public school, Maasai Mara, and re-entry

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As you know we are back safe and sound in Berkeley, happily home adjusting slowly back into our life here. But I did want to finish the blog, tell the tales of the end of the trip. There is much to tell but I won't try to say it all. The synopsis is that we spent one more week at the orphanage in Gathanji then went back to Nairobi. Ben and Maria, joined by Maria's nieces Ivonne and Pamela, took us to three more safari destinations - Meru National Park, Maasai Mara (in the Rift Valley) and Aberdare National Park in the central highlands. All were amazing in their own way but Maasai Mara remains my absolute favorite.

PUBLIC SCHOOL AND PRAYER MEETING
By our third week at El-Shaddai Children's Center we felt more and more comfortable. The novelty of our arrival had worn off and we settled in with the kids and adults alike. One morning Steven took us to A.K. Magugu Primary School, a local public school where some of the El-Shaddai children go. The school is down the long red dirt road from the orphanage. The morning, as usual was foggy and cold and the school office, all cinderblock concrete and wood, was chilly. We met the principal, a warm, handsome, carefully dressed man in his fifties. He welcomed us warmly and seemed pleased we'd come and proud to show us around. The school in built in a u-shape around an open courtyard with tall banana trees and some smaller plants and shrubs growing out of the dirt. It had rained in the night so the yard was muddy and wet with puddles. Beyond the school proper was a huge dirt and grass lot which was used as a playing field and outdoor space for the school. At either end were metal soccer goals, like every set of goals we saw in Kenya, without nets.

The principal (and I am so sorry I didn't write down his name) took us first to an 8th grade Swahili class. When we entered the principal spoke to the class, joking with them and greeting them warmly. As with every classroom we visited in Kenya, the children chanted a greeting to us "visitors" in unison and then fell immediately silent, staring intently. We each introduced ourselves and the students repeated our names. Reavey's is always hardest - R is a hard sound for Kiswahili speakers. They usually say "l" for "r" but somehow the name she was called most often was Vivi (with both i's long - like Veevee) or Vivian. Back in the classroom we fours separated sat among the students who quickly moved to make precious space for us. I sat next to a young man named John who was very conscientious about showing me where we were in the lesson and helping me pronounce words as the Swahili lesson continued. There were 64 students - 8 tables with 8 children each. One teacher. The desks were made of something reminiscent of packing crate wood. They were unfinished and quite small for the bodies they housed. The benches were rough and uncomfortable and the desks' surfaces were just wide enough to accommodate a notebook. And, as with every other school we'd been in, there was no electricity, which meant no lights. The rooms in this public school seemed to have a little more natural light and the space was larger - of course there were more kids, too.

Once we'd taken our seats the Class 8 teacher included our kids gracefully and managed to teach us all a few words. She was a fascinating woman. She has been teaching more than 30 years and is retiring at the end of the year. Her command over the classroom was supreme and her voice was riveting. Although she had not known we were coming, she smoothly welcomed us and made the most of our visit. On her instruction, the children asked us questions about the US but most of all, for some reason, what they wanted to see was us write our names on the board. One by one we wrote our names and ages on the board and the students were fascinated which amused me. A few even wrote down our names. This led to a long discussion comparing how names are given in both cultures. In Kenyan culture, Kikuyu in particular, children are named after their grandparents - first son is named after paternal grandfather, first daughter after paternal grandmother, then if there are more children they are named for for their maternal grandparents. If there are more than 4, the source of names moves to great uncles and aunts. Children also have both parents last names which is funny because it is the same with our kids, unlike most American kids. Reavey is legally Reavey Anne Alcott Fike and Aidan is Aidan Barry Alcott Fike, no hyphens. This is odd here but not at all in Kenya. A couple of students came and wrote their names on the board for us to see also. The teacher asked me and Barry to talk about what we'd learned in Kenyan schools compared to American schools. An interesting questions. I said there were a lot of differences but that I'd realized that inside we as learners and as people as very much the same. Soon the principal came back to take us to another class.

