…is actually kind of bizarre to me. Twice Peter has been pulled over while driving us since a carful of mzungus (according to a police officer himself) can afford to pay a fine. They usually ask for a small bribe, like 50 or a100 shillings.
But Sunday in Mombasa a cop pulled us over.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“We’re going to the city,” Rajiv said. “And we are in a hurry. What is the problem?”
“I have no problem with you,” said the cop. “No problem with any of you, my problem is with the driver.”
“What did Peter do?” I asked.
“Oh, he knows what he has done.”
Then the cop made Rajiv get out of the front seat and squeeze into the back with the other three of us (and we were already too crowded) and he sat in the front.
“I need your driver to take me to the police station,” he said. “Only for one minute.”
“We’re in a hurry,” Rajiv said again, “Can’t we take care of the problem here?”
”Oh no,” he said, “Take me to the station.”
Then he and Peter talked in Swhili (while Travis recorded it on his small camera) and Peter would laugh occasionally, but it sounded forced… like he was told to laugh.
The cop turned and said “Where are you from?”
“America,” aid Rajiv.
“OBAMA!” The cop yelled. “I am Obama.”
“Your name is Obama?” I asked.
“No, my name is Michael, but I am from the same tribe as Obama,” said the cop.
“What is your tribe name?” Leah asked (like a last name) and Michael told us and we recorded it for future use.
The cop spoke to Peter again in Swahili and then asked us, “So you are students, not tourists?”
“No,” said Rajiv. “We are students and we are volunteers in Kilifi for Komaza. You know Komaza?”
“Yes,” said the cop. “I am from Kilifi and Peter and I are old friends.”
The cop saw the camera. “NO PICTURES!” He yelled and tried to take the camera.
Travis held it out of his reach. “I didn’t take your picture.”
“Give it to me,” the cop said. “Do not take my picture. Did you take my picture?!”
“No,” said Travis. But then the cop was distracted and we quickly towed the camera out of sight.
When we got to the station the cop got out and went inside with Peter. Rajiv followed and returned a minute later to say the cop wanted a 500 shilling bribe or he would arrest Peter.
Leah paid it, because mzungus can afford to, but Peter could not have afforded it.
Peter told us later that the cop had never lived in Kilifi and did not know Peter. He had told Peter that he pulled us over because we were a car of rich white mzungus and he asked for so high a bribe because he could not be sure to see us again.
The mutatus (buses) are usually fined 50 or 100 shillings, but the cops ask for so little because they see them so often and can get a 100 shilling bribe every day.
The cop told Peter he needed us to take him to the Police Station because the other cops could back him up, but outside in the city someone could take his picture (haha!) or the “Corruption Police” could see him.
Apparently the Corruption Police are always trying to find corrupted police officers and arrest them.
I wasn’t actually totally clear on that.
Anyway, I live in Gotham City.
Batman Out.
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
Keeping the Sabbath Day Holy
is not our strong suit in Africa.
But, family, before you become upset please know that if we hadn’t gone shopping all day yesterday then you would not get any of the sweet presents that we’re bringing home to you.
Think about that when you receive them.
Or don’t. That might make you appreciate them less.
Anyway, our schedule yesterday was this:
In the morning we got up bright and early and put on some Sunday-type clothes. (We seriously looked like homeless people compared to the Kenyans in their white shirts and ties.)
And we drove the hour and a half to Mombassa to go to church. We were joined by three friends who left with Books of Mormon (of course). The Mombasa LDS branch was wonderful. It was comprised mainly by relatively newly-converted Africans and like three white people from Utah.
The talks were very sweet and powerful, and everyone excitedly asked us, “Will you be here next week? Are you here to stay?”
It was disappointing to say no. I like those small tight-knit groups of Mormons. It’s more like what I’m used to.
Afterwards we went to lunch and then out for some mmmmm! authentic and delicious Italian Gelati. It was JUST the thing in all that heat. I got strawberry and coconut and it tasted so fruity and sweet.
We spent a few hours after that exploring Mombasa, since it was our only chance (tomorrow is our last day in Kenya! WHAT?!) and bought some really cool things for our family, and (need I say it?) ourselves. I am the best at talking people down from the high prices they ask of us, if I do say so myself.
The trick, as our friend Rajiv so nicely put it: “Do not want the things you are trying to buy.”
Most conversations go like this:
Me: What is the price of this necklace?
Kenyan: 1,500 shillings. (that’s almost 20 US dollars!)
Me: Oh. [put the necklace back]
Kenyan: You do not want it?
Me: No, it costs too much.
Kenyan: It is Sunday, so I give it to you for 1,200 shillings.
Me: No, I can’t pay so much. I can only pay 500.
Kenyan: No, no! 800.
Me: Two for 800?
Kenyan: No, no. One for 800.
Me: That’s okay. I will not buy it. I will look elsewhere.
Kenyan: No, no. 500 shillings.
SCORE!
But 500 shillings for a necklace is still absurd. People were literally giving things away to Peter, saying “Thank you for bringing me customers, rafiki.”
When he asked the price for a necklace like the one I had to fight for they said 300 shillings and he could then fight them down to 200.
That’s less than three times what I paid.
I’m sick of the mzungu-price. Peter often explains (in Swahili) “These are my friends, they are not rich tourists, they are students. They are making a movie for Komaza.” He’s really the best bargainer we have. He can often get them to accept the “Local price,” reserved for Kenyans only.
After a long hot day of haggling (all while wearing clothes, despite my awful sunburn) I got very sick driving home. I went straight to bed, at about 5:30, but had to get up to babysit soon after.
Travis was recording a demo CD for another of our Kenyan drivers, Osito. His whole band was there, including a couple with two small girls. Beatrice, 5 and Abigail whom Beatrice said was 3, but whom I suspect was only 1 or 2.
At first they were very shy and Abigail would cry whenever I or another mzungu looked at or spoke to her. Neither of them spoke English. I haltingly told them my name, and asked theirs. And soon we were playing like with any 5 year-old.
I would chase Beatrice and tickle her and then let her escape and she would laugh and squeal. Then I turned on some music and we danced until I nearly collapsed from exhaustion. (she loved Abba and Beyonce) She sat me down and sang to me in Swahili. She would raise her arms above her head and close her eyes dramatically. Then open them and march and dance around the room singing. It was so much like my own 5 year-old sister Kathryn.
It’s easy to think that I’m different from the Kenyans, but when we play with the kids its SO clear that they’re all just kids, even if they grew up in a mud hut. The kids here are the same as the kids anywhere.
Beatrice also LOVED ice and we had a freezer full. I got myself a cup of ice water and plunked a cube into her glass and after that she was hooked. She pulled out an entire tray of half-frozen ice and (with a spoon) quickly ate every piece.
After that, she would walk sneakily to the freezer every few minutes and pull open the freezer. If I didn’t come help her get a piece of ice she would spend a few minutes touching every cube, trying to pry it out.
I showed her we could take her picture and she was quick to figure out how to use photobooth on my laptop. (Amazing, right? It was like nothing she’d ever seen, but even she totally understood it. Kids blow my mind.)
Later Eve joined us. She is a Kenyan and good friend of Osito’s, but she works for the Government and has very good English and a WAY nicer car than any of our American friends. She stuck a DVD of gospel music videos into my computer and it was hilarious to see Beatrice and Abigail’s reactions. They both knew every single line in every song and stared at the computer screen, singing along and dancing.
