs' Arabs. As I have mentioned before, not only do they endure the limitations and -here comes the term- humiliations of being grouped with the Palestinians, but are oppressed by the oppressed. Their identification papers say Arab, the census says Arab, and the Israelis see Arab. But the Arabs see, call, taunt, 'nawar.' A 15 year old boy had his throat slit because the killer had been told that the a Gypsy's life had no value. When a Gypsy had many items close to her stolen, it became a laughing joke, the Gypsy got 'gipped.' The services that are offered through the municipality by Arab social workers hardly ever makes it to the Gypsies, and when it does, they work through the ancient mukhtar system (the individual of the community leader as appointed during British rule), rather than the most effective channels. They are considered unmarriable, and even when true love happens, too often the marriage is considered impossible because the Arab family would reject a Gypsy wife for their son. Their homes have been attacked, trees set on fire, pelted with stones.
Humiliation. Compounded by both sides. So much, that most of the youngest generation refuses to be identified as Gypsy. Their dance, colors, and nomadic lifestyle has slowly faded away. The language of old is just that- it is only with concerted effort to hold classes that the older generation can teach the younger the words of their spoken-only language.
Jerusalem, transformed in the 20th century alone from a sleepy town with religious significance, to center of Zionism, to a battleground in 1948 and a tenuous, divided frontier until 1967, a united city in name only until present day, disputed, claimed, idealized, revitalized, expanded, and continually in the spotlight, has housed this community for 400 years. They hid is St. Anne's church during the 1967 war, located right next to Lion's Gate, where the victorious Israelis entered the Old City for the first time since 1948. They remained in their homes, hiding out through both intifadas. They hold no ill-will, and they smile at the name of Rabin, while at the same time, find it almost impossible to travel freely to other parts of the world because Israel does not differentiate them as an ethnic minority or recognize their cultural heritage. While many left for Jordan long ago, those who remain are one with their home in the Old City- this small parcel of land, the source of so much hatred, violence, religious fervor, and focus- and therefore, their fate will forever be tied to Jerusalem, and everything that entails. After years of conservative rule in the mayorship of Jerusalem, the current mayor won because the orthodox majority squabbled among themselves to the point of division and election defeat. After Mayor Barkat, if the Orthodox get their act together, any hope for the municipality or government playing a constructive role in the development of the Domari community will be dashed. And this is something they drastically need. While living here longer than the majority, they are still forever at the will of the political, religious, and social divisions and dynamics of this unique city.
So, as we look into the future of this city, forever in question and examined, the question begs to be asked- what about the Domari? What is the best that can be done here, in this city, in this situation?
Hell if I know. I'm about at my wits end trying to make these interviews happen. The number of excuses and delays has hit the point of hilarity. Two weeks. oi.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Balance
Today was epic.
I took a break from the city and went out to the Ein Gedi National Park, which is on the eastern edge of the Judean Desert and the shore of the Dead Sea. Because the Dead Sea is the lowest place on Earth, and the reserve has drastic differences in elevation, there are some extremely unique features. There are two valleys; I was in Wadi David in the north.
I hiked a few different trails that wound around the valley, and it was just the therapy my mind was screaming for. So since its in the middle of the desert (aka hot- I feel like it wouldn't have been so bad in significantly cooler weather) and I was hiking up the valley-with some parts rivaling Mt. Sinai's Steps of Repentance, although not the duration- (therefore tiring, in hot, sun-burning weather), all you focus on is the next step. And the next step. Oops, don't fall on that rock. Next step. Hand grab for balance. Next step. You don't think about anything else. It was perfect. So perfect. I was by myself, and once I got past David's Waterfall, I only ran into other people twice in passing. Moving your arms and legs in tango, regulating your breathing, wiping away the sweat. You, the next step, and the magnificence and breathtaking scenery around you.