We went next to a 7th grade English class. The children were thrilled to know that Aidan was going into "Class 7," as they say. They were preparing for national exams and were doing test prep, just like here. They were working on a reading comprehension exercise. It was written in English so arcane and convoluted that it was hard for us to follow. It was really crazy - and published by some government test-giving entity. Yikes. Not only were the subjects tedious but the writing was awkward and at some points, grammatically questionable. We felt sort of foolish because the teacher asked Barry and Reavey to review the answers with the class. They plunged in gamely but it was laborious!

Overall in Kenyan schools children are, as I've said, completely dedicated and take their education seriously in a way I haven't seen in American schools. The curriculum that we saw, though, tended to be rote and prescribed without any opportunity for children to interact together or solve problems or work at their own level. Of course we were only there for a short period and saw just a few schools but these characteristics persisted in each place we visited. They've adopted an old school British model but have not evolved past a 50 years old version of that model.

At lunch time we talked at length with the principal and the teachers of the Class 7 and 8 rooms we'd visited. They were very interested in the US and each had some some connection - a relative or friend or neighbor who lives in the US. Usually in places I found surprising - Missouri, Michigan, Florida. I found myself imaging what it was like for someone from Gathanji to arrive in Missouri. How to make sense of it all? We worked hard to understand life there and we weren't living there - finding a job, a place to live, schools for our kids. All three of these adults had huge desire to travel to the US. We invited them to come and visit. Aidan joked later that if everyone I'd invited in Kenya to stay with us in Berkeley ever came, we'd be in trouble.

Later that week we said goodbye everyone at El-Shadaai. The night before we left they had a blessing for us, a vespers service of sorts, at the main orphanage. The children, except the babies, all gathered in the biggest space they use as a homework area during the week and for church on Sundays. There were more than 100 children plus staff gathered. The children sang hymns and spiritual songs and danced for us with great energy. Then everyone settled down and several of the young people - university age kids and staff - spoke and gave warm testimonials about our family, about our time together. The main thing they seemed to be struck by was that we'd brought our whole family to volunteer. Typically young people in their early 20s, largely women, come. We also had a chance to thank everyone and to reiterate how much we'd learned from them. By this point in our journey, we were all feeling like we'd done very little except witness, give some attention to the children, and visit schools. Not that these are small things but we had quickly understood we were not there to save the world or even really teach anything. Just be there and learn, learn a lot. The meeting went on and on with Steven reading from the Bible and philosophizing. Many kids fell asleep where they sat. We felt chagrined, realizing that it was all for us and the kids were hungry and tired. At the end he presented us with certificates and a letter of recommendation for each of us. Finally it was over and the kids could eat dinner and fall into bed - and so could we.

MAASAI MARA
Of the four national parks we visited, Maasai Mara was my very favorite. We left Nairobi after some car misadventure, 9 of us in Ben and Maria's white safari mobile, a refurbished Land Rover complete with roof rack for sitting and viewing the animals. We drove through the outskirts of Nairobi, over endless speed bumps, passing a steady stream of people walking and bicycling on the side of the road carrying all manner of things - impossibly large bundles of wood or sugar cane, chickens, babies, plastic containers, baskets, and bulging plastic bags. We passed many small kiosks offering coke, butchery shops, internet service, the usual fare. We also saw many many greenhouses - flowers, roses in particular, are a huge part of the export economy. After an hour or so of steady climbing, the road curved to reveal the Great Rift Valley. The day was overcast but we were still amazed by the huge expanse below us. The landscape is many shades of green and brown and red, gently rolling as far as the eye could see. There is some vegetation - acacia trees and lower scrubby shrubs, planted wheat fields and rice (amazingly) - but much of it is just miles of wheat colored grass and red earth. After a hour of making our slow descent on frightening windy roads, we stopped at the town of Narok. There we gassed up, got surprisingly delicious veggie samosas at the gas station, and most important picked up our intrepid Maasai guide, David. The Maasai make up only 2 percent of Kenyan population but are a tribe which has steadfastly retained its lifestyle and traditions in the onslaught of colonial and post-colonial "culture." During the times of slave trading, the Maasai put up fierce resistance and were not captured and decimated to the extent that many East African tribes were. Even during British rule, they maintained their ways much more than most. Today in Kenya a pastoral life style is growing more and more difficult. More Maasai are educated in local and then further flung schools and take on jobs and careers outside the village but some choose to remain in the villages. More and more girls, thankfully, are being sent to school as well.