They could not be distracted.
It was great. After a while our other roommates came home and our friend Leah came over and we all talked and played. Leah brought some warm, freshly made banana bread and it was delicious! I may or may not have eaten half of it myself.
The Kenyan girls didn’t like it very much, but they were more than happy to eat a bowlful of the spaghetti noodles and lentils that we had for dinner.
And by the end of the evening, Abigail still didn’t want me to hold her, but she happily held my hand when we went to find her Mama after the recording and waved saying “Bye, Bye, Bye!” when they left.
All in all, I was exhausted when I went to bed…
but happy.
It was definitely our best weekend in a long time.
But, family, before you become upset please know that if we hadn’t gone shopping all day yesterday then you would not get any of the sweet presents that we’re bringing home to you.
Think about that when you receive them.
Or don’t. That might make you appreciate them less.
Anyway, our schedule yesterday was this:
In the morning we got up bright and early and put on some Sunday-type clothes. (We seriously looked like homeless people compared to the Kenyans in their white shirts and ties.)
And we drove the hour and a half to Mombassa to go to church. We were joined by three friends who left with Books of Mormon (of course). The Mombasa LDS branch was wonderful. It was comprised mainly by relatively newly-converted Africans and like three white people from Utah.
The talks were very sweet and powerful, and everyone excitedly asked us, “Will you be here next week? Are you here to stay?”
It was disappointing to say no. I like those small tight-knit groups of Mormons. It’s more like what I’m used to.
Afterwards we went to lunch and then out for some mmmmm! authentic and delicious Italian Gelati. It was JUST the thing in all that heat. I got strawberry and coconut and it tasted so fruity and sweet.
We spent a few hours after that exploring Mombasa, since it was our only chance (tomorrow is our last day in Kenya! WHAT?!) and bought some really cool things for our family, and (need I say it?) ourselves. I am the best at talking people down from the high prices they ask of us, if I do say so myself.
The trick, as our friend Rajiv so nicely put it: “Do not want the things you are trying to buy.”
Most conversations go like this:
Me: What is the price of this necklace?
Kenyan: 1,500 shillings. (that’s almost 20 US dollars!)
Me: Oh. [put the necklace back]
Kenyan: You do not want it?
Me: No, it costs too much.
Kenyan: It is Sunday, so I give it to you for 1,200 shillings.
Me: No, I can’t pay so much. I can only pay 500.
Kenyan: No, no! 800.
Me: Two for 800?
Kenyan: No, no. One for 800.
Me: That’s okay. I will not buy it. I will look elsewhere.
Kenyan: No, no. 500 shillings.
SCORE!
But 500 shillings for a necklace is still absurd. People were literally giving things away to Peter, saying “Thank you for bringing me customers, rafiki.”
When he asked the price for a necklace like the one I had to fight for they said 300 shillings and he could then fight them down to 200.
That’s less than three times what I paid.
I’m sick of the mzungu-price. Peter often explains (in Swahili) “These are my friends, they are not rich tourists, they are students. They are making a movie for Komaza.” He’s really the best bargainer we have. He can often get them to accept the “Local price,” reserved for Kenyans only.
After a long hot day of haggling (all while wearing clothes, despite my awful sunburn) I got very sick driving home. I went straight to bed, at about 5:30, but had to get up to babysit soon after.
Travis was recording a demo CD for another of our Kenyan drivers, Osito. His whole band was there, including a couple with two small girls. Beatrice, 5 and Abigail whom Beatrice said was 3, but whom I suspect was only 1 or 2.
At first they were very shy and Abigail would cry whenever I or another mzungu looked at or spoke to her. Neither of them spoke English. I haltingly told them my name, and asked theirs. And soon we were playing like with any 5 year-old.
I would chase Beatrice and tickle her and then let her escape and she would laugh and squeal. Then I turned on some music and we danced until I nearly collapsed from exhaustion. (she loved Abba and Beyonce) She sat me down and sang to me in Swahili. She would raise her arms above her head and close her eyes dramatically. Then open them and march and dance around the room singing. It was so much like my own 5 year-old sister Kathryn.
It’s easy to think that I’m different from the Kenyans, but when we play with the kids its SO clear that they’re all just kids, even if they grew up in a mud hut. The kids here are the same as the kids anywhere.
Beatrice also LOVED ice and we had a freezer full. I got myself a cup of ice water and plunked a cube into her glass and after that she was hooked. She pulled out an entire tray of half-frozen ice and (with a spoon) quickly ate every piece.
After that, she would walk sneakily to the freezer every few minutes and pull open the freezer. If I didn’t come help her get a piece of ice she would spend a few minutes touching every cube, trying to pry it out.
I showed her we could take her picture and she was quick to figure out how to use photobooth on my laptop. (Amazing, right? It was like nothing she’d ever seen, but even she totally understood it. Kids blow my mind.)
Later Eve joined us. She is a Kenyan and good friend of Osito’s, but she works for the Government and has very good English and a WAY nicer car than any of our American friends. She stuck a DVD of gospel music videos into my computer and it was hilarious to see Beatrice and Abigail’s reactions. They both knew every single line in every song and stared at the computer screen, singing along and dancing.
They could not be distracted.
It was great. After a while our other roommates came home and our friend Leah came over and we all talked and played. Leah brought some warm, freshly made banana bread and it was delicious! I may or may not have eaten half of it myself.
The Kenyan girls didn’t like it very much, but they were more than happy to eat a bowlful of the spaghetti noodles and lentils that we had for dinner.
And by the end of the evening, Abigail still didn’t want me to hold her, but she happily held my hand when we went to find her Mama after the recording and waved saying “Bye, Bye, Bye!” when they left.
All in all, I was exhausted when I went to bed…
but happy.
It was definitely our best weekend in a long time.
Friday, June 11, 2010
African Boy Travis
If Travis were littler and browner it would be easy to mistake him for a little African boy. He spends a great deal of time barefooted, running around, and playing football (you know... soccer).All this might not convince you, if he wasn't also almost always surrounded by a dozen or more children.
They LOVE him.
The picture above was taken by Matt, another Komaza employee, at a school we were filming at. Travis spent almost the whole time filming the kids, and then replaying the footage for them to see.
And, exactly like the American children who we know love to see themselves on film, these kids couldn't get enough of it.
Remember this picture from Trav's blog? He would run, and they would follow.
Then, of course, they wanted to watch themselves running.
He's reading over my shoulder and I'm going to make him leave so I can talk more about him.
Good, now it's just us... you and me, blog world.
I am reminded every day how absolutely crazy madly in love with Travis I am. He is so good and patient and kind, and smart, and unbelievably hard working. (I notice that the most in Africa. Take a break! I actually have to beg him to stop overworking himself.)
Our driver Peter has noted many, many times to how humble Travis is. "You are not like other Americans," Peter said.
"They are so rich and prideful and they think they can have whatever they want here. They use harsh and vulgar language, but your husband is so humble. He is a real Christian man, always trying to do so much good to everyone he meets."
Everyday that we go out into the field to work Peter drives us and he always says, "Please do not work so hard as yesterday. You will be too tired. You are overworking."
