Coastal Life Continued

Relaxing on a bright and sunny beach while melting into a lounge chair was great. After being completely worthless and spoiled on buffets and soft beds it was a bit tough readjusting. Luckily, even though it was back to my project and Peace Corps living, I did manage five more days on the coast.

Mike is a volunteer from the latest business group. He was placed on the coast to work a sweet potato project that is not so different from what I have been forced into in Kakamega. His host organisation is CIP (the International Centre of Potatoes). I’ve worked with them before and they are the ones primarily responsible for promoting Sweet Potatoes as a cash crop without even bothering to see if there is a market. Since the damage has been done in Western Kenya they are now making their rounds on the coast, coercing farmers into growing excess potatoes with false promises. When the job description is to promote sweet potatoes as much as possible and the donors require you do so, what does it matter if you’re doing more harm then good? You are still getting your paycheck. People can be so clueless and NGO’s can be such a joke.

It was with that cheery attitude that I met Mike and the Kenyan CIP officials for a meeting in Mombasa. Yet again I questioned why they continue to promote sweet potatoes as a cash crop when nobody buys them, and once again they averted the question as best they could. “Although there is no market now”, they claim, “one will emerge.” “It will just take time to establish the new crop in Kenya”. I then questioned why the tons of excess Sweet Potatoes already being grown by thousands of disillusioned farmers wasn’t already sufficient, to which I got some nasty looks and an uncomfortable silence. An extension officer from USAID was also present, and she gave me a contact for a “guaranteed” sales lead through an export market in Nairobi. It was enough to keep me pacified, but once I sent a sample for the 10^th time to a potential buyer they were not interested. There’s always a different reason, but in this case, the sugar content is too low. The loss of credibility to the network and the disillusionment by network farmers as a result of this crop is too much to go into right now.

If nothing else good has come out of this at least Mike has developed a healthy amount of skepticism for his project. He has been given a large budget for the purpose of finding markets and training as many farmers as possible to grow potatoes. If no market emerges he is just going to use that money to subsidize the farmers. Although not at all sustainable at least it’s a way to get some of the money CIP is so determined to spend back to the farmers.

Mike’s site is in Msambweni, south of Mombasa towards the Tanzanian border. The temperatures are sweltering and Mike lives in a shanty with one pit latrine for over twenty people. Also, there is a naazi bar next door to Mike’s house where drunks make plenty of noise late into the night. Naazi is nothing more than coconut palm sap, which I learned is highly alcoholic. Mike tried it once and spent the next week wishing he didn’t have to share his latrine, so I decided to leave it alone. Regardless, Mike has one of the best sites in Peace Corps. Just out his living room window is a view of the Indian Ocean. 20 miles north of his site the beach is filled with tourists, beach boys, and hawkers. In contrast, Mike has a shoreline almost entirely to himself. We spent every evening swimming in the clear blue water on his private beach.

On my first day at his site we had plenty of work to do. CIP had arranged training events for two farming groups deep in the interior. If we did not have a CIP vehicle to drive us it would have been impossible to get there, as even matatus to not use these routes. Although I disagreed with the work and honestly answered questions farmers asked concerning the sweet potato’s profitability (or lack thereof), the scenery was amazing. Rolling hills covered with palm trees nearly 50 feet high were a common site. Colorfully dressed locals and thatched hut villages littered the sandy roadside. I’ve said it before; the diversity of the Kenyan landscape is incredible.

One farming site, far into the middle of nowhere, featured a clear and tranquil lake. I wanted to walk to the shore line but could not, as piles of sticks and branches surrounded it. There was a small path through the clutter not far away, but the women fetching water made sure to throw plenty of stones before approaching. I was intrigued and asked what was going on. “The lake is filled with crocodiles” they said. “Just last year the Kenya Wildlife Service recorded the second largest croc on record here.” Apparently, even with the brush barrier, dogs and chickens go missing all the time. Although I did not see any crocs firsthand, I decided not to take my chances and kept my distance from the deceptively still water.

