I dressed as nicely as I could for my night on the town in Nairobi. I only had dress pants and a white office shirt to wear, which made me feel horribly inadequate, but it was the best I could do. I planned to go across the street to a popular club (I forget its name), because it was safe to go to the club and return to my hotel and Lonely Planet highly recommended it. I had tried contacting the other volunteers to see if they wanted to go, but there was no response. I felt even more isolated then, because they highly encouraged us to go out together to be safe and have fun, but I couldn’t even get a response from another volunteer.

Around 8:30, I went out to the club. Descending the elevator, I got more and more nervous since I was venturing out into Nairobi nightlife and I had never really been out on the town ever. The elevator doors opened and I walked out into the brightly lit lobby, feeling the scrutiny of the workers. I quickly exited the lobby and walked under the Nairobi night sky, feeling the crisp bite of winter wind on my bare skin. The club/bar was brightly lit and locals were entering with good spirits. Strings of lights hung across the patio as local music blared from stereos. I found a table and a waiter approached me. I ordered a Heineken, because I didn’t trust the local beer for the life of me. Tusker was the local favorite, but it didn’t smell or look good, so I avoided it. The waiter brought me my beer and I slowly sipped my beer while taking in the scene. Almost immediately, my stomach grumbled in extreme protest. I am quite used to my body’s grumblings, and instantly knew that I was going to be horribly sick shortly. I paid my bill, got up and left for my hotel room. I felt sicker and sicker as I made my way across the street. Some guy tried hitting on me as I left the bar, but I had to ignore him. Thankfully the lobby elevator was open and ready when I ran up to it.  The feeling of weightlessness didn’t help my growling stomach as I counted down the numbers, till my floor arrived. I practically ran to my room, unlocked the door, threw down my purse, and rushed to the bathroom. I threw up everything I had eaten that day and much more, as I hunched over the toilet. Shivering, cold, and alone, I lamented my “night on town” and its horrible conclusion. Once again, the Lariam took hold of my life and wouldn’t let go. My liver was so trashed by that point that it couldn’t even take a sip of alcohol. I crawled into bed, extremely worried, because I thought I was done with being sick. I carefully felt my abdomen, feeling each area just as Mrs. Curry, my high school anatomy teacher, had taught us to do physical examinations.

While feeling my abdomen, that was when I ran across my poor liver. Large, rock hard, and swollen, my liver clearly wasn’t in good shape, which was why my body had such a violent reaction to the Heineken. I realized then, that it wouldn’t matter if I was feeling temporarily alright, because my liver was in dire distress, and would take a long time to recover. I curled up under the blankets of the large, comfortable bed and rested until I fell asleep. I woke up the next morning, checked out of my room and grabbed a taxi. I had explored central Nairobi as much as I wanted, but I didn’t want to go back to Manaseh just yet. So I told the taxi driver to head to the Jacaranda Hotel in North-western Nairobi, an area which is filled with malls, shopping centers, and markets. From there I tried exploring the north-western side of Nairobi, but alas almost everything was closed for Madaraka day and to go further would require an expensive taxi. So I ended up staying inside the hotel room, after thoroughly exploring everything nearby. I still got stared at and attracted the attention of local store owners and taxi drivers, but I just kept going. I enjoyed being away from Manaseh and Stuart for however short a time. I missed the children, but I didn’t want to be near Stuart or Liz, so it was all I could do. I slept peacefully that night at the hotel, but I knew I needed to go back to Manaseh the next day, since I had to teach the computer classes at 10am and Stuart wouldn’t know how to teach them.

The next morning, I packed my things and went down to the lobby to check out. A large group of high school age students were there in the lobby checking out as well. They seemed so happy and excited. A complete contrast to how I felt about my trip now. I sat down in a chair and remembered how excited I had been to go to Kenya and help orphans. I was anything but excited or happy at that point. I desperately needed to go to the hospital to get my liver checked out and to take care of my persistent period as well as the constant diarrhea and vomitting, which never quite went anyway no matter what medicines I took. All my dreams and expectations for my trip to Kenya, completely fell through. I wasn’t situated in the nice, secured orphanage which I had been assigned. The other volunteers turned out to be complete jerks and the volunteer coordinator, who was supposed to be there for us, was never available. Instead, I was stuck half-way across the world, sick as a dog, with no one to turn to. I began fantasizing about meeting up with the American military or Mormons, who would help me out and treat me right. The large group of students were a complete contrast to me. They would go back home with fond memories and wonderful stories, while I would go home and recover physically and emotionally for a very long time.

I left the hotel and grabbed a matatu which was headed towards Karen. I felt better after having my little private excursion, no matter how dismal it turned out to be, just because it was something, rather than nothing. Riding on the matatu, I got to feeling rather remorseful for leaving the kids and being mean to Stuart, no matter how much he truly deserved it. I began hatching a plan to make it up to them. I love giving presents to people, especially when they don’t expect it, so I was really excited about thinking of which things to get for which people. I wanted to get the gifts before I came back to Manaseh, but alas the Nakumatt was closed for Madaraka day, so I had to postpone it for the next day. I slowly made my way back to Manasheh, carrying my small bag over my shoulder. Unlike Stuart, I was not greated by a rush of children. The house actually seemed strangely quiet and deserted. I walked upstairs and still didn’t see anyone, until I got back to my room. The door was open, which it shouldn’t have been because of the children, and I walk in to see Liz standing there.  I was shocked because Stuart said that she would be going to Orientation on Monday, which meant she was given housing for the Orientation, which would be nowhere near Manaseh.  I planned my trip and my return, according to when Liz was leaving.