And when I give up and sit in the car to rest he says, "You are a lucky woman, he will always take care of you. He works so hard. As long as he has time for you, and not just work, you will always be happy."
And let me assure you, Travis has time for me. He makes time for me. He is so unbelievably good to me.
The people here at Komaza are all Americans, most older than me, close to Trav's age. For the most part I think they don't want to be married, at least for a long time.
And I think, You fools.
Being married is awesome. You have someone to take care of you, and for you to take care of. You have someone to love for the rest of forever. You have someone to go with you when you go on an adventure into Africa so you aren't alone.
And when you shimmy down under the sheets and say you cannot fall asleep for fear of the devil's evil monster mosquitoes which you hate (grrrr!) you can have a husband who will cover you and the bed in bug spray and then carefully pin every hole in the netting close and then kill all the mosquitoes who come near you.
Even though its a pain.
And even though you now taste disgusting to kiss, because of the bug spray, he'll probably still kiss you goodnight.
And then he'll let you sleep by the fan.
And he'll let you sleep on his half of the bed, snuggled up despite the heat.
And he'll let you sleep in and then get up and make you breakfast in bed.
And because its meager, he'll probably sprinkle sugar ON your peanut butter toast.
Which is divine and unhealthy.
But let me restate: It is only great to have a husband if he is amazingly fantastic and perfect.
Which Travis is.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
We're still alive!
But our internet is rarely alive.
We have to come in to the office to use the internet (which sometimes doesn't work) because the internet at our house is out, perhaps eternally.
And it's hard for us to come in to the office since most days we get up early and go out filming in towns an hour or two away.
Two nights ago (Tuesday night) we drove out to Ganze (remember the town with the bumpy road to it?) and we spent the night at a farmer's house. They didn't have running water, electricity, much food, and they didn't speak English.
But it all turned out okay.
It was very beautiful nonetheless. Look at Trav's blog for photos.
They're swweeeet!
It'll blow your mind.
Love you,
Kadzo
Click on this, and all the pictures on Trav's blog.
We have to come in to the office to use the internet (which sometimes doesn't work) because the internet at our house is out, perhaps eternally.
And it's hard for us to come in to the office since most days we get up early and go out filming in towns an hour or two away.
Two nights ago (Tuesday night) we drove out to Ganze (remember the town with the bumpy road to it?) and we spent the night at a farmer's house. They didn't have running water, electricity, much food, and they didn't speak English.
But it all turned out okay.
It was very beautiful nonetheless. Look at Trav's blog for photos.
They're swweeeet!
It'll blow your mind.
Love you,
Kadzo
Click on this, and all the pictures on Trav's blog.Kadzo
Monday was a good day.
Sadly, most of the Komaza people hang out in their own houses and offices or sometimes go to the farms, but otherwise see little of the Kenyan people.
Two of our friends here, called Rajiv and Leah spend a lot of time with the Kenyans that live across the street from one of the Komaza houses. In a semi-circle of mud huts is a group of women and children (and sometimes –rarely—men) usually just sitting, cooking and talking.
When we walk by the children wave and yell Picha! Picha! (Swahili for Photograph). Among them are the kids I posted pictures of earlier. They love the camera and Travis and I would take turns taking their picture and then showing it to them. After Travis showed them he could record video they went CRAZY.
They were running, cartwheeling, jumping, dancing, singing and then running back to see what we’d filmed. They would laugh until they cried.
We brought some dinner over to the huts today and ate with Leah (who they call Leann) and Raj (who they call Safari) and two of the women from the huts.
We had lentils and stewed greens and this cream-of-wheat like corn mush.
It was actually quite good.
They speak as much English as I speak Swahili and our friends only spoke broken Swahili, so it was quite the experience.
Afterwards they asked us to their Shamba (a small personal farm) and a large group of Kenyans gathered to laugh and watch as the Mzungus tried to weed with the hoe they gave us.
We worked with them for about an hour, but we weren’t really “working” the whole time. We played with the kids (who often spoke bett
I learned all of the kids names, but have forgotten a few already (I’m sure I spelled them wrong):
Safari
Mapensee
Monika
Amani
Elvis
Riziki
Calvin
Sangalee
Sareef
Hamasi
Salema
Zambo
I don’t remember the rest.
They tried to learn our names and I constantly asked, Do you remember who I am?
They would all think very hard for a minute and then one would yell PICK! Someone else would say Picky! Then they would say Pick, Pick, Picky!
Beeecky, I would say.
Baaaach? They would repeat confused.
Ndyo!
Bick? Pick! Picky!
They can say and remember Travis, but when I pass they yell Jambo Pick!
I said to Calvin (he is 11 and has the best English) Do you call me Mzungu?
He said, oh no! we call you your name, Pick. Jambo Pick!
Everyone laughed and they yelled Jambo, Jambo Pick!
The women cannot say Becky either, or Rebeccah. So they gave me a Swahili name, it is Kadzo, the name of one of the women there.
They say they will give Travis his Swahili name tomorrow, too. They haven’t decided on one yet.
My name means Beauty, but they also told me that sometimes people just have names like Beauty, but they are not Beautiful.
I wonder if they were trying to tell me it is only a name, and it doesn’t mean they think I am beautiful. Haha, I don’t know.
Sadly, most of the Komaza people hang out in their own houses and offices or sometimes go to the farms, but otherwise see little of the Kenyan people.
Two of our friends here, called Rajiv and Leah spend a lot of time with the Kenyans that live across the street from one of the Komaza houses. In a semi-circle of mud huts is a group of women and children (and sometimes –rarely—men) usually just sitting, cooking and talking.
When we walk by the children wave and yell Picha! Picha! (Swahili for Photograph). Among them are the kids I posted pictures of earlier. They love the camera and Travis and I would take turns taking their picture and then showing it to them. After Travis showed them he could record video they went CRAZY.
They were running, cartwheeling, jumping, dancing, singing and then running back to see what we’d filmed. They would laugh until they cried.
We brought some dinner over to the huts today and ate with Leah (who they call Leann) and Raj (who they call Safari) and two of the women from the huts.
We had lentils and stewed greens and this cream-of-wheat like corn mush.
It was actually quite good.
They speak as much English as I speak Swahili and our friends only spoke broken Swahili, so it was quite the experience.
Afterwards they asked us to their Shamba (a small personal farm) and a large group of Kenyans gathered to laugh and watch as the Mzungus tried to weed with the hoe they gave us.
We worked with them for about an hour, but we weren’t really “working” the whole time. We played with the kids (who often spoke bett
I learned all of the kids names, but have forgotten a few already (I’m sure I spelled them wrong):
Safari
Mapensee
Monika
Amani
Elvis
Riziki
Calvin
Sangalee
Sareef
Hamasi
Salema
Zambo
I don’t remember the rest.
They tried to learn our names and I constantly asked, Do you remember who I am?
They would all think very hard for a minute and then one would yell PICK! Someone else would say Picky! Then they would say Pick, Pick, Picky!
Beeecky, I would say.
Baaaach? They would repeat confused.
Ndyo!
Bick? Pick! Picky!
They can say and remember Travis, but when I pass they yell Jambo Pick!
I said to Calvin (he is 11 and has the best English) Do you call me Mzungu?
He said, oh no! we call you your name, Pick. Jambo Pick!
Everyone laughed and they yelled Jambo, Jambo Pick!
