Journal entry: Alfred Part 4

Writing a blog is interesting because most people live faster than they write about it. This is also true for me. I am writing about events that took place months ago.  I recently stumbled upon a journal entry that I wrote the day before I went up to see Alfred for the first time:

  Tomorrow we go to Il Polei to visit Alfred.  He has been at school for about two weeks now.   I haven’t heard from him at all (which is a good sign).  I must admit however that I am nervous.  Nervous that Alfred has been miserable in Il Polei.  Through no fault of his own.  I imagine it is such culture shock for him.  He is a little kikuyu boy taken out of the city and brought to a school in the middle of the bush that is almost entirely made up of Massai.   Massai, the pastoral warrior tribe among whose chief concerns are their Cows and how high they can jump.  Alfred can’t jump very high and he is scared of Cows.

What if he never made friends?  What if he decided that these people are weird and he had nothing in common with them.  Even worse, what if they hated him and he was ostracized from day one?

What if he just can’t function in school?  He isn’t used to studying all day and night.  What if he is exhausted by his schedule and decided to give up.  What if he already gave up and headed home?   It would be pretty embarrassing for me to show up then.

I have to have a positive attitude.  I am sure it will turn out fine.

(Alfred the day before he left for Il polei Primary)

(Alfred with all his gear, dressed like a student)

Getting Into School: Alfred Part III

The recommendation from Mr. Hezron came as quite a relief. “Alfred has a legitimate case and should be helped, but he needs to attend Boarding school.” Boarding School?

When I started on this journey I expected to pay for a uniform and some school supplies. The problem for Alfred however was not that he couldn’t afford these things. He couldn’t afford them, so they were a problem, but the much larger problem was food. He was supporting himself by waiting all day for someone to buy him food. If he went to school he would come back and have nothing to eat at night, and nothing to eat in the morning when he left home.

So we had to find him a boarding school. Cost was an important factor but not the most important factor. We decided to focus on midrange to cheap schools in the area that had a good reputation. I talked to EVERYONE about school recommendations. All the teachers and staff of Daraja, Mr. Hezron, and the lady who works at the academic bookstore was particularly helpful. I felt like a soccer mom trying to find out the best school for my kids. I narrowed it down to a list of 6 schools.

Anticipating the Mzungu factor I had a teacher call the schools and ask in advance what the price was and what the application process was like. Some of the schools wouldn’t tell me until they met the boy so they were automatically put at the bottom of the list. We settled on a school called Nanyuki boarding as the first logical place to go.

(Alfred and myself, the morning of his admissions test for Nanyuki Boarding)

We showed up in the morning and I paid the application fee of 200 shillings (about $2.50). Alfred was to take an entrance exam that lasted five hours! I don’t think I would be able to take a five hour test. But the poor kid did it. When he came out he was smiling which gave me some hope. The woman who graded the test did it right in front of us. Math, English, Kiswahili, Science. He passed them all except the Math. They wanted 80% and he got 77%. Inwardly I was pleased that he could even do that well after spending a year on the street and out of school but we also needed to find him a school. The lady said that we might be able to get him in and she said that she would talk to the principal and text us that evening.

The next morning I received a text “your boy has failed to qualify for class 6 or class 5- secretary of Nanyuki Boarding”.

It was to be the first of a number of rejections. After making the poor kid take tests at 4 schools it slowly dawned on me: he might not get in anywhere.

After a month of calling places and applying we had had little luck. Mr. Wathitu the administrator of Daraja had an idea. He called a public school up in the middle of the bush. It is called Il Polei Primary and it is a public school. Since it is in Massai territory many of the children’s families are nomadic and might be fifty miles away at any one time of the year. Because of this Il Polei is a public BOARDING school. Mr. Wa (as we call him) talked to the principal and he said “Sure, send him up”. That same day Mr. Hezron called saying that he had pressured a private school in town into accepting the boy. Suddenly we had TWO options.

Il Polei being a public school was much cheaper. In addition it was a good distance out of town which would make it less likely that Alfred would run away. In the end Alfred decided he wanted to leave town and go someplace where there would be no stigma of “street boy” following him.

We got him the necessary equipment and clothing and took him up that next week.

Nyama Choma

Kenyan restaurants usually serve nyoma choma which means cooked animal and that is exactly what it is. They will bring a leg of lamb, goat or cow right to your table and cut it into little pieces and you eat it with your hands and dip it into salt.

