A Big Sweaty Mess in Kenya

What do blog about

2009-05-13T02:55:00.002-04:00

Four possible topics:

Lunch with a child soldier from Sudan. Working out with Mr. Kenya. Hardcore/punkrock shows in Nairobi. A pleasent visit with an hiv positive sex worker and her children.

I'm thinking I should write about these things before I leave. But sometimes, memories are best kept repressed I think. Especially those that shock each time they emerge.

A story in progress

2009-04-26T11:18:00.002-04:00

A man was walking up a landbridge to reach the post office. Below him, Nairobi's traffic jammed tight. In his pocket, the yellow slip said that a package from South America awaited him. The stairs he was climbing were crowded, and he stood out.

Eventually, he began to cross the bridge. First thing he took note of was a woman and a child in the distance. Ragged, at least as far as he could tell, and holding a hand, palm up, for all who passed by.

Closer was a young child in jeans, looking down, not really paying attention to anything. "Damnit", the man thought angrily, "That Child is going to ask me for money. They always ask me for money".

He got closer, and looked at the child. A girl, no older than six. Looking down at a puddle. The puddle was growing, and he choked on air as he realized that the girl was wetting herself. Paying no one attention, but just watching the stream pour down her leg and out her jeans, a smile on her face.

He couldn't take his eyes off of the little girl, and tripped over himself. Stumbling forward, tears started welling in the man's eyes.

He walked past the girl, he walked past the women with the baby and didn't look back. He had a package to pick up.

Conversation

2009-04-08T02:23:00.001-04:00

"Henry, are your parents still alive?"
"Oh yes, they are, both living and working back up in Jersey. What about your parents?"
"They're gone."
"I'm sorry"
"Yea, so am I".

Circumcised boys.

2009-03-28T06:43:00.001-04:00

**A photo that I took is going to be used for a poster campaign around Nairobi. A couple of folks asked me about the story behind the picture. Well, here ya go Mom. Click to see it at full resolution**

We'd been on the road for about six hours. Actually, I wouldn't call it a road. The last time our wheels hit tarmac was about four hours prior. We'd gone from dusty dirt road to rocky bumpy hilly road in the last two hours. The last time a soul had been seen was five hours ago.

We were driving out to the furthest reaches of Pokot territory, near the Ugandan border. My coworkers were laughing. We were stuck on a crater pocked hill, not being able to move quickly. Five young men in brown and an old man in 1980s era American camouflage stepped out of the bush. Bows were drawn with arrows pointing at us, and we soon were surrounded. I didn't know it at the time, but we were being robbed.

Thinking on it now, a few weeks after the fact, it was obvious that these boys could have killed us and robbed us for everything we had. My coworkers didn't seem perturbed. Neither did I, actually, I was in a bit of a daze. Gettin shaken by bumps and holes in the road for several hours had left me in a numb, giddy delusional state. Imagine being on a low impact roller coaster for about six hours, and you'll have an idea of how I felt.

The old man approached my driver Andrew, and they spoke in low tones. The boys peered through the windows, and glanced around, eyes seemingly looking for something. My coworkers continued their conversations, though one, who spokePokot , engaged the boys. Laughter, and more words. Andrew shook the old man's hand, and Andrew looked back at me and told me I could take some photos if I wanted. And then the boys began to sing.

They began to sing, and swing. Their heads were covered by a mask with long brown strands of knotted rope reaching to the chest. The eleven note melody repeated, to the point of the song becoming a jolting yet smooth sound. Imagine , boys swinging their heads, with the long rope strands from their masks swishing side to side with hypnotic force. In their hands were bells, which the boys slammed into their legs to keep a jingling beat. Singing a song that to my ears didn't sound African. It sounded like something else entirely, something Other, something I had never heard before nor could call "normal". An Ancient song, a song that started long before those boys began singing, and would continue long after they, and I, were gone.

When I stepped out of the car, our Pokot speaker told us who these boys were. Recently circumcised Pokot, banished from their villages for two months as they healed, and the old man was their handler. They were all different ages, and the voices stretched from a beautiful alto to a deep bass. They hadn't eaten anything except scavenged bits of dead animal, for nearly three weeks, drinking from a cattle watering hole only at night when no one else would be able to see them.

The singing stopped. Andrew handed the old man a loaf of bread, a large bottle of water, and fifty shillings. I climbed back in the car, and we took off. Looking back, I saw the boys tear off into the bush, each with a piece of bread in his hand.