And yet, there she was. Standing there, all perky, cheerful, and inquisitive, she just rubbed me the wrong way again. I was relaxed after my trip and wasn’t irritable, but as soon as she started interogating me about where I had been and what I did on my trip, I got annoyed again! It wasn’t so much what she was asking, but the way she was asking it. She practically pounced me with questions, and I couldn’t just brush her off easily, because she was so persistent. I was forced to tell her “Oh it was fine, I had fun. I’ll tell you about it later!” I hurriedly got out of there, before she accosted me again, and went to the computer room to prepare for the lessons. While I sat there, working on the computers, Pasta came up and was surprised to see me. He apparently thought that I wouldn’t return for a while more, but I explained to him that I came back because of the computer lessons. “Oh! but I told Agnes, and the others that you weren’t here!” Ah fudge! I came back so early because of the computer lessons, but now they weren’t even coming at all. I was disappointed, because I came back so early because I felt an obligation to teach those computer lessons. Otherwise I would have stayed out longer and explored a different area, but instead I chose to do the honorable thing and come back early. But as usual, any of my attempts to do the right thing at Manaseh, resulted in failure or uselessness.  Once again I felt useless, and impotent. Resolve filled me and made me determined to not let it get me down this time. So I sat there and continued to work on the lessons, since I had to create these projects from scratch, think about what they needed to know for each program, and how I can test their knowledge. It is always a time consuming task, but I had nothing else to do and wanted to actually do something useful, so focused on the gray screen in front of me.

Shortly after Pasta talked to me, Stuart found me in the computer room. He seemed surpirsed that I had returned early, but he also seemed tired and worn out for some reason. I wasn’t quite so mad at him today, but still his past behavior irked me and made me wary in my interactions with him. He seemed hesitant as well like he still didn’t know how to deal with me, even though all he had to do was talk to me like a friend and treat me with respect. He said that he was taking the kids to the Ngong Hills for a treat since it was a holiday weekend. “that sounds nice, have fun!” I responded. Stuart stood there for a little bit, as if he expected me to ask if I could come with him. I wanted to go, but didn’t want to be an imposition, since I figured Liz would be going. Stuart shrugged his shoulders a little and left to get ready for his trip. Before he left, I asked “Wasn’t Liz  supposed to leave for Orientation today?”  Stuart replied that she was staying for her orientation as well. Surprisingly he didn’t seem excited or happy, but rather resigned. Not sure if his reaction was more due to his exaughstion or his genuine displeasure at Liz staying an extra night. Oh, great another two days of Liz, I thought. Stuart shrugged his shoulders a little and left to get ready for his trip. Left alone, I continued working on my computer lessons.

After I finished working on the lessons, I did random work around Manaseh and played with the few children who didn’t go with Stuart for whatever reason.  Liz left for Orientation sometime later, when the driver came to pick her up. The rest of that day is kind of jumbled up in my mind. I can’t remember who came or left first, and I have spent all afternoon trying to remember, but to no avail. So I will skip the parts that I simply do not remember and resume where I do remember things clearly.

Liz attended her Orientation and Stuart went with her to speak to the Orientation group, just as he did with mine.  He sent me a text while he was at Orientation, saying that we would have yet another volunteer at Manaseh. His name was Robbie Schultz and he was about 20, from San Diego. I asked if he was going to actually stay at Manaseh or if he was just “visiting” like Liz. Stuart said that Robbie was actually assigned to Manaseh, so he would be staying. I was a bit relieved that he genuinely had a reason to be at Manaseh and he would be staying in Stuart’s room. After Orientation, Stuart left from there to go visit friends or something. Liz and Robbie returned later in the afternoon. Robbie was tall, had dirty blonde hair, and dark tanned skin. His voice seemed to hint at him being gay, which I instantly picked up on, but Liz insisted that he wasn’t gay.

He seemed friendly enough, but he barely noticed me and focused on Liz instead. Stuart stupidly forgot to unlock his door when he left, so Robbie couldn’t get into the room to settle in. Liz was talking very fast and insensibly to him, so I left the room to go work on the computer lessons. Liz and Robbie continued to ramble on and on, when Liz decided to show him around Manaseh. She started by showing him the computer room, where I was working, making me feel like a monkey on display again. She was rambling on and on when she burst out “Oh, you should probably be the one to show him around!” well duh, that would have been nice to let the volunteer who lived there for a month, to show around the new volunteer rather than the “visitor” volunteer. I shrugged my shoulders and told her to go ahead. It was clear that even if what she said was right,  she wouldn’t stop doing it or let me do it. Liz dragged Robbie around Manaseh, rambling on to her heart’s content.

Later that night, Stuart bothered to come home. They spent the night talking away and playing with the kids, while I did the laundry. I was getting frustrated because I wanted to be downstairs with the children, but either I was too sick to move or the laundry needed to be done. I wanted to hold Shiku and read to her. I wanted to watch T.V. with the boys. I wanted to let the girls do my hair. But I was always stuck doing laundry, which took forever since the laundry machine could only handle a very small load and the children’s clothes were always coated in the red dirt of Kenya. Each night Mama Rachel would insist that HER children’s clothes be separated from the orphan’s clothes so she could have them ready in the morning. Every single night, “Becca, do you have Rachel and Prudence’s clothes?” “Yes, of course.” Mama Rachel did not want to descend into the mayhem of her own orphanage, to pick out her precious children’s clothes. Throughout my time in Kenya, she rarely left her upstairs living room and didn’t bother to watch over the children except to occaisionally yell down to the children some order or reprimand. She lay on her couch like Ursulla, from the “Little Mermaid,” all fat, content, and coniving. For a pastor’s wife and orphanage director, she did very little work. She treated everyone, including me, like house servants who would take care of everything for her, so she could remain fat and content on her couch.

All of these additional stresses began to build on me again, making me tired and irritable. I took comfort in the fact that I would go out and get the presents for everyone the next day and would get to see the children smile and be happy.  The next morning I woke up, taught the computer lessons, which had become much easier with the addition of the projects. Instead of instructing the students every step of the way, I was able to sit back and answer their questions when they had them. After the lessons were finished, I left for Karen to go get the gifts. No one else knew about it, until I had to ask for Stuart’s help. I told him that I would need his help bringing in some gifts in the afternoon and that I would call him when I was nearing Manaseh. I told him to pretend to be a gentleman and “help” me take the stuff up to my room so that he could recieve his present and not have to share it with anyone else. He was so cute when I told him the plan. He got all excited, because he knew presents were coming, even for him, and that he would get to help out. As I left for Manaseh, Stuart and the others were all doing the beading project. Stuart called out to me “So what I am supposed to do again???” I looked back and told Stuart “I will call you!” Stuart nearly gave the whole thing away because he couldn’t remember. LOL!  I descended the hill laughing and smiling for the first time in a very long time.

