In the off-chance anyone RSS feeds this/checks, this is the pre-AP edited article that will be published in Passport Magazine on my Burch Fellowship in Israel.
Countdown to the real world.
The Dom: Peace, Empowerment, and Society
The Holy City, Jerusalem, al-Quds, Yerushalayim, holds religious significance for three major faiths, enrapturing the hearts, minds and spirituality of millions worldwide. Disputed, claimed, idealized, revitalized, expanded, and continually in the spotlight, it is at the center of one of the most convoluted conflicts in recent history. Over the past century, it has known four conquerors, each of which contributed and drastically shaped the character of this unique city. Today, its tumultuous history is only one factor contributing to the lingering political, social, and religious tensions that pervade every aspect of life in Jerusalem. While many claim rights and continue to fight for this coveted piece of land, a quiet, almost invisible community tucked away in the corner of the Old City has lived in Jerusalem for over 400 years. Neither Arab-Palestinian nor Jewish Israeli, they have struggled to outlast wars, changing governance, and cultural discrimination. It was for this community that I traveled to this city steeped in rich history yet plagued with continual conflict and division.
The Dom, or Domi, are the Gypsies of the Middle East. In Jerusalem there are about 1,000 who have faced economic, social, and cultural marginalization. Deemed the derogatory term ‘nawar’ by Arab-Palestinians and undifferentiated from Arabs by Jewish-Israelis, they are a culture ‘in between,’ accepted by neither. Under the leadership of one woman, the Dom struggle to establish equality and identity while simultaneously attempting to overcome the entrenched socio-economic problems confronting the community internally.
I was drawn to their distinctive narrative- a community stubbornly disengaged from the political situation, yet continually disturbed and formed by the political and social status of Jerusalem. How did they manage to remain separate? Or did they not? How did it affect their socio-economic growth? Who are they as a people? My guide on this journey was a Dom named Amoun Sleem. Amoun, a woman of formidable beauty and personable magnetism, is the key to this private and removed community. She established the Domari Society of the Gypsies in Jerusalem in 1999 to preserve their quickly disappearing cultural distinctiveness while improving their desperate socio-economic stagnation. Arabic-speaking and Muslim, they have largely assimilated in appearance to Arab-Palestinian culture (perpetuated to escape discrimination), although they remain distinctive in familial and community background. Domari, their language, is slowly disappearing with the older generations, and many children refuse to carry on what remains of their cultural practices. Further, beset with low levels of education and employment, the Dom are struggling to overcome deep-rooted poverty that reinforces the stereotypes of beggars and thieves. Less than 50% make it past middle school because of discrimination in the schools and no home support, and an astounding 80% of males are unemployed. Being known as Dom results in being spit on in the street, no upward mobility in occupational opportunities, and debilitating hereditary diseases resulting from inbreeding within the community.
In many ways, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict exacerbates the socio-economic problems that are typical for Gypsies all over the world (although its important to note that while the Roma in Europe in Dom in the Middle East both originated in India, the are not the same ethnic group). Much of the aid to the area is directed to either the Arab Palestinians or Jewish Israelis, and the restrictions on movement between the West Bank, Jerusalem, and the Gaza Strip has made it difficult to maintain family times, an integral part of Gypsy culture. Further, their choice to remain neutral and disengaged from the conflict has often earned them the animosity of both sides. Cooperation on economic issues leads to some members of the community being named collaborators by Arab Palestinians, a claim that can increase social isolation and even physical punishment. East Jerusalem, a majority Arab Palestinian population, was annexed by force to Israel in 1967. Residents live in a system characterized as ‘separate and unequal,’ with limited funding for infrastructure, schools, and other basic services. As described to me in an interview with a former councilwoman in Jerusalem, most cannot get mail on a regular basis, because there are no mailboxes in East Jerusalem.
I spent two months volunteering in the Domari center, working alongside Amoun teaching English, researching, and assisting in non-profit administrative tasks. I had gone in with a grand research plan, involving oral histories, extensive research, and one-of-a-kind conclusions. Yet what I found was a woman transcending all cultural and societal norms to advance her community. She is facing both internal and external resistance-the community is internally divided and defiant to change-but she forges ahead to ensure that the next generation of Dom children can be proud of being Gypsy as they earn degrees to be doctors and professors. It is a dream that she embraces daily as she faces continual setbacks and imposed limitations. Here was a woman that refused to beg on the streets, instead deciding to generate income by selling postcards to tourists as a young child, where she picked up English. While many Dom choose to hide their identity, she thrived on embracing and bolstering it.
It is impossible to describe all that I learned from my experience- I found a second family among the Sleems, but I also found that my goal of arming a population with a voice through oral histories was not appropriate, because this is a population, outside of Amoun, who purposefully resists having that voice captured. Yet through her, this community has hope. I witnessed her forceful personality confront the political and social forces withstanding her, often triumphantly. She refused to resign to being ‘the Arabs’ Arab,’ the lowest of the low in Israeli and Palestinian society.
For every Dom I talked to, Jerusalem was simply their home. It is where their grandparents lived, their parents raised them, and where they hope to bring up their children. As they continue to struggle to find their place, preserve their cultural heritage, and overcome the internal problems, their identity is now intricately tied to the fate of this city- whatever it may be.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Monday, November 9, 2009
The Debrief
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
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
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 :)
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