I stopped at David's Waterall, Ein Geti Spring, Chalcholite Temple, and Dodim's Cave- I went about halfway up the valley before having to turn around to make sure I caught the last bus. Dodim's Cave was about at that halfway point, and was the best part- the trail took you down into the valley, and required a little bit of strategic falling and trail searching. You climbed down a ladder the park provided into a spring and cave, which looked at a spectacular view of the Dead Sea. I took a dip in the spring, drifted in some much needed cold water, explored the cave. I had the entire place to myself.
And thought about nothing. Not a thing. Not about frustrating emotions, deadlines, functioning and all that entails in Israel. I think, maybe, this is why I don't need to rationalize this kind of beauty and how it came to be. It just is, despite thousands of years of weathering, climate, humanity and our destructive tendencies (for example, the awful tourist vendors on the dead sea)- it has stood the test of time and will continue to, not because someone decided so. This is one thing that will continue to be long after us- and I find so much comfort in that, whether by divine intervention or not. Maybe this sentiment has something to do with all the crazies you meet here and the mortifying things you see from all sides, but I felt the same last summer- I'm a proactive individual, I like explanation, action stemming from concrete and systematic understanding, rationality, what can be achieved with determination and effort. But this part just needs to be left alone. I don't want an explanation of how it came to be. I just want to enjoy it for what it is. Probably, I think, the only times I'll ever feel this way, and be okay with it.
I heard this week the story of a Domari child murdered by a Palestinian because he was told to- and a Gypsy's life did not matter. Also, the scar on her brother's face, reaching from his upper cheek bone to his mouth, I've seen multiple times- attacked because he was a Gypsy.
A Palestinian family killed their son because they suspected him of being a 'collaborator' with the Israeli enemy.
On the way to Ein Gedi, on a bus of 60 people, there was one Arab. Two soldiers got on about halfway through the trip, and questioned and checked only one person out of 60. Felt so heavy, (1) knowing why they felt the need to check this one individual, (2) that they only checked this one individual, and (3) no one was phased.
On the way back, a tourist was asking me about what to see in the Old City, and I mentioned Damascus Gate. She looked uncomfortable, and said, 'isn't it, well, dangerous, because, you know?' (Damascus Gate is the central gate for the Arab quarter of the city). Happily covered in dust and dirt, scraped up, sunburt to the core, I just smiled and responded, 'different doesn't mean dangerous.' And let it go.
Pics are up; side bar.
I took a break from the city and went out to the Ein Gedi National Park, which is on the eastern edge of the Judean Desert and the shore of the Dead Sea. Because the Dead Sea is the lowest place on Earth, and the reserve has drastic differences in elevation, there are some extremely unique features. There are two valleys; I was in Wadi David in the north.
I hiked a few different trails that wound around the valley, and it was just the therapy my mind was screaming for. So since its in the middle of the desert (aka hot- I feel like it wouldn't have been so bad in significantly cooler weather) and I was hiking up the valley-with some parts rivaling Mt. Sinai's Steps of Repentance, although not the duration- (therefore tiring, in hot, sun-burning weather), all you focus on is the next step. And the next step. Oops, don't fall on that rock. Next step. Hand grab for balance. Next step. You don't think about anything else. It was perfect. So perfect. I was by myself, and once I got past David's Waterfall, I only ran into other people twice in passing. Moving your arms and legs in tango, regulating your breathing, wiping away the sweat. You, the next step, and the magnificence and breathtaking scenery around you.
I stopped at David's Waterall, Ein Geti Spring, Chalcholite Temple, and Dodim's Cave- I went about halfway up the valley before having to turn around to make sure I caught the last bus. Dodim's Cave was about at that halfway point, and was the best part- the trail took you down into the valley, and required a little bit of strategic falling and trail searching. You climbed down a ladder the park provided into a spring and cave, which looked at a spectacular view of the Dead Sea. I took a dip in the spring, drifted in some much needed cold water, explored the cave. I had the entire place to myself.