When our first day was finished I had a chance to walk through Msambweni town. It is so different than Western Kenya. Nearly everyone in the town is Muslim, and a mosque that wails a call to prayer in the middle of the night marks the town center. Men in white robes and women in brightly colored kangas mill about the main street, and monkeys leap from tree to tree. The most strikingly different aspect of Msambweni wasn’t the clothing or landscape, but the attitude of the people themselves. Mike has already made several Kenyan friends and all of them seemed genuine interested in wanting a friendship and nothing else. The entire time I was there no one asked for money or shouted “mzungu!” or made me feel like an oddity. Brutally hot weather aside, coast life is good.

The following day we make our way to nearby Funzi Island. Our guide book said a boat tour was available that included a trip down a crocodile-filled coastal river and a visit to the island. Thanks to a ride in the CIP truck we were dropped at the pier of a stereotypical tropical village. After some quick negotiations in Swahili the tourist price was dropped by more than half, and we boarded the boat and spent the day at sea. First, we drifted down a large coastal river filled with mangroves and colorful birds called African flycatchers. Crocodiles lurked in the murky water and I was shocked to see that several fishermen were waist deep in the same water. When I asked the guide about it I was assured that, had I made the same decision, I would quickly become crocodile food. In fact this is a common fate for the troops of monkeys who routinely attempt to cross the river. The reason the fisherman are not attacked, I was told, was due to a strong traditional medicine given by a local medicine man. I would love to know what they could possibly be using to keep crocodiles away.

After the river we went to Funzi Island, which is about 5 miles off the coast and inhabited by around 2000 people. As we walked around there was nothing remarkable about the island itself, but the fishing boats known as dhows that were used by the locals were incredible. Entirely handmade out of wood and powered by sails, it was amazing watching how quickly they could glide through the water. A rancid smell on the island turned out to be fermented shark blubber, which is used to water proof the vessels. Funzi Island has no running water or electricity, and the houses and boats are all built from locally available materials. It was hard to believe the people here were living in the same way, and with the same technologies that they had been using for hundreds of years.

Following our tour of Funzi Island we went to “Paradise Found”. As the tide goes out the water level becomes very low for miles, and at one place near Funzi Island a patch of dry land emerges that is only accessible during low tide. We walked along the newly formed island and spent some time swimming and relaxing on the shoreline.

The next day I needed to head back to Mombasa to catch a bus the following morning. Before we left we toured the tide pools that emerge as the tide goes out near Mike’s house. Once the water recedes there are literally thousands of pools of water filled with marine life. The strangest part was that things seemed to be clustered together. On section consisted of tide pools willed with anemones, another with star fish, and another with small tropical fish. Mike described each section of pools as neighborhoods and I described them as a good reason not to walk around barefoot in this water.

In Mombasa I caught up with a few more Beach Corps volunteers and we enjoyed a local bar with live music. It was also when I tried “the mix” that I wrote about earlier and became sick for a week. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose but all in all my time on the coast was fantastic, and it has become my favorite place to be in Kenya.

Latest Pics

Here are a few recent pics:

The Yala river, located in the heart of the rainforest. A four hour hike but less than one on our Mountain Bikes

Adrienne and Justina, two Peace Corps friends from my cycle trip though the forest

The huge number of volunteers I had assist with mudding the Wake Up Women poultry house during this year's Cross Sector Training

Lots of progress on the chicken project. The wall on the right hand side? My handiwork. :-)

Working with the mamas on mudding the walls for the poultry house

Living the Highlife in Coastal Kenya

Well after our never ending train ride we finally made it to Mombasa. Jana wanted to see wildlife, and since Nairobi National Park didn’t work out we decided to visit Shimba Hills instead. Shimba Hills National Park is about 50 miles from Mombasa, and Jana and I were sick of public transport and decided to opt for a taxi. The train had arrived in Mombasa at 4pm instead of the scheduled 8am (after talking to many other people about their train experiences, I’m told we did fairly well), and we did not have enough remaining daylight to risk a matatu.

After some tough negotiations we boarded a taxi for the game park. Things were going well enough until we were 20 miles or so from the park entrance. That was when the drive belt went out on our cab and of course no replacement was to be found. Stranded on the side of the road after our never ending travel fiasco, I couldn’t help but to laugh. Jana was not amused.