2009-03-21T12:55:00.002-04:00

The following is a conversation a good friend and I had over facebook about the Pope and the HIV/AIDS. I thought that the three readers of my blog might find it interesting and might like to comment. IIt all begins with the Pope, and his recent controversial statements about condoms and condom usage in AIDS wrecked sub Saharan Africa.

First, three points I made:

Three Things: 1, AIDS in Sub-Saharan Africa is already at pandemic levels. 2, Condoms and condom use education, is pervasive in East Africa (and in West Africa, never been there, but spoken to many who work with AIDS there). I've been out in the furthest, most isolated bush land I thought possible, and I've seen image manuals on how to use condoms. Condoms are everywhere. 3, the highest (and fastest growing) rates of HIV infection in East Africa is amongst married couples.

His Response:

Henry, the third point you have raised should be deeply demoralizing to the Catholic Church since if it is accurate it challenges a central myth of many social-conservative opponents of sex education--that sex within wedlock is not just moral, but *safe*. You know as well as I do that this discourse always carried with it the implication that sexually-transmitted disease was just the wages of sin.

I think it is a fallacy to defend the Pope's claim that "the distribution of condoms...even aggravates the problems” with these empirical findings--though they are definitely important and eye-opening on their own. These sources don't really support the Pope's claim: While he raises the surprising issue of compensatory risk-taking among occasional condom-users, researchers also points out that rates of transmission of HIV "in some high-risk populations" have been reduced as a result of condom distribution. This is significant, profoundly important, and a finding in the reverse of what the Pope has claimed. (The finding is not, of course, contrary to what most people whom have received sex education would expect.)

All of this is impertinent anyway, since the Pope's objection to condoms pertains to his belief that sexual activity outside of wedlock is immoral by definition, and that any means of birth control aside from the confining and unreliable "rhythm method" defies God's will. ("Humanae Vitae," 1968) These moral beliefs are unfalsifiable--actually, they tell us more about the believer than anything else--and thus quantitative evidence regarding whether and when condom distribution has reduced rates of HIV infection isn't the Pope's primary concern. The fact that many at-risk people in Africa use condoms only occasionally and thus may be at heightened risk for HIV infection strongly suggests the importance of the interaction of condom distribution with *sex education*. How does Benedict XVI feel about that?

And my response, written in a rush. I know my argument has holes in it, but this is the first time I've ever collected my thoughts on this topic in one place:

You're arguing the Pope is flat out wrong in saying "the distribution of condoms...even aggravates the problems" . I agree with you. What I'm criticizing is the pervasive cult of the condom that people in the west like to push on Africans. Like most things that the West pushes on Africa, it isn't entirely successful, and yes, in fact, can make things worse because by concentrating all your funding on condoms and condom use education, you ignore other, more effective methods at preventing the spread of AIDS. Condoms are effective, yes, but they are not the be all and end all of AIDS prevention, like some tend to seem to believe. Do we want AIDS rates to go down? Do we want this pandemic to end? Empower the women, empower the family, don't spend all your attention on condoms. The Pope is wrong, yes, but the opposite, that the spread and constant pushing of condoms amongst the poor benighted folks of Africa is the way forward and the solution to the crisis, is equally wrong. This is well attested to by African AIDS workers on the ground, and westerners who decide to stop thinking the West knows best.

Sex is a right amongst traditional East African men, they take it when they want it and how they want it. I think the best way to describe sex here is that it's like a handshake, its just expected to happen, for a woman to offer herself up to a man.

I think you are mistaken in your argument that high rates of HIV infection amongst married couples is "deeply demoralizing to the Catholic Church since if it is accurate it challenges a central myth of many social-conservative opponents of sex education--that sex within wedlock is not just moral, but *safe*." The Church (which I am not a member of, I should mention) teaches that sex in monogamous marriages is correct and *safe*. The issue in Kenya and Uganda is that men cheat, like crazy. Women have been trained to think that what ever the man does, is ok and acceptable. This is a story I've seen played out in several villages. The men, who can't find jobs in their bush village, go to the cities. While there, they have sex with who ever. They get infected with HIV, go back to the villages, and have sex with their wives. The wife, and the child that will be born, now have HIV. In more traditional villages, any man can sleep with any other man's wife when ever he pleases. So, a man who stayed in the village while others went to the city now have sex with the recently infected wife of the city traveling man. He now has HIV. He goes back to his wife, has sex with her, and now she, and the resulting child will have HIV. In the cities, the situation is comparable.