I made my way to Karen and began picking up presents for everyone. For Damaris I got Ferrero Rocher chocolates. For the kids I got a big bag of Twix candy bars. Since I barely knew Liz or Robbie and they hadn’t really done anything to deserve something extravagant, I only got them Kinder Bueno Bars, which I figured were special enough. The big present was for Stuart. I felt remorseful and regrettful over how I treated him the last week, so I wanted to make up for it. The poor guy was on such a tight budget and he gave alot to Manaseh, that he couldn’t get anything for himself. He was always so hungry and I have an incredible urge to make sure that the people around me are well fed and taken care of, so I decided to treat him to pizza. The pizza place in town made some darn good pizza, so I ordered Stuart a nice large pizza with several toppings all for himself. I also got him two Fanta: Black Currant Sodas, since those were his favorite and what is pizza without soda right?

The workers there got to know me well because I was always there and they thought it was cute that I was bringing Stuart home some pizza. I carefully carried the large pizza box, plastic grocery bags and my purse towards the matatu stop. I hadn’t figured out what to get Mama Rachel and Pasta, but I thought I would give them 9,o00 shillings (roughly 120 bucks) to pay for their electric bill which was overdue. As I walked towards the matatu stop, I was accosted by the flower sellers along the gates. They always wanted me to buy their flowers, but I always refrained before. That day though, I thought maybe flowers would be the thing to get for Mama Rachel as a Thank you. I didn’t think much of her, but she was my hostess and I had to show due respect. I let the flower sellers pull me towards their stands. Unlike many other sellers, the flowers sellers were all women. I felt like they were trying to support their little children with the flower money so I didn’t feel cheated or harassed by dealing with them.  I saw some extraordinarily pretty orangey, pink roses which reminded me of sherbet. I bought those flowers for what I thought was a fair price and left with incredibly full arms.

I made it to the matatus and climbed into the seats right behind the driver, which are the best seats. When the wrangler came near the matatu, he motioned for me to move up to the very front seat, which is the ultimate seat in the van! he felt that with all my gifts and flowers, that it would be best for me to sit up front where there is more room. It always seemed like as soon as I despaired of being treated nicely in Kenya, someone came along and proved that there are still good people in Kenya. Matatu wranglers had been increasingly rude to me and I had acclimated myself to being treated poorly by them, until the nice wrangler offered me a better seat in deference to my beautiful flowers.

It was a long, bumby ride to Sam’s and I had to walk to the school to pick the children up as well. I waited with all my gifts outside the school until the children were let out. I saw Teacher Nora and she joked to me about the flowers being for her. She told me then that only Baby Tyson was leaving at that time, all the other children were being held for extra work. They weren’t being punished, it was just like extra schooling. Unfortuneatly for me, I had counted on the other children helping me get Baby Tyson home, since my hands were literally quite full. I managed to call Stuart from my phone and told him to come help me get Baby Tyson home because I simply couldn’t manage it alone. Baby Tyson, as cute as he was, has a tendency to run off in many directions and won’t come along unless you do some serious coaxing. I tried keeping up with Baby Tyson as best as I could while we made our home to Manaseh. Stuart promised to come down and help me with Baby Tyson ASAP, so I was scanning the horizon looking for his familiar form. As we passed the butcher shops, I spotted Stuart coming down the street. He flung his arms open wide and cried out “Tyson!” It was the first time that Stuart met the children on their way home from school so Baby Tyson was quite excited. They hugged and met me. Stuart was getting excited again because of all the gifts I was bringing home. As we neared the bottom of the hill, Stuart looked at me sheepishly and said “So, I noticed that you are carrying flowers?” He looked all boyish and bashful, almost as if he thought someone had given them to me. I replied “These are for Mama Rachel. I mean hell who would give me flowers?” with a bitter sarcastic edge, as the hurt of the fact that no one would actually give me flowers hit me. Stuart got all excited again, thinking about giving Mama Rachel the flowers.

As we climbed up the hill, Baby Tyson stopped to pee and nearly hit me in the process, which Stuart thought was mildly amusing. Stuart had to slow way down to coax Baby Tyson along, and I had to proceed up the hill with all my bags since the candy was most likely going bad in the heat of the afternoon. I reached Manaseh first and headed upstairs to unpack all of the gifts. Everyone else was still doing the beading, so they were distracted. I made my way up to the room and got Stuart’s present ready for him. Since Robbie, Liz, and Damaris were only getting small candies I didn’t want Stuart to feel like he had to share with them. I wanted Stuart to enjoy every bit of his present since he deserved it, but I knew that his giving personality would compel him to share with everyone else if they knew about it. So I hid his pizza and sodas under a sweater of mine, until he came up the stairs. It actually took him awhile to get Baby Tyson up the hill, but he eventually made it home and past Liz and Robbie. He knocked quietly on the door. “Come in Stuart!” I said quietly. He crept in like a child who is trying to sneak a peek at his Christmas presents. He was sheepish and everything again, because he knew he was getting a present. “You said you have something for me?” he practically squeeked.

I had practiced what I wanted to say to him in my mind so that I would say exactly what I wanted to say. “Stuart, I was being really mean to you last week. I was really frustrated with being sick, being harassed by strange local guys, and having “feminine” problems, as well as having an unexpected visitor.” I raised my voice, in a joking manner to let him know that that particular problem was due in part by him. He looked down at the floor and the smiled back at me like he  was silently saying ”I know, I am sorry.” “I have just been under a lot of stress lately and I took it out on you, and you didn’t deserve it, and I am sorry about that.” Stuart interjected ‘You weren’t that bad! honestly! you don’t have to apologize!” “No, I do have to apologize because you didn’t deserve it.” Stuart was so cute at that moment. He was all sheepish and happy that I was acknowledging that I had been a bitch to him and that he didn’t deserve it. I kind of got the vibe, that not many women have apologized to Stuart for acting like a bitch to him, even though he kindly put up with it all. “So to make up for it, I got you this….” I reached under the sweater and pulled out the pizza box. Stuart became ecstatic. He jumped up a little bit and clapped his hands. “You didn’t have to get me pizza!” Oh but I did. Just so I could have seen that look on his face. He was so happy at that moment and seeing him like that was worth all the money and effort. “Well I also got you this to go with the pizza” I pulled out the Fanta: Black Currant and he got speechlees. He was even happier because I had remembered that Black Currant was his favorite. He held his pizza and soda close and while I told him that he deserved every bit of it and that he should go eat that pizza quick because I didn’t want him to have to share the pizza with anyone else. He scurried off to his room and looked so damned happy.

