Why I Love My Bike
I submitted my poultry project proposal for the Wake Up Women’s Group on Monday. The good news is that it has the full support of the guy in charge of funding grants in the Nairobi office. I just hope it can sneak through the system without being flagged, since Peace Corps Volunteers aren’t supposed to be working with poultry due to the threat of bird-flu. Since bird flu in Kenya is nonexistent and I’ve been told that the guy that gave approval has the final say, I’m hopeful things will work out. I should get a definite answer by the end of the month.
I don’t have my bike this week and it just reinforces just how important it is to me. Whereas I’d normally be peddling myself, I’m stuck on boda bodas, matatus, or walking on foot. I hate boda boda because I have to rely on someone else peddling me around. Cycling back and forth to work is one of my favorite parts of the day and sitting on the back of a bicycle while the boda boda guy is talking about how much he hates his job, and why can’t I take him to America, isn’t my idea of a relaxing way to start and end the day. Then there’s the hassle of matatus. A great way to find yourself in a bad mood is to hang around the matatu stage for awhile. First there’s the touts. They shout things like “hey White man! Get in here!” and usually try to grab your bags and even physically pull you into the vehicle. The only problem is that there are about 10 vehicles all waiting to go to the same place, and the most persistent touts are the ones trying to pull you into an empty matatu, which inevitable means an hour-long wait. I’m on to that now and push my way through the touts and pull my bags away from them as I fight my way to the matatu that has the most people in it and will be ready to leave soon. I don’t understand their system, as everyone loses. Each matatu sits idling half full instead of just starting with the first one to arrive, filling it up, then moving on to the next. This is what they do in Uganda. It’s much more efficient without ten matatus with the “every tout for himself” mentality of literally pulling people into empty vehicles.
Once in the matatu, the driver revs the vehicle, lurches it back and forth, and pretends like it’s about to leave for sometimes a good half hour before actually going anywhere. This is one of the tricks they use to fill a matatu, and it can really drive you crazy as you sit in the back, hip hop music blaring, jerking back and forth while the driver acts like he’s about to leave. Another trick they use is done with “assistant” touts. These are the guys that don’t really have a job so they bum around the matatu stage all day, hoping to get a few shillings for helping fill matatus. They do this by sitting in matatus, making them look full. Once people start getting in they slip back out again and move on to another. It’s a clever scheme but I’m on to it. Anytime a matatu is full of younger looking guys in ratty clothes, it’s a good sign that they aren’t actually going to travel anywhere. It’s best to keep your eyes out for mamas, older men in dress clothes, and children, as this is the demographic that will actually be traveling instead of coercing you into an empty vehicle.
Fed up with bodas and matatus, I’ve walked long distances a few times this week. It makes me appreciate how nice it is to go flying by people on a bike, tuning out “mzungu!” and “give me some change!” and the like. On foot you really can’t get away but I’ve learned to look right through people when they harass me...it’s all part of adapting cross-culturally.
So, in conclusion, I miss my bike and want it back. The derailleur broke on a trip out to the rainforest last weekend and I sent it to Nairobi for repair on Monday. The next day I received a phone call. It was Peace Corps wanting to know what I did to tear it up so badly (basically every component is worn out), and telling me how expensive it will be to fix. They weren’t very nice about it. They don’t understand that I live in the rainiest, muddiest place in Kenya and cycling through dust and mud day in and day out takes a toll on a bike. Most volunteers leave there bikes in storage for two years, never use them, and bring them back looking like new. I tried to explain that I actually use my bike rand I miss it and want it back quickly, but I think the message was lost on them, the cheapskates.
Otherwise things are on track and moving. I can’t help but feel cautiously optimistic that all the hard work from year one will start paying off in year two. The wheelchair project is well underway, and I’ve even tentatively found a good market for dried sweet potato chips for the farmer’s network. There’s an NGO making flour for AIDS orphans in Nakuru that claims to be willing to pay 60 shillings per kg of dried sweet potato chips. Of course, the guy that found us the market wants his cut, and I think I was able to talk him down to a 2% commission, which isn’t unreasonable. That leaves more than enough to take a small commission for network operations as well and put plenty of money into the farmer’s pockets. I should have a definite answer on where things stand this weekend but God willing we have finally found a crop that will bring the farmers out of poverty and sustain the network without outside assistance.
Last weekend I went to Eldoret and had a dinner party with some Peace Corps volunteers and medical students from Indiana University. IU has an extension campus in Eldoret, where IU med students work at a training hospital in collaboration with Moi University for two month stints. The IU house, where the students live, is a palace complete with a huge kitchen and an endless pantry of nearly every kind of food you can imagine. I heard a tear-filled story from one of the med students about how they ran out of fresh coffee, and they were forced to drink instant for one day and it just about broke my heart. We made chicken parmesan with steamed green beans and it was one of the best meals I’ve had in Kenya. The next day I cycled to the forest to visit a Peace Corps friend and catch up with some of the primate researchers working out there.
All in all things have been good lately, but on a sad note one of my dogs died yesterday night. Kuja, my favorite little puppy, hadn’t been eating lately. I scheduled a veterinarian visit for tomorrow but it was too late, and I found him dead on my front porch this morning. He was my buddy, but since it’s Kenya and medical attention for animals is hard to get (especially for dogs) I didn’t allow myself to get too attached. At least Wewe, the bad dog that eats mama Nora’s chickens, is still around.