Sometimes things go so absurdly wrong that laughter is the best coping mechanism. I see this reaction in Kenyans all the time. For instance, when a network official shared the story of how $400 designated for a disabled youth group was channeled through our local Social Development Officer and stolen, or how tons of free maize seed donated to widows ended up being sold by the Ministry of Agriculture, the result from the other network officials was nervous laughter. Except for politicians (who ironically are the primary contributors to corruption), most Kenyans I know rarely get visibly upset over something as commonplace as corruption. They realize it eats away at their quality of life, but since there is little that can be done about it, a shake of the head and a laugh that implies “this is life, what can you do?” is the next best thing. I even had this reaction when discussing the death of my friend Zelda in a Nairobi carjacking. “Those crazy carjackers! What can you do?”

The beautiful thing in this country is that for the most part, even when things go horribly awry, in their own Kenya way they eventually work themselves out. Such was the case with our stranded cab ride. As we sat on the side of the road wondering what to do next, a flashy car with a Dutch driver cruised by. Seeing us standing on the side of the road and looking pathetic, he decided to give us a lift. He was heading in the opposite direction from the game park, but by then we were just happy to find a way back to civilization so we could make a new plan of action. It turned out our driver was the manager of one of the multi-million dollar hotels at nearby Diani Beach. He offered to let us stay at one of the all-inclusive resort hotels for a fraction of the price.

Fed up with budget travel, we took him up on the offer. At first I felt entirely out of place. Not only was the hotel extravagant, but Diana is almost exclusively the tropical resort of choice for Germans (Italians, on the other hand, make their way north of Mombasa to Malindi). Many of them did not speak English at all and even the menus and signposts were written in both German and English. With very few exceptions, everyone in the hotel was over the age of 50, and some were quite demanding and bossy. However, the hotel itself was amazing. Swimming pools, the first air conditioning I have encountered in Kenya, an incredibly comfortable bed, and hot running water complete with actual water pressure were just some of the perks. I have a newfound appreciation for all-inclusive hotels; it means all you can eat and drink all day long without having to leave the comfort of the hotel, and most of the time you can just stay in a lounge chair. In fact, many of the coastal tourists fly to Mombasa, immediately hop on a private bus, drive straight to the beach, then never leave the hotel again until it is time to go home. I loved reaction on the valet’s face when we walked to the road with our luggage and boarded a matatu back to Mombasa.

Another perk was my Swahili. Western Kenya is off the tourist route and most of the wazungu here are doing some kind of development work. Speaking Swahili gets a reaction but it’s not unusual to come across a white person who knows a bit. On the coast, and particularly in a resort hotel, nearly everyone is a tourist and Swahili is spoken by very few of them. Being able to talk in Swahili to the reception and staff of the resort hotel got a very positive reaction and made friends quickly. Also, as opposed to Western Kenya where Swahili is a second language and the local tribal dialect comes first, coastal Kenyans speak Swahili as a primary language and the fact that I could speak “mother tongue” was much appreciated.

We had such a great time at our resort hotel that after our two days were up Jana offered to cover two more. Her parents had done some research online and found a place at Baburi beach for a bargain. We decided to make our there, where the nearby nature trail I visited with Zelda last August would finally provide the wildlife viewing Jana had been waiting for.

Our next two days at yet another all inclusive hotel were as great as the first two, and I began starting to feel pretty worthless, and not at all in a bad way. I’ve never understood how great it is to just sit on a lounge chair under the hot sun on the beach and not move for hours at a time, but now I’m convinced there’s no better way to recharge. Thirsty? If you can manage the effort to look up and speak a few words a cold beer is on its way. Hungry? Well, there’s a snack bar with pizza if the buffet full of delicious food from the most recent meal wasn’t enough.

Remarkably, I did manage a bit of activity during my last few days. I went diving in the Mombasa National Marine Reserve, my first dive trip since getting certified last August. What a blast. The reef was spectacular and I got close enough to touch (though I didn’t) sea turtles, thousands of beautiful reef fish, a sting ray, and even a few creepy stonefish. I included the link so you can see the thing. It matches the reef so well you can’t even see it. The only reason I noticed is that is was pointed out by my guide. Also, it is the most venomous fish in the world. Why God created a creature that was both completely camouflaged and highly lethal is beyond me, but luckily I didn’t bump into it.