David was dressed in traditional Maasai garb - a bright red plaid shuka cloth wrapped loosely around his lean, muscular body, tied over one shoulder. Underneath the top shuka cloth was another with a different red plaid. the layers in their subtle contrast were beautiful. He also wore an astonishing number of beaded necklaces, a beaded watch strap revealing an analog watch, leather sandals, and Ray Bans perched on his smoothly shaven head. His earlobes had long ago been cut so a large loop of skin hung down like a second, free floating lobe. He carried with him a huge black container of kerosene which we in the middle seat put between our feet, hoping it would not slosh and spill out. The unmistakable, acrid smell mingled with the exhaust and dust smell of the road as we got on our way. Now there were 10 of us in the car - Ben, Maria, their 20 something nieces Pamela and Ivonne, Aidan, Reavey, Barry, me and David. Cozy to be sure, particularly with an every day more gangly Aidan on my lap, as we turned off the tarmac (the ubiquitous name for the paved roads in Kenya, cause for celebration to be sure) onto a deeply rutted red dirt road that took us 80 (?) km to the camp where we'd stay for two nights. Once on the dirt road the landscape changed, many more wheat fields, mainstay cash crop of the Maasai, more livestock everywhere - cattle, goats, sheep - for which we had to slow down often, and Maasai people tending the flocks, fetching water, or just walking. We began to see some Maasai villages, instantly recognizable because of their thatch and mud houses, sometimes round and sometimes rectangular, and their acacia branch corrals for their precious cattle, goats, and sheep.

For the Maasai, cattle are more than just livestock but rather nearly sacred creatures that, along with a large number of children, comprise a family's wealth. The village houses are arranged in a large circle with a wide space in the middle where the cattle are kept at night to protect them from lions and hyenas. The houses are very close together, nearly touching in many cases, with some occasional gaps for entering and exiting the village. At night the gaps are closed with thorny acacia branches made into a thicket-like fence. At night the warriors, the ilmoran, circumsized men between the ages of 15-25 patrol the village, keeping close watch for predators, usually lions and hyenas. One night when we were there (at our camp 3km from David's village), the men of the village were kept up half the night because there were several lions prowling about looking for a way in.

The cattle are also the main source of food for the Maasai. They eat the meat on special occasion, though more regularly killing a goat or a sheep. They also "bleed" the cattle, drawing a calabash gourd full of blood through a hole in the cow's jugular vein made by a special arrow. The blood drains (painlessly they say) with the aid of a temporary tourniquet and when the calabash is full, they seal the hole and let the animal recover for a couple of months before using the same hole on that particular animal once again. They then drink the blood, sometimes straight, sometimes fermented for a few days with milk. Their diet is really curious to me. Blood, milk, meat, wheat are pretty much all they eat. No wild game, though it is abundant all around them, and no fruits or vegetables. Really! This sounds incredible but is true. I quizzed David about this a lot because I was incredulous. I asked him about the health and age of people. Until whites introduced all kinds of diseases, people were very healthy, he claimed. Even today many live to very old ages. He said the oldest person in his village was a 112 year old woman. When we visited I did notice that people, while very thin and muscular, appeared healthy and with all of their teeth, not always the case in Kenya. Many kids did have snotty colds which I imagine they caught at school, rife with colds as were all the schools we visited. David attributed the Maasai's general good health to their diet, to the lack of processed food and sugar, and their physical lifestyle.

