Welcome to culture stress, the effect of living for a long time in a culture so different from the one that shaped you. I'm not talking about eating food I don't like, cultural differences go deep and being surrounded by people who live by a totally different set of rules to you can be really uncomfortable and really get you down. There are benefits and plenty of opportunities to grow but I'll come to those later, first I want to be grumpy for a while.
Cultural differences cause tension over things like how we put value on time or how we judge our own self-worth or position in society – by achievements or by status. There are several other areas of tension but I think the second is the one I'm struggling with at the moment.
When I meet someone new in Kenya, even just people I walk past in the street, in general all I am is a mzungu, I'm a white-skinned foreigner therefore I must be this, this and this, I must like this, dislike that and always do these things. Very rarely does anyone ask me questions to actually get to know me personally, they know it all already, and this ticks me off! I've learnt to see people as individuals, unique with their own style, talents, weaknesses, likes, dislikes, values and beliefs. I've been taught that putting stereotypes on people, making a pre-judgement is prejudice and even racist. This particular difference really makes me angry and really gets in the way of me building friendships with people. As soon as someone puts me in a box it really puts me off getting to know them! It shifts my focus onto selfishly trying to prove who I am and who I'm not rather than just getting to know and love this person who means no harm by their opinions of me, it is just the way they understand the world.
However, this tension has actually taught me some helpful things, in the UK, we reward achievements like good exam results, a good degree, working your way up the ladder. We especially respect people who have worked their way up from nothing because they must have worked especially hard. In Kenya, people are often respected more due to their status than what they have achieved. So a politician may achieve absolutely nothing, in fact he may rob the country of millions of shillings but in a meeting he would be treated with due respect according to his status. A pastor, a chief, an elder must be treated in a certain way. A visitor also should be treated in a certain way and with white skin I'm always seen as a visitor.
In Kenya, I find myself being treated a certain way not based on what I do. But I've been conditioned to want to work hard, to be seen to be achieving something and getting somewhere. I find it embarrassing to say I'm just a volunteer, just a glorified gap year kid really, I don't have a real job, I don't get paid, I don't stay up to all hours of the night stressing to get my work done. But in Kenya that doesn't matter and having friends who don't care about that has challenged me to consider why I feel that way. Through this I've learnt that I sometimes want to work hard to please others and even to please God and that's not right. That is not what He wants or what He requires, my worth is not found in my achievements or lack of. So, in this case culture stress has been a creative tension that has taught me good things.
Saturday 30 October 2010
Slums of Hope
I get to take several visitors to our projects in Kibera and it is always interesting to see the different reactions people have on their first visit to the slum. Some recent visitors were surprised to find busy and bustling main streets full of people moving about with a sense of purpose – somewhere to be, something to get done. They expected a more sombre atmosphere with a greater sense of despair. All out despair is not something I have come across often in Kibera.
John Githongo said 'dignity comes before development – and thats about relationships. Therefore you may find a situation where people seem poor, who are living under challenging circumstances, but they are comfortable in their own skin. And it is in that kind of context that development, in the traditional sense, happens most easily.'
I've heard of people separating slums of despair and slums of hope, the first is home to people who have nowhere else to go, they have run out of options and run out of hope, this is their lot in life and they don't expect anything better. Slums of hope host people with dreams, people putting up with their current situation but working towards something better. I see Kibera as a slum of hope. Though there are people in Kibera for whom day to day survival takes up all their energy and tomorrow will be dealt with when it gets here. But there are also lots of people in Kibera who have a plan up their sleeve and choosing Kibera was a strategic move. For many that dream is more for their children than themselves. I have met plenty of people in Kibera who say this is what I've got, this is who I am and this is what I'm trying to do. I think this is the context that Githongo is talking about.
Though Kibera is awash with organisations offering all sorts of services with varying impact and effectiveness, looking to the people themselves I think the future could be brighter than forecast.
John Githongo said 'dignity comes before development – and thats about relationships. Therefore you may find a situation where people seem poor, who are living under challenging circumstances, but they are comfortable in their own skin. And it is in that kind of context that development, in the traditional sense, happens most easily.'
I've heard of people separating slums of despair and slums of hope, the first is home to people who have nowhere else to go, they have run out of options and run out of hope, this is their lot in life and they don't expect anything better. Slums of hope host people with dreams, people putting up with their current situation but working towards something better. I see Kibera as a slum of hope. Though there are people in Kibera for whom day to day survival takes up all their energy and tomorrow will be dealt with when it gets here. But there are also lots of people in Kibera who have a plan up their sleeve and choosing Kibera was a strategic move. For many that dream is more for their children than themselves. I have met plenty of people in Kibera who say this is what I've got, this is who I am and this is what I'm trying to do. I think this is the context that Githongo is talking about.