I also went back to Heller Park. I’m sure I wrote about it in August so I won’t go into it again, but this time I did manage to feed the Giraffes and it was hilarious watching sneaky moneys make a run for the giraffe food and cram as much of it as they could into their mouths before being chased away. I actually saw the same type of money reach through a window at one of our beach hotels and grab a handful of food off someone’s plate before running away as fast as possible. I wish I could have a mischievous monkey for a pet.

One night there was a raffle at the resort hotel. Only one person would win and there were over a hundred people. I asked what the prize was and the woman wouldn’t tell me, but when I suggested it may be a safari of some type she just smiled and kept her mouth shut. Since I assumed it was a safari or a travel package and I was certain I wouldn’t win, I was totally shocked when they called my number. Luck like that doesn’t come around too often. Beaming, I walked to the stage to receive my prize, where it was obvious I was getting a gift wrapped bottle of wine. Assuming a certificate of some type must be inside the wrapping, I opened it up to discover that all I had was a cheap bottle of white table wine. For over 100 people, most of whom were paying big bucks to stay at the hotel, I thought the gift a bit disappointing. What a pity to use up all my luck on a wine bottle. Next time the raffle is for a Porsche or Mountain Bike you better believe I don’t stand a chance...

...Or so I thought. On my way back from Nairobi I won a raffle again. Two raffles in less that a week! This time it was for a free bus ticket in luxury (sarcasm here) Akamba bus lines! I was the only person in the entire bus to win. What are the odds of that happening twice? Unfortunately, I had to use it within three weeks and never got around to it, so both prizes were pretty much a letdown and my luck has surely run dry by now.

Although I had a great time at the beach resorts there were several things that bothered me. On the coast sex tourism is huge, and child prostitution is a big reason that many tourists make their way to Kenya every year. I’ve been told it is at it’s worst in Malindi, but even in Bamburi I couldn’t walk to the beach at night without being harassed by a prostitute. Stranger still was that it was very common to see middle-aged European women with very young Kenyans. I spoke to some of the coastal PCV’s about this and apparently there is quite a market for young Kenyan men to sell themselves to older European women. In fact, one of the coastal Peace Corps Volunteer’s Kenyan friends does this regularly and is doing quite well for himself financially as a result.

Another slightly less disturbing thing was the performance put on every night at these hotels. I watched a bit of a “traditional Masai jumping competition” and some of the coastal tribes in traditional clothing dancing around to music. It struck me that the displays put on were more along the lines of what tourists would stereotypically expect Kenya to be like than the way it really is, and it made me a bit sad to think that the impression of Kenyan people given to beach tourists is limited to poolside performances staged to meet their inaccurate expectations.

So all in all my time with Jana was a bit stressful at times but a lot of fun. It also left me with so much to write about that I’m still over a month behind. Once Jana left (just for good measure her flight was delayed by a day and a half) I made my way South to work with a Peace Corps Volunteer for some time, but I’ll save that story for the near future as I frantically work to catch up over the next few days.

Pics from February

February was busy and I've yet to bring the blog up to date, but here's some pics from thing I've done:

A fully loaded fridge at my friend Geoff's house, who graciously had Western Kenyan Peace Corps volunteers over for great food and drinks and a heck of a party.

The Western Kenya Peace Corps crew at Goeff's party last weekend

4 kids using one bicycle. I saw this on a cycle trip with a few PCV's to visit some volunteers in Mumias

Peter, the chairman from the Bugoma FFS Network, on one of the ridiculous motorized bikes given to network officials from the FAO

The Wake Up Women's Group hard at work making the mud to apply to the sides of their newly constructed poultry house

A pic to prove I helped out a bit too

A tragedy, a visitor, and lots of projects

In late January I had a visit from Jana, a friend of mine from Germany. Jana is currently a travel agent in Southern France and has always wanted to see Africa. We’ve been discussing her visit for over a year and decided she come in late January. The problem was that I had no idea how busy I would be. Beyond juggling about a dozen different farming projects, I was approved for both my wheelchair and poultry grants and recruited by my supervisor for computer training in three different farming networks. Regardless, I managed to get enough knocked out and rescheduled to set aside two weeks, assuming Jana didn’t mind a few work days in between.