Condom education is every where in East Africa. In fact, condom distribution and education in most instances go hand in hand. In the major cities in the countries I've traveled to, in the most isolated bush, evidence of condoms and educative material is evident. Africans know about condoms, they know how to use them. They just choose not to, for a variety of reasons.

What to do? Men know they should use condoms, but don't. I say the best option is to empower women. Get girls to schools and keep them there. Help find safe and secure (and close by) water supplies (its not unusual for women to walk 10k every day to fetch water). Help women set up economic initiatives that benefit them and give them a voice in the community. Educate them that they have a right to their sexual destiny.

The Pope is mistaken, yes, but issue is a hell of a lot more complicated than Condoms Good, Pope Bad. I think everybody reading this knows that already, but that doesn't mean it shouldn't be stated again and again. The paradigm of "throw the savages condoms so they can wrap their willies" (as a Kenyan coworker of mine put it) needs to be broken if the battle against HIV/AIDS is to move forward.

And that's that. If you've read this far, please tell me what you think.

Recent Photos I took

2009-03-21T04:11:00.000-04:00

Prayer

2009-03-14T10:32:00.002-04:00

Hey ya to the three people who read this blog, I'm going to go out on a limb here and ask you to say a special prayer for me/keep me in your thoughts right now.

I've been accepted to two excellent different institutions for graduate school education. I have to decide which one I should go to, and this decision is prove quite difficult. So please, if you are so inclined, say a prayer/rosary/thought/anything for me.

Thank ya kindly.

The Dreams of Francis Musyoki (Story for work)

2009-03-07T04:04:00.002-05:00

Under the heading of “sad” is a drawing of two gravestones and the number 2003. Next to that, under the heading of “mad” is the image of two stick figures, one with a face of tears and the other , larger figure, a look of anger. When asked by the CWS Assessment team what they represent, Francis Musyoki replied unemotionally, “My mama and my baba who died in 2003, and the uncle who used to beat me before I joined the Giving Hope program in 2006”.

Francis, 24, sits on the couch in his cramped mud and straw two room hut. In his hands is a large white sheet of paper, with the headings “sad” “mad” “happy” and “future” written in blue marker. His drawings show that only one thing makes him sad, the death of both of his parents in 2003. Mad showcases injustices that he and his three siblings faced between the time of their parents death and his acceptance into the CWS Giving Hope Program centered in Ndithini Village, Yatta District, Eastern Province, in 2006. Images of beatings meted out by the hands of an angry uncle; the long walks to school; and money earned from farming his uncle’s land stolen by his aunt.

Francis is not bitter about his past, or even rueful. He accepts that the past is what it is, and it is up to him to move forward. When he joined the Giving Hope working group in Ndithini, he had no home, no money, and no job prospects. Now Francis has a home that he shares with a nephew, built by the Giving Hope Working Group pulling together in the Harambee spirit over a period of two weeks. The credit lent to him as a member of the Yatta Giving Hope project has allowed him to furnish his home with goods and start farming beans and maize on his property.
He is now employed at an “Agrovet” owned by the Giving Hope working group that sells agricultural chemicals and supplies. The horrendous drought and famine that has struck the Eastern Province of Kenya is affecting both his sales and eating habits, but as he put it “I pray often, and am confident that things will improve in time”. With the money he has made working at the Aggro-Chemical store Francis has been able to open a bank account. Having a bank account has allowed him to accumulate savings with which he hopes to be able to pay his siblings’ school fees. Francis values education highly, and considers education key to a successful future: “Education is very important. It is very important that my family goes to school.”

Taking a glance at the Happy column on the white piece of paper in his lap reveals that family and God are very important to Francis. “My brother and sisters and my Giving Hope family are all I have. Worshipping God and spending time with my family and friends brings me great joy,” Francis says, with a large smile on his face. When asked about his Future, the smile turns bashful, a bit more coy. Francis flipped the paper over to reveal his dreams. A drawing of minivan, with a smiling stick figure waving from the driver’s seat. A drawing of farmland and maize growing tall. At the center of the page the largest drawing seen yet; an image of a church, and two stick figures holding hands. After a few moments passed in silence, Francis’s vision of the future became apparent to the CWS assessment team. Francis dreams of someday starting his own family, of having a minivan to travel around in, and a farm in which he can call his own.
With that, Francis Musyoki folded the paper in his hands in half, and rose from his couch. As the Church World Service team passed under his iron sheeted roof threshold, Francis whispered, “The Giving Hope program has allowed me to dream again, for the first time since my parents died. Thank you.”