Though Kibera is awash with organisations offering all sorts of services with varying impact and effectiveness, looking to the people themselves I think the future could be brighter than forecast.
Friday 15 October 2010
Word on the street
Before leaving for Canadia the Parsons left me a recorded message. A mission. To explore where we could open another TP centre in Kibera. Then the tape player blew up, knocked my cup of tea over and slightly singed the cat. Next time a piece of paper would do.
So since then Judy and I have been all over Kibera finding out the word on the street about what projects are already around and where are there lots of kids on the street or unable to attend school. It has been a really interesting process and we have met some cool and colourful people along the way.
For example Mary who has lived in Laini Saba (village in Kibera) for decades and made a mint selling changaa (illegal brew) now she owns a lot of property in the area, making money from the rent. What she doesn't know about Laini Saba is not worth knowing. She sat in a big old armchair and answered all our questions while her TV played Nigerian movies and her radio blasted Lingala music. I have no idea what she said but apparently it was helpful.
Kyalo and Hamisi from our Transition Class brought some of their friends who spend their days on the streets to answer some more questions for us. They were also from Laini Saba. The four kids gave lively accounts of stories from the streets. Kyalo couldn't stay in his seat, he had to act it all out. That day we learnt that criminals have different nicknames depending their particular flavour of crime: A Snatcher, snatches stuff from people: phones, handbags, handbags etc. A Poofer breaks into houses and gets away with whatever they can. A Hooker will grab you by the legs and shake you upside down until the money falls out your pockets! Or they just shoot you.
On the one hand we've learnt things about life in Kibera and on the streets which is really horrible but on the other hand we've met some awesome people doing some really innovative stuff to deal with the problems.
So since then Judy and I have been all over Kibera finding out the word on the street about what projects are already around and where are there lots of kids on the street or unable to attend school. It has been a really interesting process and we have met some cool and colourful people along the way.
For example Mary who has lived in Laini Saba (village in Kibera) for decades and made a mint selling changaa (illegal brew) now she owns a lot of property in the area, making money from the rent. What she doesn't know about Laini Saba is not worth knowing. She sat in a big old armchair and answered all our questions while her TV played Nigerian movies and her radio blasted Lingala music. I have no idea what she said but apparently it was helpful.
Kyalo and Hamisi from our Transition Class brought some of their friends who spend their days on the streets to answer some more questions for us. They were also from Laini Saba. The four kids gave lively accounts of stories from the streets. Kyalo couldn't stay in his seat, he had to act it all out. That day we learnt that criminals have different nicknames depending their particular flavour of crime: A Snatcher, snatches stuff from people: phones, handbags, handbags etc. A Poofer breaks into houses and gets away with whatever they can. A Hooker will grab you by the legs and shake you upside down until the money falls out your pockets! Or they just shoot you.
On the one hand we've learnt things about life in Kibera and on the streets which is really horrible but on the other hand we've met some awesome people doing some really innovative stuff to deal with the problems.
Tuesday 5 October 2010
city takes on country, country wins
I haven't blogged in a long time, though there has been lots going on I couldn't think what to write about. Blogger's block. Anyway I read these two poems ther other day and loved them so had to share them. They go nicely together, they are about this dual life that many Kenyans live with a life in the city but a rural home.
Every school holiday people pour out of Nairobi on buses and matatus heading for their upcountry, whichever direction it is. In the past, I've enjoyed the quiet roads of a not so bustling Nairobi at these times, but this year I got a chance to head upcountry too. Escaping city stress to quiet tree-covered hills is pretty sweet, welcomed by family with hot tea and warm hugs, basking on rocks in the sun, I started to understand a little why people love their upcountry homes and take any chance they get to go back. The first poem communicates the feeling better than I could. The second poem is not so nice, looking at someone making the first choice to move to the city, its sad but good, it has a fair bit of swahili in and I can't translate all of it but you get the gist! The poems are from www.kenyanpoet.blogspot.com
The return to home by joseph maina
From the noisy, polluted
City i
Hit the country road,
On a crowded old Toyota van,
Its dusty, rugged and bumpy.
Goats, chicken, ducks are
Also passengers,
I hang on to the vehicle frame
While my feet rest on a small
Metal bar
At outside and bottom of the
Vehicles door,
The friendliness of the people
Make me love to be home.
On the luggage I have,
My mother’s favorite kanga,
My father’s favorite cigarette,
My siblings’ favorite sweets
And balloons
And wheat flour for chapati
Their favorite dish
though a laborer in the city
I try to make them proud
Of their son.
The fresh air
The cool breeze
The friendliness of the people
The stories of my father
The adventure of my siblings
The caring of my mother and her meals
Their interest and eager in my city stories
The local brew
The village dance nights
The whistling of the birds
The bathing in rivers
The herding of cattle
The variety of food
Make me want to forget
City life.