The women cannot say Becky either, or Rebeccah. So they gave me a Swahili name, it is Kadzo, the name of one of the women there.
They say they will give Travis his Swahili name tomorrow, too. They haven’t decided on one yet.
My name means Beauty, but they also told me that sometimes people just have names like Beauty, but they are not Beautiful.
I wonder if they were trying to tell me it is only a name, and it doesn’t mean they think I am beautiful. Haha, I don’t know.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Larger than Life
Everything is bigger in Texas.
But Kenya is bigger than Texas, so things here are bigger than things in Texas.
Today I bought two mangoes for 20 shillings each (like 30cents) and they're the size of three or four good-sized mangoes found in America.
They're like the sized of a small child's head.
The sun is definitely bigger and man! it can take it out of you. It just presses down all day. No wonder the African people have such dark skin. Put a sad little white girl out here and she looks like a piece of over-cooked bacon.
Travis made up a name for the shirt that it looks like I'm wearing when I'm naked. But I'm not allowed to tell you it.
I've said too much already.
The snakes are bigger in Kenya. At least, bigger than the snakes in Minnesota which are little and harmless. But Green Mambas are not harmless, nor are they a delicious candy treat. They're a common threat that I am now terrified of. I walk heavily and slowly on grass paths so that maybe I'll squash one if I accidentally step on it.
The monkeys here are bigger than the monkeys in the USA. (Non-existent) and they have have huge bright blue balls, which I find to be a very funny thing. I have seen them now. Maybe a dozen. I love them and want them to live with me, but I also fear that they are deceptively adorable and maybe actually are super mean and evil.
The bugs are bigger and the bug-bites more frequent. At least for me. NO ONE else that I talk to has had any bug trouble. I have about forty bug bites and YES I wear bug spray constantly. I get up in the middle of the night in a paranoid mosquito night terror and put more bug spray on, even though I'm in netting.
In fact, I've had a really hard time sleeping and wake up every few hours convinced that mosquitoes are all over me and they I lie there itching myself until I fall into fitful mosquito dreams.
The trees are bigger in Kenya. They are the size of jumbo 12 man tents. Like... maybe a dozen jumbo 12 man tents piled on top of each other.
That's the best comparison I can think of.
Hey family, I wish you were online right now. Why don't you get up in the wee hours of the night?
But Kenya is bigger than Texas, so things here are bigger than things in Texas.
Today I bought two mangoes for 20 shillings each (like 30cents) and they're the size of three or four good-sized mangoes found in America.
They're like the sized of a small child's head.
The sun is definitely bigger and man! it can take it out of you. It just presses down all day. No wonder the African people have such dark skin. Put a sad little white girl out here and she looks like a piece of over-cooked bacon.
Travis made up a name for the shirt that it looks like I'm wearing when I'm naked. But I'm not allowed to tell you it.
I've said too much already.
The snakes are bigger in Kenya. At least, bigger than the snakes in Minnesota which are little and harmless. But Green Mambas are not harmless, nor are they a delicious candy treat. They're a common threat that I am now terrified of. I walk heavily and slowly on grass paths so that maybe I'll squash one if I accidentally step on it.
The monkeys here are bigger than the monkeys in the USA. (Non-existent) and they have have huge bright blue balls, which I find to be a very funny thing. I have seen them now. Maybe a dozen. I love them and want them to live with me, but I also fear that they are deceptively adorable and maybe actually are super mean and evil.
The bugs are bigger and the bug-bites more frequent. At least for me. NO ONE else that I talk to has had any bug trouble. I have about forty bug bites and YES I wear bug spray constantly. I get up in the middle of the night in a paranoid mosquito night terror and put more bug spray on, even though I'm in netting.
In fact, I've had a really hard time sleeping and wake up every few hours convinced that mosquitoes are all over me and they I lie there itching myself until I fall into fitful mosquito dreams.
The trees are bigger in Kenya. They are the size of jumbo 12 man tents. Like... maybe a dozen jumbo 12 man tents piled on top of each other.
That's the best comparison I can think of.
Hey family, I wish you were online right now. Why don't you get up in the wee hours of the night?
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Ganze, Kenya
Yesterday our car broke down.
Or rather, the car we were riding in broke down. In order to reach Ganze, a small town an hour away from where we live, where many Komaza farmers live, we had to hire a car to take us. It was a 1980s BMW.
It broke down twice on the way there, but was easily fixed. The front right tire went flat, but after a half hour was changed. And on the way home, in the dark, it broke down for real.
We were stranded for a short time in the absolute middle of nowhere with all of our several hundred pounds of equipment and absolutely nothing else but sunscreen and empty water bottles.
Our driver Peter called a mechanic and a half hour later he arrived on a motorcycle. After fifteen minutes and a bit of Travis’s Gaffing Tape, the problem had been solved and we headed home.
The problem: the bumpy dirt road had bounced the car to the extent that multiple wires had come out in the engine. Once taped back in, we were good to go.
The road was that bumpy. It was so bumpy that I usually felt like my teeth were chattering, but sometimes felt like my jaw and spine were broken and just swinging and bouncing freely.
Technically in Kenya you drive on the left side of the road, but I think they just drive wherever it looks least bumpy. Sometime we were literally driving with two tires in the ditch, two feet down from the road. There were children walking to and from school during most of the day (morning-to school, lunchtime- to and then from, evening from school) and when they saw cars come by they would scream and run off the road.
Yes, I think drivers really are that bad.
After they were safely up the mound on the other side of the ditch they would stare after us wide-eyed, until we waved. Then they would wave and shout “Jambo Mzungu!” or sometimes “Sweets? Sweets?” We passed one girl, probably 8 or 9, who turned just in time to see us. I waved and she sighed “Ah, Muzungu.” It sounded the way one might sigh over a favorite pet. “Oh, Mittens, did you chase that bird again today? You mischievous cat.” Sigh…
In town, I was browsing at an outdoor market and a little girl came to stand by me. She was probably three. She smiled up at me and whispered “Jambo.” then followed me around the shop. Sometimes she would pull on my skirt and I would look down and she would jump or twirl. I would applaud politely and she would blush and look away. She would play quietly with things I was looking at, then set them down and follow me around.
She was so sweet that I wanted to pick her up and hug her, but I figured that would be bad. Especially since her mother was sitting nearby and constantly calling her back.
Occasionally the little girl would turn and shake her head at her mother, or try to wave her away. But I think the woman enjoyed watching her show off for me as much as I did.
It was a real pity Travis had my camera at the time.
You all could have seen her sweet face.
Or rather, the car we were riding in broke down. In order to reach Ganze, a small town an hour away from where we live, where many Komaza farmers live, we had to hire a car to take us. It was a 1980s BMW.
It broke down twice on the way there, but was easily fixed. The front right tire went flat, but after a half hour was changed. And on the way home, in the dark, it broke down for real.
We were stranded for a short time in the absolute middle of nowhere with all of our several hundred pounds of equipment and absolutely nothing else but sunscreen and empty water bottles.
Our driver Peter called a mechanic and a half hour later he arrived on a motorcycle. After fifteen minutes and a bit of Travis’s Gaffing Tape, the problem had been solved and we headed home.
The problem: the bumpy dirt road had bounced the car to the extent that multiple wires had come out in the engine. Once taped back in, we were good to go.