New Jersey is for Lovers and the Mob

2009-02-24T14:15:00.004-05:00

I am somewhere in the northwestern part of Kenya documenting a bunch of starving and water deprived communities that raid cattle for fun, and am astonished that my hotel has free highspeed internet.

What was even more astonishing for me was while I was at a gas station today, I saw written on the bathroom wall in big black letters:

"New Jersey: Where the Weak are Killed and Eaten"

This is a fact. Don't you dare forget, damnit. You don't want to mess with a Jersey boy.

Observations written on a message board

2009-02-21T08:24:00.003-05:00

Hey there to anyone who reads this. I want to let you know that I miss you very much, that I love you, and that I can't wait to see you again.

With that out of the way, I want to share with you both an article I read recently on Relevant.com ("God. Life. Progressive Culture.") and my response to it. My response was driven by an urge to get into writing a few questions that have been pondering lately, based on my time and experience of living in Kenya working for Church World Service. If you have anything to add or would like to discuss these questions with me, feel free to shoot me an email or leave a comment on this blog.

Relevant: The Purpose of Pain

Great article. I am an aid working working for a Christian NGO in Nairobi, Kenya, and this article has helped crystallize some questions I have been struggling with lately. They are a perhaps a bit off the main topic of the article, but they are connected. I'd like to share my observations with you, and welcome any comment or conversation.

Is it my duty, as a Christian and a fellow human, to make/help people become aware of their suffering? Furthermore, How do I even define suffering? My twenty-something white male middle class American idea of suffering might be quite different from that of a teenage African female lower class Kenyan.

For example, Nairobi has in its confines some of the largest slums in the world. One of them, Dandora, is centered around a dump of gargantuan proportions, the last resting place for all of Nairobi's waste. Several hundreds (one estimate I read said a couple of thousands) of people call this trash dump home. During my last visit, I asked my Kenyan companion (who had grown up in the dump) how the people I saw scurrying about looking for food and things to sell dealt with their suffering. She looked at me a bit taken aback and said "They're not suffering, this is their way of life". She is not the only African I've worked with who has made comments like this to me.

Another question that pops into my head when I consider the Christian aid world is, When does my attempts to "improve" someone's life move away from altruism to some sort of imperialism?

Anyway, enough of me thinking out loud. To anyone who is considering aid work, Christian or secular, I say go for it. Just know before you sign up that its hard and not all that glamorous, and your clothes are going to end up smelling really bad.

My first PCUSA Newsletter

2009-02-09T01:49:00.001-05:00

Below is a newsletter I sent out as part of my PCUSA YAV duties. Thought I'd share with folk reading my blog.

Dear Friends,

One of the joys of my time living in Kenya has been volunteering on Saturdays at an orphanage in Dandora, a suburb in the eastern part of the Kenyan capital, Nairobi. Anywhere from 80 to 150 children are present any given Saturday. I hang out, serve food, play games, get my hair petted (African children are not used to European style hair, and take great joy in stroking it), and all around have an awesome time with some incredible kids. “But where,” I ask my fellow African volunteers, “do these children come from?” “The Dandora dumpsite.”

Dandora is a section of Nairobi which has some of the highest crime and unemployment rates in all of Kenya. Established in 1977, with partial financing by the World Bank, in order to offer higher standard of housing, Dandora soon became a sprawling slum. At the center lies the Dandora dumpsite, the final resting place for all of Nairobi’s garbage and waste. The Blacksmith Institute, an international environmental NGO, has listed the dumpsite (and the Dandora slum) as one of the world’s most polluted areas. This is where these children grew up? I had to see it with my own eyes.

Protection was arranged with the local toughs (a white man walking into Dandora without protection is a dumb white man) and I was soon off with my new friend, the friendly Kenyan gangster, and Liz, the beautiful and intelligent founder of the orphanage. The entrance to the dumpsite was not too far from the orphanage, so we walked. I don’t think anything could have prepared me for what I saw.