Later that day, I gave Liz and Robbie their Kinder Buenos. Damaris got her Ferrero Rochers, which produced a squeel of delight. The kids all go their sweets,which they thoroughly enjoyed. Pasta got the money for the electric bill. The only gift that was problematic was Mama Rachel’s flowers. I wanted the small children to give the flowers to her as a gift, since they would love to give a gift, but lacked the capapbility to get a gift. I talked to Stuart about which child should give the flowers and we agreed that Emma should give them. She was older, but she was quiet and sweet. The only children I didn’t want to give the flowers were Rachel and Prudence, becuase they would have used it as another weapon in their private war against the other children. The other problem with giving the flowers was to make sure that the children understood exactly what they were supposed to do. Half the time it seemed that they pretended to understand what I told them, but really they didn’t understand at all. So I enlisted the help of Damaris to explain to the children in Kiswahili what they needed to do. As I explained this to Damaris, Liz overheard our plans. She got all excited too and instantly began formulating ideas for giving the flowers to Mama Rachel. I just wanted the kids to hand the flowers to Mama Rachel and say thank you. Liz started going on and on about hiding the children in a room, luring Mama Rachel somewhere, buzzing each other (briefly calling so that you get a ring, as a sort of signal. common practice in Kenya), and singing songs. Oh my goodness, I had absolutely no idea what this woman was talking about, but she was convincing Damaris to do it. All of a sudden, my simple plan was blown out of the water by Liz and her extravagent plan that made absolutely no sense whatsoever and was completley not what I wanted. It didn’t matter how much I protested or interjected, Liz completely ignored me in her eagerness. Liz and Damaris ran off downstairs to orchestrate this fiasco, while I was left standing there, wondering what the hell happened? Liz completely ignored me again, so she could run a muck and take over a project that she had absolutely no right to.

Somehow, they managed for the children to hide in a room with the flowers, and made the kids sing a thank you song for Mama Rachel. The kids presented Mama Rachel with the flowers. She didn’t seem really happy about it, but what do you expect from a woman who wants diamonds, but only deserves coal? Liz told Mama Rachel that it was my idea, but I interjected and said it was everyone’s idea, because I am not a glory hog or anything and I felt like Liz was intentionally setting me up to be snotty. Grrrrr

It was a long couple of days and so many things changed that weekend. Manaseh got a new visitor, a new volunteer, a holiday weekend, and gifts. I had my bad moods and I was pissed whether rightfully or not, but I will always remember the look on the kids faces when they ate the Twix bars and savored every last little bit. The look on Stuart’s face when I gave him his pizza and soda is burned into my memory forever, because he was so damned happy over what I thought was little stupid thing like pizza.

My son came home from PreK with a paper pilgrim hat the other day.  After admiring his handiwork, my mind went to the obvious place.  

Pilgrim names.

Spokane’s Spokesman-Review reminds us that back in 1620, first baby born to the Pilgrims in New England was named Peregrine.  Big brother was called Resolved.  

There were, of course, plenty of men called John and William and women named Mary and Anne.  

The more interesting masculine names worn by Plymouth Rock arrivals included:

• Isaac
• Bartholomew
• Love
• Wrestling
• Moses
• Desire
• Degory (though he may have been Gregory.  Or Digory – we don’t know much about him.)
• Giles (brother to Constance, Damaris and Oceanus)
• Oceanus (born en route to Plymouth – see above)
• Solomon
• Jasper
• Myles (Standish, of course)

There were fewer women, but a few stand-out names:

• Remember
• Humility
• Constance (sister to Damaris, Oceanus and Giles) 
• Damaris (see above)
• Priscilla

I’ve read estimates that only around 25% of the Purtians ever had names that would’ve seemed unusual in their day.  If that’s true, then 75% answered to ordinary appellations for their time, like James and Elizabeth.  

It also seems surprisingly consistent with modern day experience.  Around three-quarters of all kids born in the US receive a Top 1000 name.  In the nineteenth century, names ranking in the 900s were only given to a few kids; today, names at those same rankings are worn by a few hundred.  Really unusual names have never been terribly common – but neither was there a moment where every boy was Robert and every girl was Jane. 

Nathaniel Hawthorne’s 1850 novel of scandal amongst the Puritans, The Scarlet Letter, introduced a few unusual names not worn by the original settlers, including Hester and Pearl.  Most of the other names were unremarkable – Arthur and Roger aren’t popular today, but they don’t make you think of the novel, either.  

Even in fiction, not every Puritan was called Flee-Fornication.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Oh du schöne Vorweihnachtszeit! Wem da das Herzchen nicht warm werden will, dem wird musikalisch mit aller Kraft nachgeholfen, wenn die Musikschaffenden reihum Singles vollgepackt mit Glöckchen, Streichern und den ganz großen Gefühlen veröffentlichen. Auch Patrick Wolf reiht sich da ein und bringt mit “Damaris” am 11. Dezmeber die dritte Single aus seinem aktuellen Album “The bachelor” heraus. Allerdings ist dieser Song im Gegensatz zu den meisten Songs dieser Sorte keine Kitschblase, die beim ersten scharfen Blick zerplatzt, sondern einer der besten Songs auf dem Album, da geht das schon in Ordnung.

Mit dem Clip dazu verhält es sich allerdings anders. Wolf führte gemeinsam mit Rory Braodford Regie und erzählt die Romeo-und-Julia-Geschichte der um 1880 lebenden Damaris,die in einem kleinen Dorf in Sussex lebte, aber nicht Mitglied der katholischen Kirche war, die damals in den ländlichen Gebieten einen noch viel größeren Einfluss hatte als heute. Ihr Romeo hieß Lewis und war der Sohn des örtlichen Priesters. Wolf erzählt die Geschichte aus dessen Sicht, nachdeem Lewis entdeckt hat, dass Damaris sich aus Liebeskummer das Leben genommen hat. Im Video spielen Wolf und die Schauspielerin Gwendoline Christie diese Geschichte choreographisch nach, mit allerlei Kostümwechseln, aber den immer gleichen Gesten und sehr langen Einstellungen. Tendenziell öde dieser Clip:

Die Single erscheint digital und auf Vinyl. Die Tracklist der digitalen Variante:

1. Damaris
2. Peacock skies
3. Queen Isabella (The She-Wolf of France)
4. Damaris (St. George’s Church Acoustic Mix)

“Queen Isabella (The She-Wolf of France)” erzählt wiederum eine historische Geschichte. Königin Isabella war im 16. Jahhundert die Frau von Edward II., der angeblich bisexuell war. Sie wurde von den Engländern als “She-Wolf” bezeichnet und ihr Geist soll heute noch im Garten der St. Paul’s Kathedrale spuken, in dessen Nähe Wolf wohnt. Im Mittelpunkt des musikalischen Arrangements steht bei dem Song das Cembalo. “Peacock skies” nahm Wolf während der Tour zum Album “The magic position” 2007 in der kalifornischen Wüste irgendwo zwischen Las Vegas und San Francisco auf. “Damaris (St. George’s Church Acoustic Mix)” ist, wie der Titel bereits sagt, eine Akustik-Version des Titeltracks, die auf der Orgel der St. George Kirche eingespielt wurde. Die Vinyl-Version wird neben dem Titeltrack nur mit “Queen Isabella (The She-Wolf of France)” als B-Seite veröffentlicht.

Wann endlich “The conquerer”, das Album, dass ursprünglich im Doppel mit “The bachelor” veröffentlicht werden sollte, endlich erscheint, ist leider bislang nicht bekannt.

image from PW's facebook

Just a heads up that everyone’s favorite blondey Patrick Wolf released a new video at guardian.co.uk for the song Damaris. Click on the link to watch the video as PW crawls on the ground for a woman he just might love.

Am I the only one who thinks Patrick looks like a grown up Draco Malfoy from the Harry Potter series? Regardless, the man can sing and I have enjoyed all of his singles off the Bachelor CD released earlier this year. Buy it!

<via Patrick Wolf’s Facebook Updates>

From his recently released album, The Bachelor

buy album

Patrick Wolf just announced the release of Damaris as his next single and without a doubt, my favourite on the album, on December 14th.

The story/meaning of the song, according to Patrick’s Facebook is amazingly beautiful and worthy of being posted in full. REALLY excited to see the video directed by and co-starring Patrick and actress Gwendoline Christie (The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus). Stated to be Wolf’s visual interpretation of the passionate romance between Damaris and Lewis, shot on location at Blackdown, West Sussex.

“The song is semi-autobiographical and centred on the loss of love, but was also inspired by a tale discovered by Patrick when he went to seek out his English roots after a period of heartbreak and the ending of a relationship that was documented in the song The Magic Position.

The church organ on the song, played by Patrick and the drums by Marcello Vig were both recorded in 2008 on location in St. George’s Church, the very church ground where the romance took place a hundred years before between Damaris and Lewis”.

Check out his live performance of Damaris from Bottom Lounge in Chicago:

O agir de Deus é lindo na vida de quem é fiel,

No começo tem provas amargas,

Mas no fim tem o sabor do mel

Eu nunca vi um escolhido sem resposta

Porque em tudo Deus lhe mostra uma solução,

Até nas cinzas ele clama e Deus atende lhe protege,

lhe defende, com as suas fortes mãos

Você é um escolhido e a tua história não acaba aqui

Você pode estar chorando agora,

Mas amanhã você irá sorrir,

Deus vai te levantar das cinzas e do pó,

Deus vai cumprir tudo que tem te prometido,

Você vai ver a mão de Deus te exaltar

Quem te vê há de falar,

Ele é mesmo escolhido.

Vão dizer que você nasceu pra vencer

Que já sabiam porque você

Tinha mesmo cara de vencedor,

E que se Deus quer agir ninguém pode impedir

Então você verá cumprir cada palavra

Que o Senhor falou,

Quem te viu passar na prova e não te ajudou,

Quando ver você na benção vão se arrepender,

Vai estar entre a platéia e você no palco,

Vai olhar e ver Jesus brilhando em você,

Quem sabe no teu pensamento você vai dizer,

Meu Deus como vale a pena a gente ser fiel,

Na verdade a minha prova tinha um gosto amargo,

Mas minha vitória hoje tem sabor de mel,

Tem sabor de mel, tem sabor de mel,

A minha vitória hoje tem sabor de mel,

Tem sabor de mel, tem sabor de mel,

A minha vitória hoje tem sabor de mel.

1. Cosas Grandes
2. Quien como tu
3. Nadie como tu
4. Todo poderoso
5. Sino hubiera sido
6. Quiero Exaltarte
7. Te entrego todo
8. A ti
9. Rey de Mi vida
10. Tu reinas

CLICK AQUI PARA DESCARGAR

I never really saw Pasta that often while I was in Kenya. He had his parish to look after and people to meet with about the orphanage, so most of his business kept him away from the orphanage. Whenever he was around Manaseh, though, it was always a surprise to see what he would do or say next, because you could never predict his next move. One such night, Stuart, Damaris, and I were sitting around the living room talking as Pasta walked in from the adjacent office. We greeted him and he responded with “Aaaaahhh, Rebecca! your students will be coming tomorrow at 10am for computer lessons!” Whaaatttttt??????

Pasta walked away as the information was quickly processing through my head. We had briefly discussed my computer skills in our first meeting, but I told him that I could only possibly teach Microsoft Word and PowerPoint. That was all we discussed. He never once mentioned that he was getting students for me to teach or when it would happen, untill he informed me the night before. Stuart and Damaris tried to reassure me that it wouldn’t be difficult, but I was in the middle of a panic attack. I really don’t deal well with sudden situations where I am expected to perform at certain levels of competency. Stuart started laughing at me, while I had my panic attack. The lessons were based on this lesson book, which began with the computer structure and function, which I know absolutely nothing about. I can make Word and PowerPoint do what I want it to do, but other than that, I just recruited the help of the nearest computer nerd to make it work.

I frantically looked over the lesson book, which was poorly written and detailed long and boring instructions for the simplest of tasks. I began committing all the information to my memory before I had to go to bed. I also took a look at the computers that we would be using. The four computers had to be from 1995 at the earliest and were very difficult to even turn on. I went to sleep that night, fretful and worried that the computer lessons would go horribly and I would look bad.