(Our server cuts Choma for us at our table)

They also serve the basic kenyan dishes that I wrote about in Everything and Hot Sauce. Choma is actually really good (and after spending months at Daraja only eating meat once a week it is sometimes VERY good). The problem with choma is that the Kenyan restaurants have a series of mzungu scams. I am pretty sure that most of them have been tried on me, often successfully.

The first time I went for choma was the first day we were in Kenya. We were in a large group and the waiter went and pushed two tables together for us and talked to the bartender and ordered our drinks for us. Upon ordering our food the waiter said that for such a large order they needed to get half of the money up front. Fortunately I was not one of the decision makers on this journey and we insisted on talking to the manager. We soon found out that our “waiter” didn't even work in the restaurant as he ran out the front door.

As we found out the next time we went (to a different restaurant) scams aren’t just limited to people who don’t work in the restaurant. We went into a well known restaurant in Nanyuki and we were greeted by the manager who sat us down at a nice table and began to make suggestions. We admittedly did not know what to order so we were happy taking his suggestions. To the table he brought the biggest leg of choma I had ever seen and 10 side dishes for 3 people. Way too much food for us, but not blatantly dishonest.

When the bill came I was a little surprised. It was around $25, which for a night out in the states is nothing, but for a meal for three at a local Kenyan restaurant is pretty outrageous. I started to feel a little ashamed for letting him order us so much food and then I looked at the bill and realized that the prices were twice as much as what was advertised. We called the manager over and asked him about this. “Those are the correct prices” he says as he reviewed the bill.

“But here (on the bill) it says pilau costs 120 shillings, and there on the wall it says 60 shillings,” my girlfriend pointed out.

“Oh yes,” said the manager, “those are the OLD prices.”

I looked at him incredulously and said “I see, you have the wrong prices posted on the wall of your restaurant. Perfectly clear.”

“Let me see that” he said as he quickly snatched the bill from my hand and ran into the back with it.

Later he came out with a reduced bill costing $10 less than the previous. We paid and got out of there but we were pretty unhappy.

The last time we went to Choma we were veterans in Kenya so we knew what to expect. Before we ordered I asked the server how much each dish cost and wisely compared it to the menu. We ordered one KG of choma. As it arrived at the table we were very pleased to find that it was quite large. Later when we got the bill we found out that they had charged us for 4 KGs. When the manager came out he explained that he had seen how many people we had so he had decided to order extra choma for us. He had ordered us 2 KGs.

“We were charged for FOUR” I said shaking my head.

“I know,” he said, “that was a mistake by your server. But you do have to pay for two.”

“If you had given extra choma to that table that they hadn’t ordered,” I said, pointing to a table with a Kenyan family “would you have made them pay for it?”

“Of course not,” he replied, “but you need to pay your bill.”

Such is the life of a Mzungu in Kenya. It’s a good thing it was tasty.

Fainting: A Kenyan Pastime

I have a lot of experience with young people. I have in fact lived most of my life being one of them and consorting almost exclusively with them. I went through elementary school, middle school, high school, University and years working with kids as a camp counselor. Never once had I seen someone faint.

I have seen people faint in movies, and every time I dutifully suspended my disbelief, the whole time knowing that it doesn’t happen in real life.

Very soon upon my arrival in Kenya I was made aware of the fact that fainting is actually a Kenyan pastime. After playing a particularly heated football (soccer) game against another school one of the girls on the opposite team abruptly fell down onto the ground and did not move. Her teammates rushed to her side and carried her off of the field. She soon returned to consciousness and stood up and walked away. As an isolated incident this was surprising to me but no big deal.

The Daraja girls have recently been conditioning for long distance runs by running around the outside fence of our campus with staff members. One evening a girl had ran around the perimeter and sat down for a nap. Twenty minutes later her friends tried to wake her up but to no avail. Twenty minutes after that someone came and got me, distressed that she had still not woken up. I arrived at the scene to find her surrounded by her classmates holding up her legs and fanning her.

My first Aid training did not cover fainting, but I thought that maybe that was what you used smelling salts for. I didn’t know, I just knew that whatever had been done wasn’t working. The fact that everyone seemed so worried got me worried. She was breathing and had a pulse so I felt like it would probably be okay. I tried to calm everyone down and have them give her space.