We arrived at the camp in the late afternoon. The countryside was very sparsely populated, not much at all around except wide open space and scattered villages. As we got close to Maasai Mara there were small wooden signs pointing toward this lodge or that camp but they would have been easily overlooked. The roads began to peter out as well, becoming merely crisscrossing tracks. David directed us this way and that and we quickly realized why he'd met us in Narok. There'd be no finding the camp without him. After nearly 2 hours of bumpy road, we suddenly arrived. There were six canvas tents, five large, one smaller, surrounded by the ubiquitous acacias, some rolling hills and the Esoit Oloololo Escaparment, a high ridge, off in the distance. To call the place a camp is a bit of a misnomer. It was the most luxurious place we stayed. Each tent was very well appointed and beautiful inside - big comfortable beds with crisp white sheets, fluffy down comforters, and beaded pillows. We also had chairs and a table, and a bathroom complete with hot water shower, sink, and the best flush toilet in Kenya. In addition to the four sleeping tents was a dining/living room tent with a huge table, couch, and comfortable chairs, completely open on one side, and a kitchen tent with refrigerator, stove, sink, and all manner of kitchen accoutrements. The dining tent had a bar, dishes, all manner of cutlery and serving dishes as well as books on the local countryside, games and binoculars for spying nearby wildlife. Between two of the tents there was an outdoor shower, constructed in a semi-spiral with the same thorny acacia branches used to make the animal corrals. Once inside the large shower enclosure, you were in complete privacy but open to the sky in all its glory. All the tents overlooked the open savannah in the most restful, peaceful setting imaginable. There were two fire areas - one at either end of the camp. The larger of the two near the dining tent was for warmth, cooking, and enjoying. After dark both fires were kept burning until morning to ward off lions and hyenas which we could hear as we lay in bed. The sounds were not instantly recognizable but our guides identified them when we asked. As Maria said, compared to the Maasai we were all blind and deaf in that landscape. The camp is owned by an Italian (?) woman but run in the day to day by Maasai. They cook for guests with foods guests bring and during the day David takes them on safari.

I helped cook dinner with the only camp worker who was not Maasai, an engaging Kikuyu man who told me all about his family and his life. He was as warm and open as he could be. He took a particular liking to Aidan and was very sweet with him. (If you look at the photos on Facebook, you can see him spinning Aidan around on his shoulder, despite the fact that he was no taller than Aidan himself.) We ate heartily and fell into bed.

The next day we went on a drive through the Maasai Mara Game Reserve. Unlike everywhere else we visited, it is not a national park in the Kenyan Wildlife Service but rather is under the purview of the Maasai themselves. Our camp was just outside the Reserve on Maasai land. It is impossible to adequately relay all that we saw and the excitement of seeing everything. Riding through the wide open space was a thrill. We saw so many animals as well as the famous wildebeest migration across the Mara River. I'm posting a few photos here but also check out my photos (and gazelle/crocodile video) on facebook and that will give you a sense of what we saw.

In the late afternoon we visited David's village. We were greeted by the chief just outside the manyatta, or circle of houses. He led us inside and there in the middle of the large open space was a group of women dressed in gorgeously colorful traditional cloths and tons of beaded jewelry. They stood in a line facing us and sang and danced a song of welcome (see video). They beckoned for the women in our group (Ivonne, Pamela, Maria, Reavey and me) to join them. We stood with them and they put their jewelry on us. They continued singing and taught us the dance. I found myself concentrating hard to follow the dance, not really very difficult, but the tempo of the music was 3 beats and not being terribly coordinated that way, I had to think to follow it. The woman beside me took my hand and continued singing and dancing. When the music was over they looked very closely at us. We had learned just a couple of words including "ashe" (a-shay) meaning thanks, which we said over and over again.

Next the chief led us to his own house and took us inside. We stepped down one step and had to bow our heads to enter. Immediately before us was a small gate made of sticks set in a wall. There was where the calves slept, John explained, to keep them safe at night. Next we turned into a small passageway and entered a space which was completely dark. He told us we were at the cooking fireplace. It is a very small space and there is no hole above for the smoke to escape. Off either side of the cooking space were two raised rooms that were basically all mats for sleeping. In one room was one of his sons, sound asleep. In the other was a bundle of blankets with several kittens lying on top. The rooms each had a small window cut into the earthen wall which they stuffed with cloth when they wanted to block the light or to keep out insects at night. John allowed us to take photos inside the house otherwise I'd never have been able to describe it because we could not see a thing!

We then went outside and back out of the circle of homes past a large donated water tank, a contraption which saved the women a lot of time and effort each day because they no longer have to walk for water all the time. I had the impression they still wash clothes in the river nearby but that the water in the tank was for cooking and drinking. Many women in the village had set up a small market for our benefit. As we approached they all called to us and held out their wares, most of which were very similar - bracelets, the large beaded collar necklaces typical of the Maasai, carved animals, and Maasai clubs. It was a little overwhelming because there were probably at least 20 women selling and they all wanted us to buy. Reavey bought some bracelets and a lovely large necklace that is more of a keepsake than something she'd wear. It was hard not to feel strange or invasive as we walked around and admired, not buying much. As we stayed a while and talked a bit to the women, though, in our terrible Swahili and their only slightly better English and mostly in signs and pantomime, we got more comfortable. They were of course, as interested in us as we were in them. Finally we bid farewell and got in the car.