Morning came and I woke up in a mild panic attack. I knew I only had about an hour and  a half to get everything ready for my incoming students. My first problem came when the computers wouldn’t even turn on! I tried every possible combination and trick I could think of to get the darn things to even make a  noise at me. Nothing worked. I had to grab Stuart to help me and he fiddled with the computers and switched out the electrical cords until they turned on. After that fiasco, I ran into my next problem. All the computers, except for one, had Microsoft Office 1999. The other computer had Office 2003 on it, which was at least decent. I have never had to use Office 1999 since i was a child and I had to relearn where all the buttons were. Those dull, gray screens and archaic designs made me even more nervous about my ability to teach the class.

Before I ever felt a tiny bit comfortable or relaxed, my first student arrived. Stuart had previously warned me that I would just be called Teacher. I didn’t quite know what was expected of me as an African Teacher or how it would be different from being a teacher in America and that quite frankly terrified me, because I wasn’t sure if there any other protocols that Stuart forgot to mention. The computer room was upstairs, so I waited for my students to come up the stairs to me. My voice caught in my throat as I heard a stranger down below, who I presumed was my student. She began climbing the stairs and I jumped up from the stool to greet her. She was a large women, with corn rows in her hair, and she wore a large, brightly colored african print shirt with a skirt. Her name was Janet (I can’t quite remember her name, pole!) and she lived right next door in another Pastor’s house as his househelp. We greeted each other, and I told her that I was her teacher. I could barely keep my hands from shaking uncontrollably.

We sat down on the stools and I asked her about her background with computers and discovered that she hadn’t even touched a computer before in her life. Oh great….this was going to be like teaching a three year old. We started up the computer and I began showing her the basics, when I ran into my next problem. The computers were placed into these wooden cubicles, so there were wood dividers that seperated them. We discovered that the cubicles were too small to properly fit the keyboard and have enough room to move the mouse. We had about a 4″ by 4″ area in which to move the mouse, which was rather unresponsive and difficult. I had incredibly difficulty manuevering the mouse, so how could my student learn?

Then there was the language barrier problem. She didn’t speak good enough english to fully understand what I was telling her to do, and then she wanted me to do all the tasks for her. I showed her how to do the tasks, but then made her take over the mouse and do it herself. She always took her hand off the mouse to make me do it, but I had to force her to do it. It was very difficult to teach her, but I persisted. The lesson was supposed to end at noon, but 12:15 came and passed and she still didn’t want to quit. I politely asked if she wanted to stop for today, but she shook her head forcefully and said “No, I want to continue learning!” I couldn’t very well kill her enthusiasm, so we continued until it was 1pm. I was downright exaughsted after spending my whole morning on those uncomfortable stools and trying to find common ground for me to teach on. I practically had to rip her hand off the mouse and shut the computer down for her, so she couldn’t keep working. She seemed disappointed that we had to stop, but she wasn’t learning anymore so much as forgetting everything she had already learned.

She was my only student that day, but I was told that more would be coming tomorrow. The lessons went every day Mon-Fri from 10am to 12pm. This was my new responsibility during the day and I couldn’t shirk it, because these were paying students. I hadn’t really found any niche for myself, aside from doing the laundry, at Manaseh. I was marginally grateful that I had something specifically for me to do, but I didn’t appreciate the suddeness of the duty. The next day I prepared for more lessons. I began relying on simply beating the machines into submission in order for them to work. They would grunt and groan as I politely coaxed them into working for me. When that failed, I found that I that a good smack on the monitor usually did the trick. The main problem seemed to be the electrical cords. Stuart had purchased two extension cords with a plethora of connections for every type of plug and these were quite handy and useful. They were, however, not the best quality. As I plugged in one of the computers, the computer turned on, but then quickly shut off as I moved the electrical cord. The computer wouldn’t turn on again after that. I discovered that the cord had a loose part in it, that if it touched the plug would cause the computer to short out. This happened soooooo many times that I was tempted to go out and buy my own cords, just so the computers wouldn’t be damaged anymore.

The next day, I had another student arrive. Her name was Agnes and she also lived next door with Janet. She,  however, did have quite a bit of experience with computers since she had already taken classes in Microsoft Word before. I breathed a huge sigh of relief at that bit of information, because it was very tiring to have to explain every small detail and instruction to Janet. However, that relief was short lived. Instead of knowing how to use Microsoft Word, Agnes simply believed she did. She didn’t listen to me at all and didn’t want to do the exercises I told her to do, because she would always go “Teacher…..I know how to do this.” I always responded “Well then it shouldn’t take too long to do it then.” I also had the additional problem of handling two students at once, who were on different skill levels entirely. I was looking forward to teaching Janet again because we had accomplished so much the day before that surely today couldn’t be so bad, right? Wrong. Janet came in and said “I want to start over from the beginning.” She had completely forgotten everything she had learned the day before, so all that time was for naught.

Another big problem I had teaching them was with typing. I knew they wouldn’t be able to type well if at all, but typing is an essential computer skill, so I figured I would try giving them practice at it while we were in class. In the projects, I incorporated portions where they had to type a paragraph. I wrote out the entire paragraph for them, they just had to write exactly what I put down. They completely ignored that instruction. Every time I told them to type out what I wrote, they just looked at me like they understood, but then they just wrote whatever they felt like, which was absolute rubbish and didn’t give them any practice whatsoever.

As preparation for the classes, I began making lessons, with projects for them to work on. The lesson book was truly dreadful and useless, so I had to adapt. The lesson book just made them do simple steps, without too much thought into why or what they were actually doing. So I created these projects, which were similar to what I had to do in my computer classes. I had them make invitations, a brochure, a flyer, etc.  Anything to get them to use the individual Word tools in a comprehensive manner. Agnes was not very happy about those projects. After she did all the exercises in the lesson book for Word, she moved on to Excel. I had to tell her to go back and do the projects for Word. She didn’t like that at all. She kept complaining that she knew how to do it, but I knew that she might have known, but she was far from competent at it. Her actions were awkward, unskilled and uncertain all of the time, so I knew she didn’t really know what she was doing. Sure enough, once I forced her to go back and do the projects, all of her questions started coming out. Not because the project was designed poorly or anything, but because she didn’t know how to do it. She struggled alot with those projects, but I think it was a good wake up call to her, because she thought she knew it all.