Then she opened her eyes. But not in a good way. He eyes were glazed over and rolled into the back of her head. She wouldn’t respond to hands in front of her face. I felt her pulse again and I wasn’t sure if I could find it. I asked a teacher and she wasn’t sure either. Lets get her to a doctor I said. I pretty much had to insist, but I figured it is better to be safe than sorry.

We started speeding to the hospital over the terrible roads (previously mentioned). About two thirds of the way there (after an hour of being unconscious) she started responding. We took her to the doctor anyway who insisted that she get a blood test to make sure it was nothing serious.

It wasn’t anything serious. The biggest repercussion of the episode was that the entire Kenyan staff of Daraja made fun of me for days for insisting on taking a fainted girl to the hospital (even though it was admitted that 60 minutes is a long time to be unconscious). Since then we have had the regional athletic events. At the end of virtually every track event girls would drop like flies (pictured). Now I don’t pay any attention to it. It is just another aspect of the Kenyan landscape.

Alfred Part II: The Department of Social Welfare

Martin and I decided we should try to get Alfred into school but we were being cautioned by many people not to be scammed by the street kids. One of the teachers at Daraja had a close friend in the social welfare department named Mr. Hezron, and he advised us to talk to him about the boy so maybe he could shed some light on his story.

Martin and I took Alfred to the office of Mr. Hezron and Alfred waited outside. “I appreciate your interest in this matter, but I must caution you that most of these street boys are addicted to being handed money and do not want to work hard. Most of the boys that go back to school end up running away.” Mr. Hezron started “I will have someone of my department look into this but please don’t be encouraged.”

By this time we had grown pretty close to Alfred and though we had considered it, the idea that he might be scamming us was a hard one to swallow. I told Mr. Hezron that Alfred was outside and would like to speak to him. Alfred came in the office, and though he was obviously intimidated by the older serious man he answered his questions in Swahili. I found encouragement in the fact that Alfred was willing to be there answering questions. I was not encouraged by his inability to look Mr. Hezron in the eye however.

After speaking with him for some time Mr. Hezron looked at us and said “It seems likely that this boy is a candidate for help, I will have someone do the case study and you can pick it up in two days time.”

We left somewhat bolstered by the meeting. I was sure that if Alfred had just been looking for a handout that he would have balked at talking to the skeptical Mr. Hezron.

To Be Continued…

My Typical Day

I realized that I have talked a lot about my impressions of Kenya but I failed to really describe what I do on a daily basis.

I wake up between 7:15 and 8am in the fabulous rondoval that I live in. On Mondays and Fridays there is a flag ceremony where the girls put up the flag, sing the national anthem and other songs, and do some prayers before class starts.

The Rondoval I call home

I usually attend that and then eat breakfast. Breakfast is a kind of porridge called Uji that tastes a little bit like liquid sugar mixed with dirt (that is not an insult, I am trying to be descriptive). Usually there is something else with it like fruit (a green orange or a banana), a pancake, or a mandazi (a deep fried bread thing like a doughnut but without the sugar) and sometimes a hard boiled egg.

My duties at the school are to help with whatever they want. Sometimes that means working in the garden pulling weeds, cleaning out storage, finding the girls who need new shoes, getting the dorms ready for the new girls. I am also the unofficial videographer. Mostly however, in the morning, I have time to work on my projects that I will explain later.

Lunch is at 12:20 and it is usually Gatheri which is a combination of maize (like corn just bigger and harder), potatoes, beans, sweet potatoes mixed together. Sometimes we get beans and rice. Other times the dreaded Ugali with cabbage or kale (like spinach).

One of my biggest projects is that I implemented Salesforce.com for use as a donor database for the foundation while I was still in the United States. I act as an administrator for the system so sometimes I have to change settings or add users or compile an email list for a mailing. Recently we have implemented Vertical Response as an email marketing system for our newsletter and event information. I also work with the other volunteers who are heading up the online marketing campaigns (Become a fan of Daraja Academy on Facebook to see what we are doing). Most of this work must be done off campus because it requires the internet but sometimes I brave the terrible cellular modem.

I am partially in charge of special evening activities for the girls. We have put on a bonfire, a talent show, a birthday party, improv games, a dancing night and a few movie nights.