The road was that bumpy. It was so bumpy that I usually felt like my teeth were chattering, but sometimes felt like my jaw and spine were broken and just swinging and bouncing freely.
Technically in Kenya you drive on the left side of the road, but I think they just drive wherever it looks least bumpy. Sometime we were literally driving with two tires in the ditch, two feet down from the road. There were children walking to and from school during most of the day (morning-to school, lunchtime- to and then from, evening from school) and when they saw cars come by they would scream and run off the road.
Yes, I think drivers really are that bad.
After they were safely up the mound on the other side of the ditch they would stare after us wide-eyed, until we waved. Then they would wave and shout “Jambo Mzungu!” or sometimes “Sweets? Sweets?” We passed one girl, probably 8 or 9, who turned just in time to see us. I waved and she sighed “Ah, Muzungu.” It sounded the way one might sigh over a favorite pet. “Oh, Mittens, did you chase that bird again today? You mischievous cat.” Sigh…
In town, I was browsing at an outdoor market and a little girl came to stand by me. She was probably three. She smiled up at me and whispered “Jambo.” then followed me around the shop. Sometimes she would pull on my skirt and I would look down and she would jump or twirl. I would applaud politely and she would blush and look away. She would play quietly with things I was looking at, then set them down and follow me around.
She was so sweet that I wanted to pick her up and hug her, but I figured that would be bad. Especially since her mother was sitting nearby and constantly calling her back.
Occasionally the little girl would turn and shake her head at her mother, or try to wave her away. But I think the woman enjoyed watching her show off for me as much as I did.
It was a real pity Travis had my camera at the time.
You all could have seen her sweet face.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Really Good Internet
I have a few minutes (at least) of really good internet and I'm trying to use it to upload some pictures.
These are the children who live down the street (path, really) from Komaza's offices. We passed with the camera and they shouted, Picture! Picture!
We took several pictures and a few videos, too. They all turned out beautiful. Their mother asked, "When will you bring these back for me?"
We're not supposed to give out sweets, but I think printing out these pictures will be fine. Most of the people here do not have pictures of themselves of their children.
Their parents asked us, "Are you brothers?" I think (I hope) they just meant siblings.
"We're married," we said. They didn't understand. "Married, husband and wife."
We pointed at our rings and they laughed and laughed.
They laughed for five minutes.
I don't totally understand why.
These are the children who live down the street (path, really) from Komaza's offices. We passed with the camera and they shouted, Picture! Picture!
We took several pictures and a few videos, too. They all turned out beautiful. Their mother asked, "When will you bring these back for me?"
We're not supposed to give out sweets, but I think printing out these pictures will be fine. Most of the people here do not have pictures of themselves of their children.
Their parents asked us, "Are you brothers?" I think (I hope) they just meant siblings.
"We're married," we said. They didn't understand. "Married, husband and wife."
We pointed at our rings and they laughed and laughed.
They laughed for five minutes.
I don't totally understand why.
Asante Sanna Squash Banana
I think children in America know more Swahili than might be assumed.
Simba means Lion
Rafiki means Friend
Safari means trip or journey
Hakuna means No. As in No Worries. You know, Hakuna Matata.
Matata is problem or worry.
Jambo! is a greeting. But I’ve learned Jambo is more like an enthusiastic British “Alright?” than “Hello.”
The correct response to Jambo is Jambo.
Like alright?
Alright!
Sometimes they respond to Jambo with Jambo, Jambo!
It is very rude not to greet people when you pass. And we wave to everyone, and everyone here enthusiastically waves back. “Jambo Mzungu! Jambo!”
Yesterday I had a conversation with our Kenyan driver like this:
Peter: Your skin is already changing after only one day
Me: Yes, I always get darker in the sun. Does your skin change or does it stay the same all year?
Peter: Our skin maintains its color, but when we go to America we become whiter. I do not know why, but look at your president. If he came to Kenya he would get very dark, I think.
Me: Like a real African.
Peter: Yes. A real African man.
Me: What do you think of our president? I saw his picture painted on a bus.
Peter: We are all so very proud here in Kenya. We all love him.
Me: What do YOU think of him though?
Peter: I am very proud, yes. Not only that he is your president, but also that he is so very bright.
Later, Peter took me to buy a Kanga, a women’s skirt, and he asked the man working there something in Swahili.
“Yes, I thought so,” he said, and gave me a sneaky smile. He followed the Market man to the back, where he pulled out a long skirt. It was beautiful green and grey with a map of Africa on it. He unfolded it and there was a large picture of Obama’s face.
I absolutely bought that skirt. Though I told Peter later, it would be strange to wear in America.
“ Like wearing a Kabaki Kanga” said Matt, and Peter laughed and laughed. Kibaki is the Kenyan president. Actually, often when I introduce myself people think I am saying Kibaki. They all laugh and repeat, “Kibaki! Kibaki!”
Finally Matt told them, Becky is kidogo (small, or little) for Rebeccah. That made much more sense to them, since most people here have Biblical or Swaheli names.
After I bought my Kanga, I tried to tie it on, since it is essentially a large cloth that they wrap into a skirt. When we got to one of Komaza’s farms, where we were filming, there was a large group of women. They didn’t speak English, but they laughed when they saw my Kanga.
“Can you help me?” I asked, pointing to it.
They all covered their mouths and whispered and giggled, and finally one brave girl came over and wrapped it for me. “Asante Sanna,” I said and they laughed and clapped. Peter said, “They are saying you are very bright!”
Travis had walked away and I rushed to catch up with him. I stumbled and tripped in my skirt. All the women laughed and waved.
I walked down into the farm, constantly stumbling and retying my kanga. When I came back up the hill, men had also gathered and they laughed and cheered while the women whispered behind their hands and giggled.
Peter said, “The men say you look very smart!” I assume they meant that the British way, smart like attractive. It was very flattering.
The people here are unbelievably nice. In the city people were constantly helping us and staring at us and asking for money. But here in Kilifi they just want to say hello. They respond excitedly when you try to speak in their language. (All I can say is Hello, How are you? I am well. and a few basic other things like Thank you, My name is, and goodbye.) They cheer when you try to dress like them.
It makes me annoyed with Americans, who assume everyone who comes to the country should speak English, or dress in blue jeans. The Kenyan's don’t care how we dress, or talk.
They just appreciate it that we try.
Simba means Lion
Rafiki means Friend
Safari means trip or journey
Hakuna means No. As in No Worries. You know, Hakuna Matata.
Matata is problem or worry.
Jambo! is a greeting. But I’ve learned Jambo is more like an enthusiastic British “Alright?” than “Hello.”
The correct response to Jambo is Jambo.
Like alright?
Alright!
Sometimes they respond to Jambo with Jambo, Jambo!
It is very rude not to greet people when you pass. And we wave to everyone, and everyone here enthusiastically waves back. “Jambo Mzungu! Jambo!”
Yesterday I had a conversation with our Kenyan driver like this:
Peter: Your skin is already changing after only one day
Me: Yes, I always get darker in the sun. Does your skin change or does it stay the same all year?
Peter: Our skin maintains its color, but when we go to America we become whiter. I do not know why, but look at your president. If he came to Kenya he would get very dark, I think.
Me: Like a real African.
Peter: Yes. A real African man.
Me: What do you think of our president? I saw his picture painted on a bus.