The only other student I had was named Susan (?), who was a shopkeeper down the street and had a small boy who she brought with her. Her son was absolutely adorable. He had these big, brown eyes and pouty lips and a smile that could melt the devil’s heart. He would run around the computer room and then run straight back to his mom, smacking into her. She had to bring a small ball for him to play with to keep him occupied.  He flinged the ball around the room and run after it. I would play with him, while my students followed my projects. I was there to answer any questions, but all the instructions were on the computer so it wasn’t necessary for me or any future volunteer to struggle. So I sat there waiting for questions, but in the mean time I tossed the ball back and forth with the baby. He was so adorable and helped me heal from all the emotional wounds that had been inflicted on me in Kenya. He just seemed so happy to play ball with me and he didn’t try to play tricks or manipulate me like members of the Brat Pack.

Once I got the hang of the lessons, I had to spend quite a bit of time outside of the class time, just preparing the projects and lessons from scratch which took bloody nigh forever. These computer lessons felt very isolating, because I had to be up in this lonely little computer room and lessons were at a time when Stuart began doing his beading project, so I couldn’t very well join in. Oh yah, haven’t mentioned his beading project yet. Well Stuart had been working on it for quite a while and the plan was to make a huge pile of beaded jewelry to sell in Karen as a fundraiser. He recruited a local beadmaker and every adult at Manaseh would work on making those beads. I thought it was a terrible idea for a fundraiser because it cost too much money to even get started and then there was so much competition in Karen. Kids were always soliciting me to buy stuff from them for a charitable cause. Tourism in Kenya was at an all time low because of the violence, so there was very few people who could buy the jewelry. To top it off, every other charity fundraiser out there was doing the exact same thing, so they had no edge over the competition. I didn’t think it was a good idea at all, but I couldn’t even join in because the computer classes went on at the exact same time and it was my duty to do the computer classes and no one elses. Buggar.

Those computer lessons seemed to last forever and I was exaughsted from them, but I couldn’t give up. After each lesson, I either rested or went into Karen for a break. I couldn’t go anywhere else besides Karen, because it was simply too far or dangerous for me. There was another market close by called Dagoretti, but after my run in with the local male shopkeepers, I didn’t want to risk an even bigger market filled with men just like them. Karen, however, was closely guarded for the protection of the whites and it was just a better environment for me since I was still on my period. I had been having my period for almost a month straight by that time and it rarely got better. There were days when it seemed to stop and i did a little dance for joy at the thought of finally being able to not wear pads, which feel like diapers (they do! can’t help saying it!), but it always came back. No matter what, it always came back. These were big problems whenever I had to teach the class, because I was always having to run to the bathroom to throw up, diarrhea, check on my period, etc. It was very awkward, because I couldn’t explain to my students, I just had to go.

Damaris ha sido la primera expulsada de Fama 3.

Sergio ha retado a Omar! Quien se quedara en la escuela con Cris??

Los primeros nominados han sido Omar y Damaris. Arrastrando asi a sus respectivas parejas Cris y Sergio.

 Quien crees que deberia de salir??

¿Quién tomará el relevo de Sergi y Vicky?

Nuevos talentos, nuevos estilos, nuevos pasos de baile y nuevas caras para la Escuela de Fama .

20 alumnos de inicio, renovados semanalmente por un nuevo aspirante que tendrá que ganarse su puesto en la Academia.

¿Habrá algún alumno que traiga su propio paso como Sara y sus “Boom-boom”? ¿Tendremos nuevos robots que compitan con el maquinote de Sergi? No te lo pierdas porque esta edición, los profesores sacarán el máximo de los alumnos.

My first week at Manaseh went by very quickly. Filled with children’s laughter, walks, and long conversations into the night, I didn’t realize just how fast time passed until I looked at my calendar. It was time to take my Lariam pills again, which are horrible to swallow because they are so large and powdery. I just about gagged on them, but I knew it was very important to take those pills. Malaria is a horrible disease that can take a very long time to recover from and you have to spend a long time in the hospital. I was not attracted to the idea of contracting Malaria while in Kenya, so I swallowed those awful pills as best I could.

Soon after I took the pill, Mama Rachel invited me to have lunch. Volunteers were not required to be provided lunch, but I was always there anyway and I didn’t eat much dinner so I guess Mama Rachel felt bad. African woman pride themselves on treating their guests well by feeding, dining, and being companions to their guests. Their sense of hospitality is very great and is something everyone misses when they leave Kenya. I did not want to offend this hospitality so I went to eat the lunch Mama Rachel made for the family. It was the same Risotto style rice flavored with the same spice mix, which is hard to describe. I can still taste it in my mouth and I know the smell of it because it still makes me nauseous when I think of it. I just took a scoop of it and tried to eat it as best I could, but the nausea built on me. Mama Rachel left to attend to business, so I ate alone. I realized that I couldn’t finish the darn rice because I was feeling too sick. But what could I do with the uneaten rice? I had to do something quick before Mama Rachel came back because she would be offended if I didn’t eat the rice.

Like a child trying to avoid vegetables, I scraped off the rice into the trash. I felt horrible doing it, but I really couldn’t eat the rest of it. I carefully covered over the rice with a coffee filter, so it wouldn’t be obvious. Feeling very sneaky, I started to head back to my room so I could avoid any repercussions, when I ran into Mama Rachel coming up the stairs. She asked me if I liked the rice, “Oh, very much..I already ate it.”  She seemed to accept my answer, while I eyed the rays of light surrounding my door, appearing like heaven at the moment. I made my escape without any known repercussions, for which I was grateful.

I lay down on the cool pillows of my bed, as waves of nausea washed over me. The only thing I could do was rest and hope it would be over soon enough. I have always had an interest in the spread of disease, so while I lay there, I began thinking back to everything I did prior to feeling sick that might have caused my illness. Did I not boil my water enough? Did I not wash my hands thoroughly enough? Bad food? The Lariam?I am fairly knowledgable about basic medicine, so I decided that I was sick simply because of bad water either in the food or I drank it.

In all of the orientation materials we were given, it said that our accommodations would have both electricity and running water, because they couldn’t just place us in a shithole and expect us to happy volunteers. Manasheh, however, technically had both electricity and running water. What they didn’t say was that both were increasingly sporadic. There was work being done on the entire neighborhood’s electric lines as well as massive amounts of construction on Dagoretti road while they replaced water lines. Our electricity would go off at about 9:30 each day for almost three weeks and stay off for……however long they felt like. There were no rules or restrictions that governed the electric workers duties, so they were not publicly obliged to turn the power back on at a decent time.