And thought about nothing. Not a thing. Not about frustrating emotions, deadlines, functioning and all that entails in Israel. I think, maybe, this is why I don't need to rationalize this kind of beauty and how it came to be. It just is, despite thousands of years of weathering, climate, humanity and our destructive tendencies (for example, the awful tourist vendors on the dead sea)- it has stood the test of time and will continue to, not because someone decided so. This is one thing that will continue to be long after us- and I find so much comfort in that, whether by divine intervention or not. Maybe this sentiment has something to do with all the crazies you meet here and the mortifying things you see from all sides, but I felt the same last summer- I'm a proactive individual, I like explanation, action stemming from concrete and systematic understanding, rationality, what can be achieved with determination and effort. But this part just needs to be left alone. I don't want an explanation of how it came to be. I just want to enjoy it for what it is. Probably, I think, the only times I'll ever feel this way, and be okay with it.
I heard this week the story of a Domari child murdered by a Palestinian because he was told to- and a Gypsy's life did not matter. Also, the scar on her brother's face, reaching from his upper cheek bone to his mouth, I've seen multiple times- attacked because he was a Gypsy.
A Palestinian family killed their son because they suspected him of being a 'collaborator' with the Israeli enemy.
On the way to Ein Gedi, on a bus of 60 people, there was one Arab. Two soldiers got on about halfway through the trip, and questioned and checked only one person out of 60. Felt so heavy, (1) knowing why they felt the need to check this one individual, (2) that they only checked this one individual, and (3) no one was phased.
On the way back, a tourist was asking me about what to see in the Old City, and I mentioned Damascus Gate. She looked uncomfortable, and said, 'isn't it, well, dangerous, because, you know?' (Damascus Gate is the central gate for the Arab quarter of the city). Happily covered in dust and dirt, scraped up, sunburt to the core, I just smiled and responded, 'different doesn't mean dangerous.' And let it go.
Pics are up; side bar.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Don't Fear The Reaper
Sometimes I wonder if I wake up in the morning, take my brain out, and set it in a jar by the table, and proceed to be stupid is as stupid does the rest of the day. I forget my keys at the center on a regular basis, and end up having to go back for them. This time, I realized before the bus got back to Damascus Gate, so got off early- and I pulled my phone out of my bag to call Amoun, saw something drop, and said to myself, oh, it's just a piece of paper. I get off the bus in the middle of East Jerusalem to catch a another bus back to Shu'fat, and realize that what I dropped was my debit card. The only way I can get money out of my account. On some random Arab bus, that goes back to a parking lot filled with dozens of other buses that look exactly the same.
In this moment, as I am standing there (and smacking myself on the forehead when I realized what an idiot I was, much to the amusement to the Palestinians), I at first felt completely screwed. Then apathetic- I can live on 150 shekels for three weeks (not). Then, as I was listening to 'Don't Fear The Reaper' on my iPod (on my top 5 list) that I hadn't taken out of my ears yet, I was like hell, I'm going to get that card back if it kills me. So I waved down another bus, headed to the parking lot, and proceeded check every since 74 bus, to the bewilderment of the drivers, for my visa check card.
And I found it. And in this moment of triumph, all I could think about was screw being a female traveling alone. I've got this. For the past few weeks, I have gotten the 'you can't do that, you're alone and a girl,' or the multiple males of the hostel offering their escort services to dinner and elsewhere around, because they think I can't take care of myself, or the unending harassment from the locals. My favorite is the Mormons who I worked with for a bit at the center- they are around 70 of them from BYU for the summer, and apparently I have become famous as 'that girl who is in Israel and Kenya by herself'- I've been stopped on the street by them multiple times, and I don't think I've even met most of them. (Mind you, their program doesn't let them travel outside of the university except in threes, and have a 10:30 curfew). It honestly hadn't occurred to me as a big deal, until everyone else either 1- gawked at me, or 2- made it pretty clear they think I'm an idiot for doing so. So today I felt a big 'take that'- except a slightly more forceful word- whether justified or not. I chased down a bus, found my card, and did it with style (aka managing not to make an idiot of myself, except for the smacking myself in the head part).
Maybe this sentiment is a stupid one, and this sense of conquering the doubters just an attempt on my part to convince myself I'm not stupid for traveling by myself, but hell, it's a good one.
