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.

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.