On a Friday evening I picked up Jana at the Kisumu airport and we walked to the nearby Kisumu Beach Resort, a campsite on Lake Victoria. It was a long way to walk but Jana was not yet willing to risk a boda boda ride. Just three months ago I was at the same campsite, and it offered a beautiful view of the lake. Now it is completely covered by an invasive non-native floating plant, to the point where Kisumu bay appears to be a large green field. Regardless, we had a great view of the Kisumu skyline and the usual spectacular sunset, so all wasn’t lost.

Occasionally it dawns on me just how incredible it is that life has taken me here, and I stop for a moment to appreciate my surroundings. However, these moments drift further and further apart. Observing Jana’s perspective on Kenya helped me realize how adapted I’ve become to a culture where I initially felt so out of place. Everything from transport to food to the landscape and people differs greatly from the western world, and Jana was understandably a bit overwhelmed. On the other hand, I have more and more people jokingly tell me I’m becoming a Luhya (the tribe I live with in Kakamega), and I do feel Kenyan culture rubbing off on me. It’s an interesting place to be, and as I’ve said before, if nothing else I rarely find myself bored.

For about a week prior to Jana’s visit I was feeling pretty miserable. My inner ear hurt, I could barely swallow, and sores were breaking out on my face. I kept thinking that whatever it was would run its course, but it reached the point where I couldn’t even sleep. Beyond the intense pain in my ear, it felt like a metal barb was lodged in my throat. On Jana’s first morning in Africa I had no choice but to visit a doctor. Diagnosis: staph infection. The doctor told me that my ear canal had swollen shut and my throat wasn’t doing much better. Fortunately, strong antibiotics started to treat it within a day and it cleared up completely within a week.

Kenya has introduced me to all kind of wonderful illnesses and infections. Although I claim to live at a grassroots level with rural Kenyans, have access to Western-style health care. I can’t imagine where I would be without the barrage of vaccinations I’ve been given and access to quality medical treatment. Considering how I’ve fared, the people here are exceptionally tough to be able to get by as well as they do.

So Jana’s trip thus far consisted of a weed-filled lake and a doctor’s office, but things started to improve as we left Kisumu to see the Kakamega rainforest. Our travels that day included virtually every means of public transport available in Western Kenya: Tuk Tuk (three wheeled taxi) from the campsite to the stage, matatu to the dirt road, dog catcher style pickup truck (complete with a blowout and 30 minute delay) down the dirt road to Shunyalu village, and finally boda boda into the forest. It took some convincing to get Jana on a boda boda, but once she used the bicycle taxi she really enjoyed it. If you can get past how annoying the drivers can be it really is a great way to travel. Still, I arrived at the forest with a renewed sense of appreciation for private taxis and personal transport. I love that I can usually just bike to the forest as opposed to putting myself at the mercy of matatus and boda bikes.

At the forest we stayed at the “guest house”, a dirty lodge on stilts without electricity or hot water. At 400 shillings a night it’s hard to complain, but as usual I thought longingly of the Rondo Resort, the upscale and beautifully landscaped cottages I plan to stay at when my parents visit. It was nearly dark when we arrived in the woods and there was little to do, so I was thankful for my primate watching friend Kristy. Although there is no electricity in the forest, Kristy’s house is exceptional. It is completely self-sufficient with solar panels on the roof and a rain catchment system for running water. Kristy let Jana and I spent the evening at her place we also visited the nearby observation tower overlooking the forest grasslands.

The next day was eventful. First, Jana and I went monkey tracking with Kristy. It is fascinating to observe monkey behavior with commentary from an expert. I learned a bit about how blue monkeys communicate and can differentiate between the meanings of a click, a hoot, and a growl. Following the monkey trek Jana and I climbed to the highest point in the forest. I’ve done this four times now but it was my first mid-day climb, and the sun was intense. My next stop on the forest tour is the bat cave, but Jana politely declined.

After the tour of the forest we relaxed for a bit at the Rondo Resort. Although we did not stay there, it was well worth an overpriced soda to sit in the courtyard and take in the beautiful landscape and colorful birds. I’ve been to the forest at least a dozen times and never get bored. Except for possibly the coast, it’s by far my favorite place in Kenya, and I’m so fortunate to live close by. Beyond the spectacular colors of the birds, insects, and flowers, the millions of shades of greens throughout the dense foliage make it a truly beautiful place to relax and unwind.