All rights Reserved to the poet © joseph maina
........................................................................
Promize by Simon Mbuthia
My dear, mpenzi
Amka, wake up
For the time has come
Ni wakati wa kuondoka
I hope you’ll understand
Na watoto pia
Teach them to forgive
Their father
Waambie, tell them
That I had to go.
Tell them of my dreams
The places I’ve yearned for
Natumaini they’ll understand
And coax
Their little souls
Kunisamehe tafadhali.
Especially yule mtoto
The little inquisitive one
I know she’ll ask
Maswali chungu nzima
Tell her I’ve gone to the city
Kutafuta unga
And she shouldn’t be silly
Tell her machozi
Will not help anything
Nitamletea viatu vya ngozi.
Tell the children
Not to be fools
That waende shule
They should go to school
Not to follow the footsteps
Of their fugitive father
And tell them
When they make
Their imploring bed-side prayers
Wamuombee daddy
Wherever he is
In the atrocious world.
And don’t forget
To tell them this
Katika ndoto zao
To include me in their dreams
And hope always
That I’ll come one day
Siku moja nitarudi
To show them
My old grey beard.
My dear, mpenzi
Amka, wake up
And open the door
Before their rumbling stomachs
Like ngurumo za radi
Wakes them up and
They stretch their scrawny hands
And demand chakula
And torture my soul
Kuumiza roho yangu
With their empty gazes
Wake up fast
For it’s time to go
Ni wakati wa kuondoka.
All rights Reserved to the poet ©Simon Mbuthia
Every school holiday people pour out of Nairobi on buses and matatus heading for their upcountry, whichever direction it is. In the past, I've enjoyed the quiet roads of a not so bustling Nairobi at these times, but this year I got a chance to head upcountry too. Escaping city stress to quiet tree-covered hills is pretty sweet, welcomed by family with hot tea and warm hugs, basking on rocks in the sun, I started to understand a little why people love their upcountry homes and take any chance they get to go back. The first poem communicates the feeling better than I could. The second poem is not so nice, looking at someone making the first choice to move to the city, its sad but good, it has a fair bit of swahili in and I can't translate all of it but you get the gist! The poems are from www.kenyanpoet.blogspot.com
The return to home by joseph maina
From the noisy, polluted
City i
Hit the country road,
On a crowded old Toyota van,
Its dusty, rugged and bumpy.
Goats, chicken, ducks are
Also passengers,
I hang on to the vehicle frame
While my feet rest on a small
Metal bar
At outside and bottom of the
Vehicles door,
The friendliness of the people
Make me love to be home.
On the luggage I have,
My mother’s favorite kanga,
My father’s favorite cigarette,
My siblings’ favorite sweets
And balloons
And wheat flour for chapati
Their favorite dish
though a laborer in the city
I try to make them proud
Of their son.
The fresh air
The cool breeze
The friendliness of the people
The stories of my father
The adventure of my siblings
The caring of my mother and her meals
Their interest and eager in my city stories
The local brew
The village dance nights
The whistling of the birds
The bathing in rivers
The herding of cattle
The variety of food
Make me want to forget
City life.
All rights Reserved to the poet © joseph maina
........................................................................
Promize by Simon Mbuthia
My dear, mpenzi
Amka, wake up
For the time has come
Ni wakati wa kuondoka
I hope you’ll understand
Na watoto pia
Teach them to forgive
Their father
Waambie, tell them
That I had to go.
Tell them of my dreams
The places I’ve yearned for
Natumaini they’ll understand
And coax
Their little souls
Kunisamehe tafadhali.
Especially yule mtoto
The little inquisitive one
I know she’ll ask
Maswali chungu nzima
Tell her I’ve gone to the city
Kutafuta unga
And she shouldn’t be silly
Tell her machozi
Will not help anything
Nitamletea viatu vya ngozi.
Tell the children
Not to be fools
That waende shule
They should go to school
Not to follow the footsteps
Of their fugitive father
And tell them
When they make
Their imploring bed-side prayers
Wamuombee daddy
Wherever he is
In the atrocious world.
And don’t forget
To tell them this
Katika ndoto zao
To include me in their dreams
And hope always
That I’ll come one day
Siku moja nitarudi
To show them
My old grey beard.
My dear, mpenzi
Amka, wake up
And open the door
Before their rumbling stomachs
Like ngurumo za radi
Wakes them up and
They stretch their scrawny hands
And demand chakula
And torture my soul
Kuumiza roho yangu
With their empty gazes
Wake up fast
For it’s time to go
Ni wakati wa kuondoka.
All rights Reserved to the poet ©Simon Mbuthia
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