The sheer size and scale of the Dandora dumpsite is beyond imagining. Mountains upon mountains of waste stretch out for what seems like miles, some towering to heights of over 30 feet. A quick glance at the horizon reveals dozens of men, women, and children scurrying about trying to find things to either eat or sell. Not just people, but cattle, goats, pigs, and crows were scattered around, burrowing deep into the waste for food. Shelters made of wood and plastic dot the landscape, though I see no one at home.

I see one woman find a quarter peeled but uneaten orange in a fresh pile of waste, brush it off on her dusty frock, and devour it like it was the manna from heaven. The people didn't pay me much notice, except for a tall, powerfully built man who I think was either drunk or high. He came right over to me, gripped my hand with his (covered in a yellowish wet substance), shook vigorously, and in broken English told me “I eat your garbage. What do you think of that?” There was nothing I could say in response. I nodded, said meekly that I was glad to meet him, and he responded with cold eyes and a smile.

The question that strikes me is, “Where is God in Dandora?” Is he in the mountains of trash that sprawl beyond all sense of comprehension? Is he in the desperate and starving people drudging through waste, searching for something, anything, to eat or sell? Is he in me, the foreigner come to observe? Or is Dandora one of those Godless and desolate places, where angels fear to tread?

And with that, I end this letter. I don’t think any answer that I can give would be satisfactory. Pray for the people of Dandora.

Some of my favorite pictures from Uganda

2009-01-26T07:30:00.002-05:00

A boy I met who was fetching water. He seemed so weary, so tired.

Strength and Defiance.

A well digger, about eight feet down.

Creepiest Sign Ever. Click photo to get full effect.

To see more of my photos, please follow the links below.

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2031245&l=d8c08&id=19800329
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2030740&l=5b661&id=19800329
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2030966&l=5e74f&id=19800329

Going to Uganda

2009-01-15T01:40:00.001-05:00

In about an hour I'll be flying out to Kampala, Uganda, for a week of field work. I'll be traveling to water projects, micro-loan centers, and a refugee peace villiage. I'm very excited, and I'll be writing quite a bit about my trip in the future.

Below are pictures from a small village called Kaikungu that I visited last week. Kaikungu is suffering from extreme drought, and the people are facing starvation. Please keep the people of Kaikungu in your thoughts and prayers. I wrote up a report on my trip to drought struck regions of Kenya and will be posting on www.cwsea.org soon. Once I figure out how, I'll try and post it on my blog as well.

Dumpsite

2009-01-07T08:29:00.002-05:00

The pictures above were taken last Friday at the Dandora dumpsite. For more pictures, check out my facebook page. For more information on Dandora, follow this link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dandora

Below is an excerpt from an email I wrote a good friend the day after I went to Dandora.

I went to the Dandora dumpsite,one of the most polluted (and apparently dangerous) places in the world. I've told you in the past how I go to an orphanage type place in Dandora to volunteer every weekend or so. I decided yesterday I wanted to visit the place where those children grew up, and so I met up with a couple of friends and headed to the dumpsite. My friend Liz arranged protection (a very friendly mobster by the name of Kim. You wouldn't be able to tell that he was in the Kenyan mob, besides the fact that everyone knew him and seemed to be afraid of him). The dumpsite itself was unreal. Mountains upon mountains of waste, with dozens of people scurrying about trying to find things to either eat or sell. I saw one woman find a quarter peeled but uneaten orange in a freshly dumped pile of waste, brush it off on her dusty frock, and devour it like it was the manna from heaven. The people there didn't pay me much of a notice, cept this one tall , powerfully built man who I think was either drunk or high. He came right over to me, gripped my hand with his (covered in a yellowish wet substance) shook vigorous , and in broken english told me "I eat your garbage. What do you think of that"? There was nothing I could say in response. I nodded, said meekly that I was glad to meet him, and he responded with cold eyes and a smile.

Pictures of Henry eating a Baby

2008-12-24T07:24:00.000-05:00

Merry Christmas to all!

Dandora

2008-12-20T07:00:00.000-05:00

My Week in Mombasa

2008-12-15T06:56:00.000-05:00

The week I spent in Mombasa was radically different than any other I have had in Kenya. Instead of living in a dark apartment in the Westlands of Nairobi, I was residing at the Eden-esque Leopard Beach Hotel. I was there along with the rest of my co-workers for a rather traumatic seminar on Trauma healing led by a former Catholic priest. There is only so much talk of rape, murder, famine, spouse abuse, etc etc etc a guy can take when he knows that the beautiful Indian Ocean is about 100 meters away.