I don’t have my bike this week and it just reinforces just how important it is to me. Whereas I’d normally be peddling myself, I’m stuck on boda bodas, matatus, or walking on foot. I hate boda boda because I have to rely on someone else peddling me around. Cycling back and forth to work is one of my favorite parts of the day and sitting on the back of a bicycle while the boda boda guy is talking about how much he hates his job, and why can’t I take him to America, isn’t my idea of a relaxing way to start and end the day. Then there’s the hassle of matatus. A great way to find yourself in a bad mood is to hang around the matatu stage for awhile. First there’s the touts. They shout things like “hey White man! Get in here!” and usually try to grab your bags and even physically pull you into the vehicle. The only problem is that there are about 10 vehicles all waiting to go to the same place, and the most persistent touts are the ones trying to pull you into an empty matatu, which inevitable means an hour-long wait. I’m on to that now and push my way through the touts and pull my bags away from them as I fight my way to the matatu that has the most people in it and will be ready to leave soon. I don’t understand their system, as everyone loses. Each matatu sits idling half full instead of just starting with the first one to arrive, filling it up, then moving on to the next. This is what they do in Uganda. It’s much more efficient without ten matatus with the “every tout for himself” mentality of literally pulling people into empty vehicles.
Once in the matatu, the driver revs the vehicle, lurches it back and forth, and pretends like it’s about to leave for sometimes a good half hour before actually going anywhere. This is one of the tricks they use to fill a matatu, and it can really drive you crazy as you sit in the back, hip hop music blaring, jerking back and forth while the driver acts like he’s about to leave. Another trick they use is done with “assistant” touts. These are the guys that don’t really have a job so they bum around the matatu stage all day, hoping to get a few shillings for helping fill matatus. They do this by sitting in matatus, making them look full. Once people start getting in they slip back out again and move on to another. It’s a clever scheme but I’m on to it. Anytime a matatu is full of younger looking guys in ratty clothes, it’s a good sign that they aren’t actually going to travel anywhere. It’s best to keep your eyes out for mamas, older men in dress clothes, and children, as this is the demographic that will actually be traveling instead of coercing you into an empty vehicle.
Fed up with bodas and matatus, I’ve walked long distances a few times this week. It makes me appreciate how nice it is to go flying by people on a bike, tuning out “mzungu!” and “give me some change!” and the like. On foot you really can’t get away but I’ve learned to look right through people when they harass me...it’s all part of adapting cross-culturally.
So, in conclusion, I miss my bike and want it back. The derailleur broke on a trip out to the rainforest last weekend and I sent it to Nairobi for repair on Monday. The next day I received a phone call. It was Peace Corps wanting to know what I did to tear it up so badly (basically every component is worn out), and telling me how expensive it will be to fix. They weren’t very nice about it. They don’t understand that I live in the rainiest, muddiest place in Kenya and cycling through dust and mud day in and day out takes a toll on a bike. Most volunteers leave there bikes in storage for two years, never use them, and bring them back looking like new. I tried to explain that I actually use my bike rand I miss it and want it back quickly, but I think the message was lost on them, the cheapskates.
Otherwise things are on track and moving. I can’t help but feel cautiously optimistic that all the hard work from year one will start paying off in year two. The wheelchair project is well underway, and I’ve even tentatively found a good market for dried sweet potato chips for the farmer’s network. There’s an NGO making flour for AIDS orphans in Nakuru that claims to be willing to pay 60 shillings per kg of dried sweet potato chips. Of course, the guy that found us the market wants his cut, and I think I was able to talk him down to a 2% commission, which isn’t unreasonable. That leaves more than enough to take a small commission for network operations as well and put plenty of money into the farmer’s pockets. I should have a definite answer on where things stand this weekend but God willing we have finally found a crop that will bring the farmers out of poverty and sustain the network without outside assistance.
Last weekend I went to Eldoret and had a dinner party with some Peace Corps volunteers and medical students from Indiana University. IU has an extension campus in Eldoret, where IU med students work at a training hospital in collaboration with Moi University for two month stints. The IU house, where the students live, is a palace complete with a huge kitchen and an endless pantry of nearly every kind of food you can imagine. I heard a tear-filled story from one of the med students about how they ran out of fresh coffee, and they were forced to drink instant for one day and it just about broke my heart. We made chicken parmesan with steamed green beans and it was one of the best meals I’ve had in Kenya. The next day I cycled to the forest to visit a Peace Corps friend and catch up with some of the primate researchers working out there.
All in all things have been good lately, but on a sad note one of my dogs died yesterday night. Kuja, my favorite little puppy, hadn’t been eating lately. I scheduled a veterinarian visit for tomorrow but it was too late, and I found him dead on my front porch this morning. He was my buddy, but since it’s Kenya and medical attention for animals is hard to get (especially for dogs) I didn’t allow myself to get too attached. At least Wewe, the bad dog that eats mama Nora’s chickens, is still around.
posted by KenyaJoe at 4:04 AM
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