Peter: We are all so very proud here in Kenya. We all love him.
Me: What do YOU think of him though?
Peter: I am very proud, yes. Not only that he is your president, but also that he is so very bright.
Later, Peter took me to buy a Kanga, a women’s skirt, and he asked the man working there something in Swahili.
“Yes, I thought so,” he said, and gave me a sneaky smile. He followed the Market man to the back, where he pulled out a long skirt. It was beautiful green and grey with a map of Africa on it. He unfolded it and there was a large picture of Obama’s face.
I absolutely bought that skirt. Though I told Peter later, it would be strange to wear in America.
“ Like wearing a Kabaki Kanga” said Matt, and Peter laughed and laughed. Kibaki is the Kenyan president. Actually, often when I introduce myself people think I am saying Kibaki. They all laugh and repeat, “Kibaki! Kibaki!”
Finally Matt told them, Becky is kidogo (small, or little) for Rebeccah. That made much more sense to them, since most people here have Biblical or Swaheli names.
After I bought my Kanga, I tried to tie it on, since it is essentially a large cloth that they wrap into a skirt. When we got to one of Komaza’s farms, where we were filming, there was a large group of women. They didn’t speak English, but they laughed when they saw my Kanga.
“Can you help me?” I asked, pointing to it.
They all covered their mouths and whispered and giggled, and finally one brave girl came over and wrapped it for me. “Asante Sanna,” I said and they laughed and clapped. Peter said, “They are saying you are very bright!”
Travis had walked away and I rushed to catch up with him. I stumbled and tripped in my skirt. All the women laughed and waved.
I walked down into the farm, constantly stumbling and retying my kanga. When I came back up the hill, men had also gathered and they laughed and cheered while the women whispered behind their hands and giggled.
Peter said, “The men say you look very smart!” I assume they meant that the British way, smart like attractive. It was very flattering.
The people here are unbelievably nice. In the city people were constantly helping us and staring at us and asking for money. But here in Kilifi they just want to say hello. They respond excitedly when you try to speak in their language. (All I can say is Hello, How are you? I am well. and a few basic other things like Thank you, My name is, and goodbye.) They cheer when you try to dress like them.
It makes me annoyed with Americans, who assume everyone who comes to the country should speak English, or dress in blue jeans. The Kenyan's don’t care how we dress, or talk.
They just appreciate it that we try.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Monkeys -- as in Evil, and possibly flying
I have learned many things in the short amount of time I have been here.
1. If you sleep with your hand against the mosquito netting you will have bug-bites on all your knuckles.
2. Monkeys can keep you up all night and not have the decency to let you glimpse one.
3. If all you want is to see the noisy monkeys then you won’t… but your husband probably will.
4. Skirts are not a pain. They are cool and awesome and will make you much less sweaty than pants.
5. It’s too hot, even at 4am, to use even a sheet to sleep under.
6. If your pillows are uncased then your husband will probably steal your t-shirts to make pillowcases.
7. If you turn on the lights BEFORE you get out of bed the lizards and bugs will scatter and you won’t accidentally squish one while walking to the bathroom.
8. Getting up at 4am to watch the Mighty Boosh because you can’t sleep will not actually help you get over jet lag.
9. People who work for Social Entrepreneurships are cool.
10. If you hear a puppy (named Squeegee) yelping outside the backdoor and something growling and your husband says “That’s not growling, it just sounded like a chair moving across the deck,” don’t believe him. Try to go see whatever tiger is on your porch, because if you check in the morning, there is no furniture on the deck. Also, I haven’t seen that puppy yet today.
11. It also might have been monkeys harassing that poor little puppy.
A last note-- on TV I learned that if you try to trick a monkey, or feed it when you're not supposed to, they will kidnap, kill or otherwise terrify you.
Except for on The Wild Thornberries, when the monkey might become your proper and sarcastic best friend.
I would like for that to be the case with these monkeys, but Travis says they don't necessarily like bananas and that was the only way I've thought of to lure them to me.
1. If you sleep with your hand against the mosquito netting you will have bug-bites on all your knuckles.
2. Monkeys can keep you up all night and not have the decency to let you glimpse one.
3. If all you want is to see the noisy monkeys then you won’t… but your husband probably will.
4. Skirts are not a pain. They are cool and awesome and will make you much less sweaty than pants.
5. It’s too hot, even at 4am, to use even a sheet to sleep under.
6. If your pillows are uncased then your husband will probably steal your t-shirts to make pillowcases.
7. If you turn on the lights BEFORE you get out of bed the lizards and bugs will scatter and you won’t accidentally squish one while walking to the bathroom.
8. Getting up at 4am to watch the Mighty Boosh because you can’t sleep will not actually help you get over jet lag.
9. People who work for Social Entrepreneurships are cool.
10. If you hear a puppy (named Squeegee) yelping outside the backdoor and something growling and your husband says “That’s not growling, it just sounded like a chair moving across the deck,” don’t believe him. Try to go see whatever tiger is on your porch, because if you check in the morning, there is no furniture on the deck. Also, I haven’t seen that puppy yet today.
11. It also might have been monkeys harassing that poor little puppy.
A last note-- on TV I learned that if you try to trick a monkey, or feed it when you're not supposed to, they will kidnap, kill or otherwise terrify you.
Except for on The Wild Thornberries, when the monkey might become your proper and sarcastic best friend.
I would like for that to be the case with these monkeys, but Travis says they don't necessarily like bananas and that was the only way I've thought of to lure them to me.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Kilifi, Kenya, Africa!
We’re here, we’re here and we never want to leave!
We’re finally in Kenya and it is gorgeous. Every few minutes I look around me and think, Why would any one ever want to live somewhere that isn’t Kenya? I’m sure I’ll find out but for now we just love it.
The sky is blue and bright and everywhere there are thick fields of grass, pineapple, and even corn. There are jungles with trees LITERALLY the size of a house that are reminiscent of Fern Gully.
We drove through Mobasa on our way to Kilifi and our driver was the best driver ever. Some parts of the road were thronged with cars going the wrong way, children trying to sell us sugar cane through the window and lots of goats and some parts were washed out or filled with potholes. But our driver cleared it all with ease, sometimes even with Cher blasting out the raido WHILE he’s on the phone.
The city was the most interesting to me, there were dozens of little internet cafes, pubs, and a little tin shack that had Beyonce Café spray painted on the side. It’s a real pity I couldn’t get a picture of it. And in the middle of all the chaos there are groups of beautiful barefoot children running footraces and playing soccer, and trying to get the white girl (ME) in the fancy car wave at them.
Every child I see is so breath-takingly adorable that I want to stop and hug them, take their picture and give them a hundred dollars. But I‘m pretty sure that’s something I shouldn’t do.
Everyone here is very, VERY helpful. A little too helpful, you know. Since they’ll rush over to grab your bags and pack them into the car for you then say “You have a little something for me?” And if you try to give them coins or a few British pounds they say “American notes are fine, American notes.” Okay Fine. We can spare two dollars.
Our house might be the best thing of all. We’re staying in a mansion-sized ex-pat Beach House with three other Americans. We have geckos on the walls, and ants of our keyboards while we try to type (Beat little bugs!) Then we have a huge big yard filled with trees filled with MONKEYS! We have a private pool and three dogs that apparently kind-of live here with us. We’re a five minute walk from the Indian Ocean, which is warm and turquoise. The beach is spongey, springy, deep and blinding white. There was a boat of fishermen a few hundred yards out in the water, and six or seven kids playing down by the beach, but it was otherwise deserted.