This is a view of the hotel from the Indian Ocean. We went swimming here during our Trauma breaks. I'd never swam or even seen the Indian Ocean before, and I have to report back positive marks. It ain't no Jersey Shore though, that's for sure.

Here is a picture of the interior gardens.
Look! They have palm trees in Kenya! I'm not too big a fan Palm Trees. I'm an Oak Man my self.

Here is a picture of coworker Njoroge and myself. Poor guy had to wash my feet as part of the Trauma Healing process. Plays a mean game of volleyball.

This is a picture of me and my male coworkers. We were told to look mean. I
think I look rather constipated. And so it goes....

The sheer contrast of my experience in Mombasa to my experiences around Nairobi are stunning. The hotel we stayed at was the nicest place I have ever been, but incredibly cheap in comparison to anything in the States or even Europe. I spent more on a cheap hotel in Paris than I would for a night here. I had an amazing time during my stay at the Leopard Beach Hotel, grew closer to my coworkers, met some incredible people, and played some wicked thrilling games of water rugby/polo. But the entire time was there, I couldn't get out of my head images of the slums of Kiberia, the drought stricken region of the Maasai, and the orphans of Dandora. We were able to accomplish much in Mombasa, but I'm glad to be back to work in Nairobi.

2008-12-08T09:44:00.000-05:00

Just a couple of photos from the past couple of days. The top three pictures are from Massai land, near Narok, the last is from an orphanage visited on the outskirts of Nairobi, in an area called Dandora. I still need to touch up the photos a bit, but I wanted to share something with people before I disappear again. Things are rather nuts in my office right now, so I can't write much of anything right now. Tomorrow we all leave for a week long retreat in Mombasa, so I won't be near a computer at all.

I finally have an address!
Church World Service East Africa
PO BOX 14176-00800
Nairobi, Kenya

New Camera!

2008-12-04T08:07:00.002-05:00

So to the three of you who still read my blog, do I have news for you! My employer, Church World Service East Africa, has bought a new camera for me to use as my work camera. An Olympus e-520 to be exact. It's the first DSLR camera I've ever used, and I'm still trying to figure out how it works. If anyone who reads this blog (all three of you) have any tips or tricks to using such a fancy camera (or could direct people my way who do have experience using such fancy equipment), I'd owe ya one.I've been messing about with this camera since I got it yesterday, walking around the All African Conference of Churches complex (wherein CWS is located), taking random pictures of people and plants. It is beautiful here, and I think I could get some really nice looking photos if I had a bit more experience with this new monster of mine.

The office doesn't have photoshop, which is a bit of a disappointment. Nor does it have any cool photo-editing software that I could use. Anyone know of any free photo-editing software I could get? Or, even better, can anyone hook me up with Photoshop?

Tomorrow I go Narok, a reigion west of Nairobi. Narok is in the Rift Valley, and I'm told that it is part Maasai county. It'll my first time getting out of Nairobi, so needless to say, I'm excited. I hope to be allowed to take several pictures (I'm told Maasai's are rather touchy about photography) and then be able to share them. Who knows what will happen, but no matter what, it'll be an adventure. Wish me luck!

Forgotten

2008-12-02T03:32:00.002-05:00

Dear Blog,

I abandoned you. Will you forgive me? Will you allow me to return? Do you even care?

I promise you I will write onyou more. Give me one more chance. I was sick, you can't hold that against me. I had to leave Africa, and that crushed all impetus I had to write. I'm better now, and I've returned to Kenya. That means you can expect me to pay you more attention.

I promise.

-Henry

More Kiberia photos

2008-10-12T20:08:00.003-04:00

Some more pictures from the Kiberia slum of Nairobi. To see more of my photos, go to http://www.flickr.com/photos/89748792@N00/page3/.

Kiberia was a fascinating place. Sight of some of the most intense fighting during Kenya's post election violence, but from the surface you wouldn't be able to tell. The Toi Market, where the majority of these photos were taken, was completely burnt to the ground. Six months on only ash piles mixed with garbage, strewed amongst countless iron shingled shacks hint at the devastation that took place here.

Pictures Taken at Kiberia

2008-10-09T18:15:00.002-04:00

Above is a picture I took of Kiberia, a massive slum of Nairobi. Kiberia is one of the largest slums in the world, with about 1.2 million people squeezed into a space of about 2 kilometers.