While we were shopping, Maria had gone with David to buy a lamb from the tribe's herd which was out in the field. When we got in back in the car, the lamb was tied in the back of the car, kicking and bleating. Barry drove back to camp the 3 very bumpy km. The lamb would get quiet and then when we hit a big bump, it would start kicking the back of our seat very hard. It was unnerving, especially imagining that this was our dinner. I knew intellectually that it was a good thing to be more in touch with the actual animal we were eating. Usually we don't think of meat as "animal" but something that comes in a nice, cold, plastic-wrapped package in the refrigerator section of the grocery story. I have to admit that I did not watch them slaughter the lamb back at camp (Barry did) but I did go watch the men cooking it and talk to them about what they ate. They cooked the lamb over the fire on a metal grill without any spices or anything at all. Just meat and fire. Barry doesn't eat meat and had brought veggie burgers for his supper. It was a very funny scene to see the Maasai warriors cooking the lamb and Barry's 2 veggie burgers side by side over the fire. They were intrigued by his vegetarian tendencies and took seriously (at least to our faces) the cooking of his veggie burgers. They looked pretty pathetic next to all that meat, I have to say.

That night the men ate with us. We'd made mashed potatoes and green beans also which they gamely tried along with the lamb. They ate an incredible amount of meat - I think it was all gone or if not, nearly so. Then the men invited us to sit by the fire and they set out lanterns in a semicircle. They disappeared for a while and we all sat by the fire enjoying the night. Pretty soon we heard the men singing in the distance, a deep, throaty chanting that matched the bouncing step dance they did as they came toward us wearing their gorgeous red robes. They danced around us and the fire singing all the while. Their music was eerie to me and seemed to come from deep within their chests. The tune changed and they began to do their jumping for which the Maasai are famous. It is amazing to see because they barely seem to bend their legs and they get so high off the ground. Their exuberance and boundless energy, not to mention their incredible core strength, lifted them way, way up. The pulled us up off our chairs and encouraged us to dance with them. We tried to jump too but our attempts were ridiculous compared with theirs, even Barry and Ben who fancy themselves hoop players. An unforgettable night. The next morning we packed up and took off but not before trying to jump once more, looking even sillier in the light of day. We waved goodbye to our trusty guides and drove off down the road.

ANIMALS
Here is a complete list of all the animals we saw on our four safari trips:
impala, flamingo, African buffalo, puff adder, giraffe (reticulated, Maasai, and Rothschild), lepoard tortoise, white rhino, jackal, oryx, dikdik, plains zebra, baboon, vervet monkey, ostrich, pelican, grey-crowned crane, lilac-breasted roller (bird), African hoopoe (bird), marabou stork, secretary bird, elephant, hippo, lion, Ruppel's vulture, grasshoppers (bigger by far than the N. American variety), wildebeest, topi, crocodile, black-headed heron, Thompson's gazelle, spring hare, mongoose, hartebeest, white bellied buzzard, spotted hyena, pied kingfisher, warthog, saddle-bill stork, hooded vulture, African white-back vulture, grey heron, speckled mousebird, African jacana, Harvey's red duiker, reedbuck, grouse, bushbuck, Augur buzzard, red ant, waterbuck, leopard, blotched genet, ibis, red-billed oxbeak, and forest hog.