I head up the Drama and Music Club with teacher Catherine. We meet on Mondays and we work with the girls on the performing arts. Right now we are working on a spoken word piece for the Kenya Music Festival. The girls are amazing at acting and singing. Other clubs that the girls can choose from are: The Grassroots Girls (helping them get in touch with grassroots organizations in the area so they can help empower women), The Media Club (teaching girls about journalism and multimedia including cameras, video cameras, facebook, twitter and email newsletters), the Art and Crafts club (working on visual art such as painting, drawing, bead working and sculpture), the Environmental Club (teaching about nature and ways to reverse the affects of pollution), and the Science Club (a place where nerds can get together and scheme for world domination).

In addition I have been supervising the P.E. program. The new volunteers that come in often teach P.E. and I have been trying to provide some continuity with the programs ie. making sure there is someone to supervise each activity and give them a grade at the end of the term. We have been playing football (read: soccer), volleyball, netball, cricket, rounders and cross country running amongst other things.

At around 530pm almost everyday I turn my eyes to the sky and watch the beautiful Kenyan sunset. The African sky is more beautiful than anything I have seen in my life. I don’t know if it is because of the altitude (we are around 6 thousand feet) or if it is a result of being on the equator or some other factor (atmospheric science majors, here is your chance to chime in and do some good for the world). The sky is full of a million clouds that are all perfectly defined against the backdrop of unbelievably blue sky. Furthermore the clouds seem so close, its like you can see every slight crevasse, it is almost possible to reach up and touch them. The sky also appears to extend far beyond where a “normal” sky would go. It seems to me that there is a full 180’ of sky and that I have only been used to 100’. I know this is not logical, but it is magical. The sunset exists not only in the West but it begins at three places in the sky, eventually echoing across the heavens in their entirety.

Dinner is at six o'clock so I have 30 minutes to eat before computer class. When I came to Kenya I brought a couple of donated laptop computers with me (thank you Dad, Skip and Tom for all your help in making that happen). The goal was to set up a computer lab for the girls. I have rounded up 5 working laptops and about a month and a half ago I started teaching the girls basic computing skills every weekday for about an hour. It is amazing to see how enthusiastic the girls are. Most of them have never used a computer so when they click a button with the mouse and something happens there is a collective gasp of “wow” from all the girls. When school resumes at the end of April I plan on teaching a computer class to the staff on weekends.

The electricity goes on at 6pm and stays on until 10 pm. Two days a week I tutor one of the girls in English. She has such a strong desire to learn and never makes the same mistake twice.

If I have waited this long to shower usually I will put it off until the next day. We are extremely lucky in that we have running water. It has taken some getting used to however because the solar panel that heats our shower water leaves much warmth to be desired. After sundown it is almost impossible to bear the inevitably cold showers. The water is also pumped from the river into a holding tank. When it comes out of the faucet it appears brown and I always find myself wondering how getting under it will possibly make me more clean. These are really trifling annoyances compared with the bliss that life in Africa has provided for me.

Does this look like the face of a future lawyer?

Meet Alfred Maina Njuguna, 15 years old, he is one of the many street kids in Nanyuki. He is part of Frank Bruno’s gang. He lives with his father in Liki village, one of the worst slums in Nanyuki. His mother is still alive but is no longer in the picture. She lives in a far away town with the rest of Alfred’s 4 siblings. Up until last year Alfred was a typical liki schoolboy. Broke and living in a little shack with no electricity, no water, and sharing a twin bed with his dad, but still a schoolboy.

About a year ago his father was doing a job as a day laborer and was riding in a truck with his employer. A car came and hit them seriously damaging his back. His father was now for the most part unable to do physical labor which is how they had survived previously. Alfred and his father started having to skip meals. At first they would skip lunch and then eventually dinner. Alfred would get home from school and there would be no food at home. He started leaving school to find something to eat.

He found that in the street he was usually able to find enough food or money to feed both himself and his father. They rely on well wishers to pay their rent every month which is 400 shillings (about $5.75).

He told me he wanted to go to school…but all the street boys say that. He told me he wanted money for a uniform…also a pretty common scam. We asked him some trivia questions: What is Barak Obama’s middle name? “Hussein” he said. Impressive, but Barak is a big deal over here since his father is Kenyan. Other trivia questions proved to me that this kid was not only charming but also pretty smart. He deserves to go to school if he wants to. A fellow volunteer Martin and myself decided to see what we could do about this. We will have to be careful to make sure he honestly wants to go to school.

To Be Continued…