I tried for about two hours to upload several other pictures today, but for some reason it just wouldn't work. I'll try again tomorrow.

Hiatus

2008-10-04T07:31:00.004-04:00

I have decided to suspend my blog for the time being to concentrate on the current financial crisis that is gripping America.

Actually that's pretty lame excuse. Here's the truth: I am going to stop even thinking about blogging for at least the next month (hopefully shorter) for health reasons. My medical situation has reached the point where I need to move into a new phrase of treatment, and my attention is going to be far away from tying to think up engaging things to write.

Vague, yes, but I don't want to go into more detail right now. I just need to take care of this so I can return to being 100%. But to hear the doctor tell it, I haven't been 100% for over a year. These infections are caused by something I contracted in Honduras in May of 2007, and this Something (no one seems to know what it is) has been sitting inside me ever since. I felt it last year, that something wasn't quite right, but I just explained it away with the Louisianan heat.

I'm not happy with the direction my health is taking me, But I follow. Sometimes a person just has to suffer, and suffer gladly. I am blessed. I just open my eyes and know I am blessed.

As I've written this, the skies of Kenya opened and rain is falling to the ground. Kenyan sky is pink at present, with the earth a soaken brown. Birds are singing. I am in another more beautiful world.

I'm now stuck in my office. And I never want to leave.

Stop Breathing.

2008-09-23T09:08:00.003-04:00

I opened my eyes and saw nothing. It was then that I heard the voice of God.

"Stop Breathing Henry"

And so I did.

"Good Henry, good, now you can breath again"

My eyes adjusted to the darkness. God has golden white hair, blinding in its brilliance. He also looks vaguely Indian, and speaks in a rich, deep bass.

"Ok Henry, Stop breathing again"

God at this moment stopped his ultrasound examination and peered over me. He spoke slowly and clearly, and looked into my eyes. God has brown eyes.

It was at this point that I think I realized that I wasn't dead, and that no, it wasn't God that I heard command me to stop breathing. I glanced to the other side of the dark room and noticed Shelvis and Robert, two close friends of mine, deep in contemplation, with prayerful eyes and concerned demeanor.

My body is wrecked with several infections, and seems to have been for quite some time. He has no idea why they all decided to attack me at 1 AM on Monday September 15th. He asks if I've ever been to a tropical area before I got to Kenya. Honduras, I replied. That seems to suit the Doctor well, and he tells me that I contracted a tropical bacteria most likely from Honduras over a year ago, and it has been lying dormant ever since. Oh, Good, I think.

"Just a couple of days in hospital and some powerful antibiotics, and you'll be just fine."

And then God walked out the door.

Hospital

2008-09-18T09:18:00.002-04:00

Just wanted to let people know that I'm in the hospital and am pretty sick. Nothing caused by Kenya per say, but just happened to strike me here. Will update when I can.

Briefly. Briefly

2008-09-13T07:45:00.002-04:00

Hello, Hello. I have nothing enlightening or rather interesting to add today. No good stories, no grand adventures, and I kinda like that. Things have slowed down a bit since I left my home stay.

I had this idea in my head that this blog would be a place of stories, tall tales, etc etc about my life as a Young Adult Mission Volunteer in Kenya. Anything else, I seemed to have thought, would have been a waste of time. But right now, I can't think of anything interesting or witty to say.

All I can say, really, is that Kenya is a fascinating place, in all senses (tenses?) of the word.

We've been listening to lectures on all sorts of things, from African History, to Current Politics, to an incredibly interesting discussion on African Spirituality. Perhaps I'll go into detail on that one a bit later.

One thing I should add: I moved into my apartment last night. As I walked in and tried to settle, my entire body seized up. This sense of reality hit me, and nearly knocked me over. My thoughts were all over the place, but if I could put my finger on a general theme, it would be, "this is actually happening, you are actually living in Kenya on your own", x 10 in anxious intensity.

Quite odd. Also, my bed is four feet off the ground. And I have two stoves. And three beds.

Led by Moses

2008-09-08T14:53:00.003-04:00

It rained in Nairobi today, and I out ran a Kenyan. This is one of the proudest moments of my life.