RE-ENTRY
We left Kenya on the afternoon of Aug. 3, my 45th birthday, and flew round the clock from Nairobi to Dubai to London (switching airports there) to San Francisco, touching down at 5 pm on Aug. 4th. We were met by Sarah, Tom, Andrea, and two very excited cousins - Angela and Melina. It was so great to see them all after such a long trip. Their faces looked lovelier and more familiar than ever. We were completely disoriented the next week or so, battling both wicked jet lag and definite culture shock. We were all so happy to see our friends, to wander around our own house, walk on sidewalks, see our Gracie dog and look at everything in our burgeoning garden. I had a couple of strange moments during the first week. One came when Aidan and I went to Berkeley Bowl, our huge wonderful grocery store. I'd waited a few days because I knew it was going to be overwhelming and because our very thoughtful house-renters left us all kinds of delicious food and the basic staples. I was doing fine, enjoying shopping until I turned a corner and encountered the wall of eggs. There were dozens of different kinds, all espousing different virtues and prices. I stopped stock still just staring. Right in front of me was a "special" sign advertising some eggs from Marin County - free-range, vegetarian, organic, ostensibly hand dipped in gold by deaf monks to the tune of $8.59!! For a dozen eggs!! I kept reading it and then read it aloud a couple of times. Then I proceeded to walk down the aisle, eggless, muttering to myself like a crazy person (or a person with a blue-tooth speaker implanted in their ear) about the cost of those eggs.

Later in the week my sweet sister-in-law Andrea took me out for a birthday lunch at Revival, a new restaurant on Shattuck where "Downtown" used to be. We sat down and the host asked us if we wanted water. We said yes. Then he asked if we'd like Pellegrino or ice water. We both responded "ice water." He congratulated us on our choice and said, "And don't worry, it is tap water but it is filtered." I was stunned for a moment, unsure what to say. Filtered water? In Berkeley? After nearly 6 weeks worrying about the kids not drinking the water by accident, about being oh so careful not to put tap water on our toothbrushes, about what to do when there was no water for drinking or washing or toilet flushing, filtering water in Berkeley, home of not only clean but actually delicious tap water, seemed too absurd to absorb.

Last of all, I went to my classroom to get my bearings. My room had been cleaned, the floor waxed to a high shine, and the furniture was in a bit of a jumble from being moved out and then in again. The room, my oh so familiar domain, had never looked so large, so light, so airy and full of all kinds of objects whose purposes seemed vague and beyond the beyond. I felt like I could never complain at work again, never feel like I'm without, and that I should let the usual stress of teaching roll off me in light of everything I've seen. We'll see how long this sensation lasts but my memories of all those classrooms with those dedicated kids and teachers working in the half-dark, sharpening stubby pencils with razor blades, giving everything they had for the chance of a better life are indelible.

Here's where this incredibly long entry, and indeed this blog ends. I thank everyone who muddled through and read them, enjoyed them, and asked such great questions. It gave me much needed perspective to write and think about writing as I experienced all that we did.

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Photos

prayer meeting
The children were dancing and singing for us.

goodbye ceremony
Here we are with Pastor Steven saying goodbye and thank you to the community.

Reavey's recommendation
Here's Reavey receiving her letter of recommendation and certificate of appreciation from Steven.

Aidan's recommendation
Aidan's turn to shake Steven's hand.

Maasai Mara camp
our lovely tent

the fire
Here's our fire pit and the view from the camp.

in the kitchen
Here are the two cooks who made dinner with me.

lion!
This is the first one we saw...what a thrill. You can see he has a hurt leg and is pretty old and scarred up.

Mama lion
Here is a mama lion and an 8 week old cub. As we pulled away we could see there were actually 2 more cubs hiding behind the mama.

Maribou stork
crazy isn't it?

wildebeests
There were thousands on thousands of wildebeests. Everywhere including the path of the car. They moved aside as we drove on.

one more lion
We weren't as close as it looks, don't worry.

Mara River
This lovely scene is Ruppel's vultures feasting on dead wildebeests. The river was littered with carcasses.

Maasai village
Reavey and Maasai women as we learned their dance and song of welcome.

Maasai village
Reavey between two houses - you can see their relative size.

Maasai market
Here we are with several people from the impromptu market they set up upon our arrival. The tall one is John, the village chief.

sunset
from our camp

Maasai dancers
Here is a shot of the men dancing for us at night.

not so much
Here we are the next morning trying to learn to jump. We were pathetic but we sure had fun.

Comments

[Cousin Jeanne]

Joy at your safe return
Dear Cousin, I am so glad you are all home and safe---but I am especially glad you had this wonderful adventure. I know your dad (and your dear mom) are so proud of you all. I did not realize you were collecting funds before you went. If you could direct me, I would like to make a contribution to some of these children. Please let me know how. Love, cousin Jeanne