This sense of women empowerment might have origins in meeting an astounding woman this week, Hauwa Ibrahim. Let me just lay out the women in this room for the pre-Mayor Nir Barkat meeting:
1- Amoun. We all know what a bad ass she is.
2- Hauwa Ibrahim.-She is a Nigerian lawyer who defends woman in Sharia (Islamic) courts against adultery charges, of which the punishment is often death by stoning. She is the first women to stand up and address a Nigerian sharia law court directly, and Oprah is a fan. She has spoken at the anniversary of the Declaration of Human Rights, and is one of the most humble individuals I have ever met. She doesn't accept pay from her clients- not a cent. She dropped $500 on the center (Harvard gave her a lot of money to write a book), but then wouldn't buy an outfit for 90 shekels- the equivalent of app. $20, because it was 'over her budget'. (Her, Amoun, and I went to Jericho for the afternoon- I think I teetered between absolute awe and asking 2,000 questions a minute).
3- Anat Hoffman- Is one of those people that just lights up a room when she walks in. She brought me Tel Aviv ice cream (apparently the only kind of ice cream to have). This woman, in a city where enacting change is like trying to get gum out of your hair, has just bull-dozed her way through the opposition. Now the Executive Director of the Religious Action Center, she was formerly a Jerusalem councilwoman, and was a huge part of allowing women to pray at the Western Wall, and an advocate for equality of municipality services for Palestinians in Jerusalem. She is known as a 'David' against the Orthodox 'Goliath' of Jerusalem. I have an interview with her next week- I might pee in my pants.
4- Two of the other board members- Michaela and Daphna- who are forces unto themselves. Michaela is an American who performed aliya (immigration to Israel). She is a flamenco dancer, who has a strong presence in the non-profit world. Daphna is an American studies professor (I admit, it was funny to hear of people in other countries studying America- what, you study cheeseburger consumption and football or something?- she didn't find that funny). But she is pretty cool too.
Anyway, it was quite a gathering. As I sat in the meeting (which I got to contribute to and stategize for), I felt pretty darn lucky to be in such good company. While it has been a stressful week with Amoun (for anyone who saw my lashing out post that I later deleted when in a better mindset), it is moments like these that make me get over myself. That, seeing my chako/rainbows sandals tan develop in an interesting pattern, and sleeping on the roof of the hostel under the Jerusalem sky (glad I invested in a legit sleeping bag, it gets cold here), I can't help but scream inside with just how awesome this all is.
The first interview didn't happen- part of the frustration- but she promised tomorrow after I sat her down and made it clear I needed her help to make this happen. So we'll see. This Thursday I go to Tel Aviv to meet with Omri Kabriri, a HR lawyer who has worked on some of the legal issues to recognize the Domari as a legit minority in Israel.
So I know I didn't get to the food, or anything more about the community, but I know if I make this any longer people will stop reading. So soon, I promise! It will fit in nicely with a summary of the meeting with Kabriri. Oh, and the food. The rest of the world doesn't have a clue what it is missing out on with Gypsy food. Someone needs to give these people a microfinance loan to start a restaurant or something. Oh- and i've done some of the tourist thing- I'll get around to that eventually, too.
In this moment, as I am standing there (and smacking myself on the forehead when I realized what an idiot I was, much to the amusement to the Palestinians), I at first felt completely screwed. Then apathetic- I can live on 150 shekels for three weeks (not). Then, as I was listening to 'Don't Fear The Reaper' on my iPod (on my top 5 list) that I hadn't taken out of my ears yet, I was like hell, I'm going to get that card back if it kills me. So I waved down another bus, headed to the parking lot, and proceeded check every since 74 bus, to the bewilderment of the drivers, for my visa check card.