I have been staying with a host family for the past couple of days somewhere in the Westlands of Nairobi. The common pattern has been eat, sleep. At first, I'm pretty sure my lovely African family didn't know what to do with me, a big white guy from New Jersey who had no idea what he'd being doing in Kenya nor where he was living. In fact they weren't even expecting me; they had heard they were getting a girl or a couple. Surprise!

So they've fed me. Over and over. I think I have had more fish in the past three days than in all my life. The generosity of my host family is overwhealming, and I love it and think the world of them. Though I have had to tell them that I actually wanted to lose weight in Kenya, so no thank you to thirds of the ugali.

The middle son of the family is a good hearted gent by the name of Moses. He's a rather impressive guy, having founded two business and a nonprofit in the past five months since he moved back to Kenya from London. He's doing very good work down here, and has invited me to come see the orphans he works with on the weekends. Moses is also a commited 'born again' Christian, and the conversations I have had with him are quite engaging.

Moses led me through out all of Nairobi Centre City in search of signatures so that he can start a third business. And we found them! after a very long time and getting stuck in the rain.

And here comes the best part of my day. When the heavens started a downpour unlike any I have ever experienced, we started to run. Now picture Moses, a strong, healthy Kenyan, and me, HCoates. We start running, and thirty seconds later, I hear a voice:

'Wait Henry Wait! You're running too fast for me!'

And all I could do was yell back, 'Are you serious!? I'm running faster than a Kenyan?'

I slowed down, he caught up, and we both laughed till our sides hurt. All while getting soaked to the bone.

Celine Dion

2008-09-04T09:16:00.002-04:00

I am sitting in an internet cafe near the Westlands area of Nairobi. Celine Dion is playing on the stereo. And everyone is singing along.

So Weird. So Awesome.

"There were moments of Gold, there were flashes of Light".

"BABY BABY"

"It's all coming back to me NOW!".

This really is an epic moment.

I'm jetlagged. But otherwise I'm doing just dandy. Spent last night at a Catholic Hostel run by a rather grumpy German Nun. I attempted to say a word or two in German, but she just shook her head in a rather German way and told me to go to bed.

So, things are pretty par for course so far.

But seriously, holy crap, I'm in Kenya.

Gustav

2008-09-01T23:32:00.002-04:00

The prayers of millions have been answered. Gustav bypassed the Crescent City. A repeat of Katrina was not in the cards this time around.

And with that, it's settled. God really does intend me to go to Kenya.

And tomorrow, I fly first to Chicago, then to London, then to Nairobi. Orientation down here in Louisville has been spiritual intense. I've gotten something out of it, and I'm much more aware of what is expected of me as a Young Adult Volunteer. I'm drained, but at the same time I can say with all my being that I've felt the presence of God upon me. I never, in my whole life, thought I'd ever say (or in this instance, type) those words.

In the next thirty six hours or so, I'll be in Africa.

Africa. It kind of boggles my mind. I've heard stories, I've sang some of the songs, I've seen the pictures. But I've never felt it's earth under my feet, never breathed in its air. Never felt its sun upon my skin.

Africa.
God be praised.

Here I go

2008-08-25T23:23:00.001-04:00

I leave in the morning. I'm wrecked with this nervous energy, my leg bouncing up and down.

I'm really doing this.

I'm not apprehensive, I'm not scared. I'm not even at this point what I'd call excited. And I tell myself that I'm not really nervous, but my leg spazzing out belies the obvious.

I'm ready.

I hope.

Struggles with Blog Titles

2008-08-25T10:28:00.000-04:00

Thinking up a name for a blog is hard. "When are you going to start your blog about Kenya, Henry?", sighing, "When I can think up a catchy name" my constant reply.

I went to friends for aid. "Coates in Kenya" was their frequent refrain. No. Where's the pizzaz in that? A blog title needs to have pizzaz, needs to have that something special to catch the eye, that extra gumption to draw a person in. Some creative types were very helpful. "Sleepless in Nairobi". "A Touch of Henry". "Henry, Interrupted".

It came down to David Hively, Lutheran man extraordinare. This morning, in a final desperate plea, I turned to my wise and weathered friend. "Dave, I need help coming up with a name for my blog".

"Henry in Kenya."

No

"A Big Sweaty Mess."

wait a minute...yes. Yes! That's it

Thank you David for reminding me that no matter where I go in the world, no matter what I'm doing, and no matter how long you and I have been separated, I will always be a big sweaty mess to you. Thank you David Hively, you're a very good man.