As such, I was content and happy when I was jolted by some tragic and awful news. Peace Corps medical called and informed me that Zelda, a friend in Kenya, had been killed near Nairobi along with her mother in a car jacking. I had first met Zelda with her daughter and their adopted seven-foot tall Sudanese refugee while in Mombasa. (A picture of them from August is posted on my blog). When she learned I was Peace Corps and she told me that she was the sister of my Peace Corps Medical Officer, we had much to talk about and quickly became friends. Since then I have been to her house several times, became friends with her husband, and spent Thanksgiving with them. We even made plans for a visit to my site and the Kakamega Forest early this year. Zelda was a wonderful person and a good friend, and her senseless death has been hard to come to terms with.

With much on my mind and a visitor to entertain, I was also busy with work over the next three days. The FAO donated computers and motorized bicycles to each of the three Western Kenya Farmer Field School Networks, and unfortunately my boss put me in charge of installing the computers and training the network officials on how to use them. NGO’s do some ridiculous things with their money. Yes, these farmers could use a computer for simple tasks like word processing and accounting. Regardless, I don’t see why it is necessary to give each network a top of the line Dell with a flat screen monitor, huge hard drive, and DVD burner. The printers, HP LaserJets, are cutting edge as well, and can print over 30 pages a minute. Our network already has one donated computer that is more than sufficient, and our simple, inexpensive HP DeskJet does everything we need it to. We use the printer often, and I am able to get the ink cartridge refilled for less than $5. My boss tells me that we cannot refill the cartridge on our new superprinter, and the replacement cartridge runs 7200 shillings (more than $100). Since no money has been allocated for the maintenance and upkeep of our computers, all it is going to take is for a cartridge to run empty one time to render the printer useless.

In terms of sustainability, the bicycles are an even bigger problem. There are Chinese made bicycles rigged with some kind of 50cc chainsaw motor. Within a few days of being donated to the networks they already started breaking down. In Kakamega a motor has already blown on one of the bikes, and there is plenty of bickering over how the repairs will be made. Of course, it was expected the funding would come from the network, but there’s no money set aside to maintain these things. Same goes for fuel costs, when prior to these motorized bikes people peddled to and from the office with no complaints.

To make matters worse some guy from Texas with lots of donor funding has been milling around lately. I haven’t had a chance to meet with him, and as it stands he wants to give motorcycles or even a small truck to the network to assist the farmers. The only problem is that no long term plan has been made on how to afford the upkeep, insurance, and maintenance on these things. From talking to the network officials I fear that the network’s source of income for the upkeep would come from acting as yet another middleman and taking the profits away from the farmers. It drives me crazy how people to come into Kenya for a few days then start throwing money around without any kind of exit strategy or plan for sustainability. It hasn’t worked for the past 50 years and it’s not going to start working now. Regardless, I do have a lot of hope for the sustainability of the network. I won’t go into it now but the DrumNet project has a lot of potential for all three Farming Networks.

Computer training promises to be quite frustrating as well. Most of the network officials I’m teaching are middle-aged but have never used a computer before. I’m told that, like foreign language, teaching computer literacy to children is easier, and I have reason to agree. Thankfully, the top officials of the Kakamega Network have already undergone training, but there is much to be done in the Busia and Bungoma, the other two districts. Just turning a computer on and off, using a mouse, and navigating through a simple tutorial took the better half of the day and I walked away from the Busia group in particular convinced they had really learned nothing. Double clicking is the worst. No matter how many times I demonstrated it and showed them how to hold the mouse, they couldn’t get it right. They would either take too long to click twice or end up moving the mouse slightly between clicks. As you can try for yourself this renders the double click useless.

Since I was practically raised with a computer it is hard to remember just how difficult it can be to use for the first time. Working with people for whom the computer is completely foreign showed me just how cumbersome and confusing it initially is. They were a bit discouraged at the end of the first day and I tried to convince them that over time it becomes second nature and almost instinctual. Of course, several weeks of the many low cost NGO-subsidized computer literacy classes would go a long way towards achieving this, but the FAO did not budget for anything beyond the hardware itself.