Surely we can’t be enjoying this perfection ourselves?
I’m sitting on our bed, which is surrounded by mosquito netting. Clinging to the outside are three or four grasshoppers the size of my longest finger, a few June-Bug like beetles and many moths and ants.
It’s weird how quickly you can adjust to these things. It just seems perfectly natural that we’re surrounded by monkeys, dogs, geckos and gigantic bugs. Any one of those things would lead me to complaint in the USA but here… I love it.
My Dad kept warning me to mentally prepare myself and after the culture shock I went through in China, who can blame him?
But I have yet to see anything that seemed “wrong” or “bad.” Everything just seems perfect. And if people live differently here, then that’s because its so different here. But different-good, you know. Different-awesome.
Tomorrow we’ll start working, but how can it be called working? We’re going to be meeting farmers, seeing their land and learning about what they do.
BEST JOB EVER.
I love here. For real.
Hopefully pictures will come soon.
We’re finally in Kenya and it is gorgeous. Every few minutes I look around me and think, Why would any one ever want to live somewhere that isn’t Kenya? I’m sure I’ll find out but for now we just love it.
The sky is blue and bright and everywhere there are thick fields of grass, pineapple, and even corn. There are jungles with trees LITERALLY the size of a house that are reminiscent of Fern Gully.
We drove through Mobasa on our way to Kilifi and our driver was the best driver ever. Some parts of the road were thronged with cars going the wrong way, children trying to sell us sugar cane through the window and lots of goats and some parts were washed out or filled with potholes. But our driver cleared it all with ease, sometimes even with Cher blasting out the raido WHILE he’s on the phone.
The city was the most interesting to me, there were dozens of little internet cafes, pubs, and a little tin shack that had Beyonce Café spray painted on the side. It’s a real pity I couldn’t get a picture of it. And in the middle of all the chaos there are groups of beautiful barefoot children running footraces and playing soccer, and trying to get the white girl (ME) in the fancy car wave at them.
Every child I see is so breath-takingly adorable that I want to stop and hug them, take their picture and give them a hundred dollars. But I‘m pretty sure that’s something I shouldn’t do.
Everyone here is very, VERY helpful. A little too helpful, you know. Since they’ll rush over to grab your bags and pack them into the car for you then say “You have a little something for me?” And if you try to give them coins or a few British pounds they say “American notes are fine, American notes.” Okay Fine. We can spare two dollars.
Our house might be the best thing of all. We’re staying in a mansion-sized ex-pat Beach House with three other Americans. We have geckos on the walls, and ants of our keyboards while we try to type (Beat little bugs!) Then we have a huge big yard filled with trees filled with MONKEYS! We have a private pool and three dogs that apparently kind-of live here with us. We’re a five minute walk from the Indian Ocean, which is warm and turquoise. The beach is spongey, springy, deep and blinding white. There was a boat of fishermen a few hundred yards out in the water, and six or seven kids playing down by the beach, but it was otherwise deserted.
Surely we can’t be enjoying this perfection ourselves?
I’m sitting on our bed, which is surrounded by mosquito netting. Clinging to the outside are three or four grasshoppers the size of my longest finger, a few June-Bug like beetles and many moths and ants.
It’s weird how quickly you can adjust to these things. It just seems perfectly natural that we’re surrounded by monkeys, dogs, geckos and gigantic bugs. Any one of those things would lead me to complaint in the USA but here… I love it.
My Dad kept warning me to mentally prepare myself and after the culture shock I went through in China, who can blame him?
But I have yet to see anything that seemed “wrong” or “bad.” Everything just seems perfect. And if people live differently here, then that’s because its so different here. But different-good, you know. Different-awesome.
Tomorrow we’ll start working, but how can it be called working? We’re going to be meeting farmers, seeing their land and learning about what they do.
BEST JOB EVER.
I love here. For real.
Hopefully pictures will come soon.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Bon Voyage! (I hope...)
And we're off. First to Colorado, London, then KENYA!
I'll try to write again soon.
Keep your fingers crossed that everything will go perfectly.
I'll try to write again soon.
Keep your fingers crossed that everything will go perfectly.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
I woke up to loon calls.
"Impossible!" you say. "That cheery and eerie Minnesotan bird could never live in Utah's desert climate!"
Yeah, well I think one of our neighbors has a loon call.
I said to Travis "That's a loon! Someone must have a loon call!" and he looked skeptical.
"Have you ever heard a bird like that?" he shook his head no.
Travis was reading over my shoulder as I wrote and said "Why did you write "hehe" after SoCal?"
I responded, "I thought the phrase SoCal was a joke."
He only laughed, so now I think, Is it NOT a joke? Do people call it SoCal for real?
How confusing.
And also stupid.
Yeah, well I think one of our neighbors has a loon call.
I said to Travis "That's a loon! Someone must have a loon call!" and he looked skeptical.
"Have you ever heard a bird like that?" he shook his head no.
However, after a half hour of loon calls I became confused.
Maybe there is another bird around here that kind of sounds like a loon.
Or maybe they had a loon sound on their alarm clock or computer.
Last night we had a conversation that began with Travis filling out a form. It asked the question "If you could go anywhere in the world right now, where would you most want to go?"
He wrote Minnesota.
"Why?"
"I don't know. I just have been thinking about it so much lately."
"Because it's spring and Minnesota is beautiful in the spring?"
"No. I just have this longing. It's calling me back. The cool deep waters. That little neighborhood outside Minneapolis. The people. The people there are really nice."
And I thought, "Congratulations, Becky. Taking Travis there last summer was so wise because it's impossible for anyone to go to Minnesota, really go there, and not long for it later. Maybe someday we'll live there after all."
Because Minnesota is the best kept secret in the United States.
People think of Minnesota and they're like "Those backwards lumberjack hicks without electricity must have such crappy lives."
And we say YES.
Except for me, because I love it so much I can't keep it a secret.
Here's a secret: Whoever made up the rumor that California, especially SoCal (hehe) is awesome was LYING.
Apparently it's warm there, not HOT. The water is SUPER cold as well as being dirty and filled with a billion people. The cities are dirty and crowded and it's a dessert so... it automatically sucks for that reason.
Minnesota gets hot in the summer, and gets snow in the winter and is secret and pretty.
And filled with lakes.
Filled with Loons.
Filled with Loon calls.
Travis was reading over my shoulder as I wrote and said "Why did you write "hehe" after SoCal?"
I responded, "I thought the phrase SoCal was a joke."
He only laughed, so now I think, Is it NOT a joke? Do people call it SoCal for real?
How confusing.
And also stupid.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Questions about Africa
Yesterday a travel warning was issued by the US for Kenya. (Read the info here.)
We aren't really worried, since the warning is for the opposite side of the country, along the Somalian and Ethiopian borders, and because it warns especially against big cities, riots, etc and we will be in a tiny town far from cities, but it has given us food for thought.
And I suspect it will worry our mothers and grandmothers.
SO. Here is a proposition. No matter how many times you call and say, "Where will you be sleeping?" I forget to ask.