And I found it. And in this moment of triumph, all I could think about was screw being a female traveling alone. I've got this. For the past few weeks, I have gotten the 'you can't do that, you're alone and a girl,' or the multiple males of the hostel offering their escort services to dinner and elsewhere around, because they think I can't take care of myself, or the unending harassment from the locals. My favorite is the Mormons who I worked with for a bit at the center- they are around 70 of them from BYU for the summer, and apparently I have become famous as 'that girl who is in Israel and Kenya by herself'- I've been stopped on the street by them multiple times, and I don't think I've even met most of them. (Mind you, their program doesn't let them travel outside of the university except in threes, and have a 10:30 curfew). It honestly hadn't occurred to me as a big deal, until everyone else either 1- gawked at me, or 2- made it pretty clear they think I'm an idiot for doing so. So today I felt a big 'take that'- except a slightly more forceful word- whether justified or not. I chased down a bus, found my card, and did it with style (aka managing not to make an idiot of myself, except for the smacking myself in the head part).
Maybe this sentiment is a stupid one, and this sense of conquering the doubters just an attempt on my part to convince myself I'm not stupid for traveling by myself, but hell, it's a good one.
This sense of women empowerment might have origins in meeting an astounding woman this week, Hauwa Ibrahim. Let me just lay out the women in this room for the pre-Mayor Nir Barkat meeting:
1- Amoun. We all know what a bad ass she is.
2- Hauwa Ibrahim.-She is a Nigerian lawyer who defends woman in Sharia (Islamic) courts against adultery charges, of which the punishment is often death by stoning. She is the first women to stand up and address a Nigerian sharia law court directly, and Oprah is a fan. She has spoken at the anniversary of the Declaration of Human Rights, and is one of the most humble individuals I have ever met. She doesn't accept pay from her clients- not a cent. She dropped $500 on the center (Harvard gave her a lot of money to write a book), but then wouldn't buy an outfit for 90 shekels- the equivalent of app. $20, because it was 'over her budget'. (Her, Amoun, and I went to Jericho for the afternoon- I think I teetered between absolute awe and asking 2,000 questions a minute).
3- Anat Hoffman- Is one of those people that just lights up a room when she walks in. She brought me Tel Aviv ice cream (apparently the only kind of ice cream to have). This woman, in a city where enacting change is like trying to get gum out of your hair, has just bull-dozed her way through the opposition. Now the Executive Director of the Religious Action Center, she was formerly a Jerusalem councilwoman, and was a huge part of allowing women to pray at the Western Wall, and an advocate for equality of municipality services for Palestinians in Jerusalem. She is known as a 'David' against the Orthodox 'Goliath' of Jerusalem. I have an interview with her next week- I might pee in my pants.
4- Two of the other board members- Michaela and Daphna- who are forces unto themselves. Michaela is an American who performed aliya (immigration to Israel). She is a flamenco dancer, who has a strong presence in the non-profit world. Daphna is an American studies professor (I admit, it was funny to hear of people in other countries studying America- what, you study cheeseburger consumption and football or something?- she didn't find that funny). But she is pretty cool too.
Anyway, it was quite a gathering. As I sat in the meeting (which I got to contribute to and stategize for), I felt pretty darn lucky to be in such good company. While it has been a stressful week with Amoun (for anyone who saw my lashing out post that I later deleted when in a better mindset), it is moments like these that make me get over myself. That, seeing my chako/rainbows sandals tan develop in an interesting pattern, and sleeping on the roof of the hostel under the Jerusalem sky (glad I invested in a legit sleeping bag, it gets cold here), I can't help but scream inside with just how awesome this all is.
The first interview didn't happen- part of the frustration- but she promised tomorrow after I sat her down and made it clear I needed her help to make this happen. So we'll see. This Thursday I go to Tel Aviv to meet with Omri Kabriri, a HR lawyer who has worked on some of the legal issues to recognize the Domari as a legit minority in Israel.
So I know I didn't get to the food, or anything more about the community, but I know if I make this any longer people will stop reading. So soon, I promise! It will fit in nicely with a summary of the meeting with Kabriri. Oh, and the food. The rest of the world doesn't have a clue what it is missing out on with Gypsy food. Someone needs to give these people a microfinance loan to start a restaurant or something. Oh- and i've done some of the tourist thing- I'll get around to that eventually, too.
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