By Wednesday all three new computers were installed and further training was postponed until I set aside multiple days and plenty of patience. Jana and I had purchased a train ticket to the coast on Thursday and thankfully I had a day remaining to meet the Wake Up Women’s Group and talk about our project. As I’ve mentioned before, Wake Up Women is a group of 14 Kenyan Mamas, and each is supporting one of 16 HIV/AIDS orphans in their village. Although it took longer than expected (what doesn’t here?) I was approved for a grant to build a chicken house for over 100 birds. It is expected that the money generated from the poultry project will go towards providing a sustainable source of income for school fees, clothing, and health care for the kids. I met with the mamas and we discussed how to move forward now that the funding had arrived. We pieced together a shopping list for the materials required for the construction of the house, and I left the mamas in charge of gathering materials while Jana and I were finally able to head towards the coast.

The train ride to the coast takes two days. In theory, it leaves from Kisumu at 6pm then arrive in Nairobi at 8am. It then leaves that night at 6 and arrives in Mombasa by 9am. It’s a timely way to travel but it’s the only safe and comfortable way to get across the country at night and you sleep most of the time.

Since the train arrives in Nairobi in the morning and with luck is only an hour or so late, we planned for a full day in the capital city. Since our travel plans left little time to go on Safari, the original plan was to spend the day at Nairobi National Park, where giraffes, zebras, and lions supposedly roam behind the skyline of downtown Nairobi. However, I was invited to a memorial service for Zelda and her mother at 10:00am that day, and Jana graciously agreed to accompany me to the service. In return for missing Nairobi National Park, we agreed to spend a day on the coast visiting Shimba Hills, a game park near Mombasa.

Part of me was looking forward to the memorial service. I wanted to console Zelda’s sister and I knew the service would help me in finding a sense of closure for the tragedy. However, this is Kenya and I am Peace Corps, and as always I was at the mercy of public transport. The train scheduled to arrive at 8am never actually got to Nairobi. After a three hour delay in leaving Kisumu, we moved at a snail’s pace with plenty of unscheduled stops and broke down completely 20 miles from the city. The memorial service began at 10am. The bus that picked us up from the broken train and drove us the remaining few miles arrived in Nairobi at 4pm. With the next train leaving at six, that left just two hours in Nairobi, barely enough time to grab dinner and return to the station.

I hated missing the service but all was not lost. With the problematic train running eight hours late, we were able to see the majority of the route by daylight. Riding along the mountain tops offered phenomenal panoramic views of the Great Rift Valley and the Masai lands below. Regardless, after more than 20 hours sitting in a train it was painful reboarding for the next leg.

Despite the notorious unreliability of the train in recent times, it has had a tremendous impact on where Kenya is today. Nairobi did not even exist until around 100 years ago when it began as a small colonial outpost built as a central point on the train route between Mombasa and Lake Victoria. Furthermore, prior to the arrival of the British, the Masai had a prediction that has proven to be eerily true. They prophesied that a great iron snake would divide their land in half and mark the end of their world. Colonialism, Kenya’s development into a capitalist society, and plenty of tourism, all made possible by the great iron snake, seems to have done just that.

So...After a few short hours in Nairobi we boarded the train yet again. I should have known another problem was brewing when the train from the coast, expected to arrive in the early morning, rolled into the station at 5pm. Watching the unhappy people pour out of the train convinced me not to go through this again. I went to the station manager and asked him what the problem was. “There was flooding on the tracks” he said. “It’s all been cleared now. The train won’t be late again.”

With that encouraging news and finally on our last leg of travel to the coast, Jana and I boarded the train in good spirits, assuming the worst was over. Once again the train left the station late, creeping slowly forward and stopping in many random places throughout the night for unexplained reasons. The critical difference, when the sun came up the next morning and we were not yet halfway there, was the scenery. The landscape east of Nairobi is very Kitui-esque. That is, dry, scrubby, somewhat hilly, and uninteresting. Oh, and the sun was brutal, and brought the non-air conditioned train cars to nearly unbearable temperatures.

At 4:00pm, yet again, the train finally made it to Mombasa. We had sat in a train for 44 hours over a 48 hour period and I made a vow never to travel by train again. With a similar vow made for the night bus and cross country matatu trips, I’m running out of travel options. Now that I’ve written my way to the coast I need to take a breather. Things did improve from this point forward and I’ll write more soon. Remind me never, ever to get this far behind on my blog again.