But we're have a skype call with Komaza (the organization) soon and we're going to write down all of our questions for them ahead of time.
If you have any questions to add to the list, PLEASE leave them in the comments.
Don't just call and tell me, I'll forget.
I assure you, I will forget.
Also, you may leave questions, comments, or concerns even if you are not my mother or grandmother.
We aren't really worried, since the warning is for the opposite side of the country, along the Somalian and Ethiopian borders, and because it warns especially against big cities, riots, etc and we will be in a tiny town far from cities, but it has given us food for thought.
And I suspect it will worry our mothers and grandmothers.
SO. Here is a proposition. No matter how many times you call and say, "Where will you be sleeping?" I forget to ask.
But we're have a skype call with Komaza (the organization) soon and we're going to write down all of our questions for them ahead of time.
If you have any questions to add to the list, PLEASE leave them in the comments.
Don't just call and tell me, I'll forget.
I assure you, I will forget.
Also, you may leave questions, comments, or concerns even if you are not my mother or grandmother.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Guess Who's Going to KENYA!
Becky and Travis are going to Kenya!
We each got grants of 2500$ to go and film a short documentary in Kenya from the PEERY Foundation.
Whatwhatwhat! I am so pumped. (Travis is so pumped that he is excitedly writing on his blog about it and ignoring his hot wife.)
So we'll probably be going sometime around endofMay and beginningofJune.
We'll be there for two weeksish and we'll be making a short doc on KOMAZA, a social entrepreneurship that helps down and out farmers afford drought-resistant fast-growing trees that can be sold for lumber.
They be changing the world, and we be making a movie bout it. YO!
p.s. Dad, before I forget: Will you bring the 50mm lens down when you guys come? For ma b-day? Thanks much. I will use it in Kenya to take beautiful pictures.
Hopefully not unlike THESE by photographer Amelia Lyon. She just went to Haiti. Are her photos not stunning?
That's all.
Except did I mention that WE ARE GOING TO AFRICA THIS SUMMER AND SOMEONE IS PAYING THE BILL FOR BOTH OF US?
Because that is the case. We are officially a "team." We applied as a team. We be going as team.
The great Becky and Travis Pitcher: highly respected writers, photographers, and please don't forget... Film makers.
BooYAH!
We each got grants of 2500$ to go and film a short documentary in Kenya from the PEERY Foundation.
Whatwhatwhat! I am so pumped. (Travis is so pumped that he is excitedly writing on his blog about it and ignoring his hot wife.)
So we'll probably be going sometime around endofMay and beginningofJune.
We'll be there for two weeksish and we'll be making a short doc on KOMAZA, a social entrepreneurship that helps down and out farmers afford drought-resistant fast-growing trees that can be sold for lumber.
They be changing the world, and we be making a movie bout it. YO!
p.s. Dad, before I forget: Will you bring the 50mm lens down when you guys come? For ma b-day? Thanks much. I will use it in Kenya to take beautiful pictures.
Hopefully not unlike THESE by photographer Amelia Lyon. She just went to Haiti. Are her photos not stunning?
That's all.
Except did I mention that WE ARE GOING TO AFRICA THIS SUMMER AND SOMEONE IS PAYING THE BILL FOR BOTH OF US?
Because that is the case. We are officially a "team." We applied as a team. We be going as team.
The great Becky and Travis Pitcher: highly respected writers, photographers, and please don't forget... Film makers.
BooYAH!
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Old and Boring
Now that Travis and I are married our weekend plans look like this:
Friday: concert at Velour, followed by a late movie.
Saturday: Snowboarding in the afternoon, followed by Rockclimbing.
Sunday: Dinner with friends
Our actual weekends usually begin like this:
Becky: Want to watch an episode of Freaks and Geeks while we eat?
Two hours later...
Travis: Want to move the movie into our bed where its warm?
Two more hours later...
Becky: Is there still time to make it to the movie?
Travis: It started forty minutes ago.
Becky: Good, because I'm comfortable.
So our weekends don't follow our plan, but look like this:
Friday: Freaks and Geeks and take out Chinese
Saturday: Whatever we've Netflixed and homemade Chinese
Sunday: Several LONG naps in a row and left-over Chinese.
Now Travis is out of town on business and I am going crazy. Because we may be boring, but we're never ever bored. I love him so much and go stir-crazy when he's not home. I usually hate it when he's just at school all day, but sleeping alone and eating alone, and watching bad movies alone!
I can't stand it.
He'll be home tomorrow. I suspect we'll just stay in.
:)
Friday: concert at Velour, followed by a late movie.
Saturday: Snowboarding in the afternoon, followed by Rockclimbing.
Sunday: Dinner with friends
Our actual weekends usually begin like this:
Becky: Want to watch an episode of Freaks and Geeks while we eat?
Two hours later...
Travis: Want to move the movie into our bed where its warm?
Two more hours later...
Becky: Is there still time to make it to the movie?
Travis: It started forty minutes ago.
Becky: Good, because I'm comfortable.
So our weekends don't follow our plan, but look like this:
Friday: Freaks and Geeks and take out Chinese
Saturday: Whatever we've Netflixed and homemade Chinese
Sunday: Several LONG naps in a row and left-over Chinese.
Now Travis is out of town on business and I am going crazy. Because we may be boring, but we're never ever bored. I love him so much and go stir-crazy when he's not home. I usually hate it when he's just at school all day, but sleeping alone and eating alone, and watching bad movies alone!
I can't stand it.
He'll be home tomorrow. I suspect we'll just stay in.
:)
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
alive travis
"do not ask yourself what the world needs; ask yourself what makes you come alive. and then go and do that. because what the world needs is people who have come alive." ~ howard thurman
Kendra had this quote on her blog.
It made me think of this boy, being carried away by a kite:
Kendra had this quote on her blog.
It made me think of this boy, being carried away by a kite:
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Road Tripping
So most of the time in the car looked like my last video, but here are some clips from the trip besides us rocking out.
This is what the trip was like, at least the actual traveling part.
The music is "Your ex-lover is dead" by the stars.
Please just ignore the lyrics, this is not a video about breaking up. We just like this song.
We may or may not have listened to it on repeat the entire first day.
Alright, fine. We did not listen to it on repeat for the entire first day.
Just the first six or seven hours of driving.
This is what the trip was like, at least the actual traveling part.
The music is "Your ex-lover is dead" by the stars.
Please just ignore the lyrics, this is not a video about breaking up. We just like this song.
We may or may not have listened to it on repeat the entire first day.
Alright, fine. We did not listen to it on repeat for the entire first day.
Just the first six or seven hours of driving.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Cliff Jumping in Minnesota
This is my friend Eli, and his roommate Jackson. I called Eli in the morning one day to ask how to get to the quarries and he said "Are you going cliff jumping today? SO ARE WE!" We met up and went together.
This is my cousin Nichole, who also came with and was SUPER brave, since she's afraid of heights and jumped off of the cliff that was 35 feet up twice. Very impressive no?
This is my hot boyfriend Travis. This picture is kind of ridiculous. Can you see us despite the shadows?Also, Travis films both the videos, but he jumped as often as any of us, and is the bravest, because in the first video, he's treading water and holding the camera over his head.
okay, in this one, the first three to jump we don't know. I'm the third (I scream), then it's Eli, then Nichole, then Jackson.
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