On top of the electricity problems, the water situation at Manaseh became increasingly worse. There was no running water in the pipes from the city like in america. We had to get water from a private contract company to fill up our large water tanks. This situation seemed fairly normal for Kenya and presented no problems until it was coupled with our electricity problems. Stuart told me to use the electric water boiler to purify my water so I wouldn’t have to go to town and buy mass quantities of pure water from Nakumatt. Now that is a perfectly  acceptable scenario, until you have no electricity. Without electricity, we couldn’t boil our tank water. So I was stuck up a creek without a paddle. I desperately needed my water, but I couldn’t boil it because the electricity would always go out on us. I began using the small water purification tablets I packed to purify the tank water. It wasn’t a bad solution, but I only had so many tablets and it took a while for it to work.

I am accustomed to camping, so living without electricity wasn’t a hardship. God, however, in his infinite sense of humor decided that further testing me was in order. After only a week of enjoying a running toilet and shower to myself, Mama Rachel informed me that she would shut off the water to my bathroom, because there was a leak in the pipes. No more water to flush, to wash my hands with, or even to shower with. Mama Rachel perkily told me that to flush the toilet I would need to get a bucket of water and pour it into the tank. Now, I not only lacked electricity, but I also had to wait till the end of the day to flush my toilet. Yippy yo ki yah!

The nights spent at Manaseh were divided between finishing the laundry, helping the children with their homework, eating dinner and talking in the night. Pastor Joseph and I finally had our talk about the situation at Manaseh, which we should have done early on, but he was never really around so there simply was no chance. Using a pencil, he scanned over the long list of figures for the monthly budget at Manaseh. The life blood of Manaseh was crunched into numbers and Pastor Joseph seemed disturbed that the figures were so high, and the income was so little in comparison. I will always remember his flair for presenting his needs as the problems of society and Kenya. He would refer to God helping them in one way or another, with a touch of pathos and humility. He knew very well how to present himself rhetorically to achieve his goals and he never lost an opportunity to show you just how good he was. He hinted at me networking with friends at home to help Manaseh. I didn’t think it could reasonably be achieved, but I felt trapped in that small office. He talked for a very long time and didn’t let me go, until I promised him something. He would have made an excellent time share salesman were he given the chance.

One of the few nights that Pastor Joseph returned home early and wasn’t exaughsted, he chatted with me and Stuart. He had a bizarre sense of humor, which would shock a lot of people. Stuart sat on the couch opposite me, while he ate his second portion of dinner. I had finished what little I could eat and sat listening and talking to Stuart and “Pasta” as he was called. Instead of Pastor Joseph, everyone called him “Pasta” not literally the food, but that is what their pronunciation sounded like. Pasta began talking about morals in Kenya, which perked my attention, because it was cultural lesson time! Pasta began lamenting the poor morals of the younger generations, including their choice of music, dress, and behavior in relationships. All of the guidebooks for Kenya said that women need to wear skirts that are below the knee, and wear modest shirts. In general, women just needed to be modest. I didn’t see a problem with that, sense there was a strong muslim influence along the coast, so I expected such attitudes. 

 Pasta, however, was relating society to old time biblical morals, which was a bit amusing to hear. I was raised in the new version testament of the Bible, with a lack of emphasis on the strict rules and more focus on personal salvation. Pasta began rambling about the prostitutes on Kenyatta Ave of which there were many and well known. Pasta devised a hilarious solution to this problem. “We should get a minivan with Stuart and drive down Kenyatta Ave.  Stuart will get out and solicit the prostitutes. When they get in the car, we will drive off with them and bring them back to Manaseh to convert them and instill good morals in them!” Stuart started cracking up at the thought of him soliciting prostitutes. It was shocking, but along the lines of South Park funny, so I thought it was hilarious. The idea of a pastor, who heads an orphanage, going around picking up prostitutes with Stuart to convert them was hilarious.

Pasta and Mama Rachel didn’t usually stay up with us to talk. Instead they retired around 10:30, leaving us to talk until we went to bed. One of the few nights, I was able to stay up and talk with Damaris and Stuart I remember quite vividly. Damaris was talking a little, even though she usually remained fairly silent. I asked her about her classes that she took. She was learning Italian so she could get her Master’s in Milan where her aunt lives. She had her degree in Psychology and seemed to take great amusement in “messing with Stuart’s psychology” as she phrased it. Stuart was an easy mark for mind games and jokes. He can’t see past people’s lies and bullshit, so he falls hook, line, and sinker into whatever games you might play on him. Damaris continued talking about school and her plans for the future, as well as mentioning the possibility of  adopting a child, but she seemed a bit noncommittal then. During the conversation, Stuart was lying down on the couch, full length, while he watched the television and Damaris alternately. When Damaris mentioned the possibility of her adopting a child, Stuart turned his attention to her and said “I want to adopt!” The suddenness of his declaration, and the reaction it had on Damaris was amusing. Damaris acted like she didn’t hear or at least gave no response to his declaration. Stuart said it again, hoping for a different response. There was hope mixed with fear in his expression.  It was clear that he was trying to prove his worth as a potential mate for her, but she didn’t seem to pick up on his signals, which distressed Stuart as he turned his attention back to the television.

Damaris didn’t want to talk anymore, so I began asking Stuart about what he was going to do after his time in Kenya. Stuart has a degree in accounting from a college in Melbourne, Australia, but he had no idea what he wanted to do with that degree. He expressed his distaste for business in general, so what was he to do? He thought about going back to school to get a different degree and pursuing a different path. He thought about being a teacher, but he was to unorganized for that. He said he wanted really wanted to work with children, but in what capacity? He really didn’t know what he was going to do when he left.

Weekday nights were rather uniform at Manaseh. The kids always had to go to school in the morning, so no fun and games at night. The laundry had to be done for the children every night for school. Dinner was always prepared and waiting for us. Weekend nights, however, were the best times at Manaseh. The children had no school, no obligations, and nothing was predetermined. Saturday nights were the funnest for me, because we watched a weekly spanish soap opera every Saturday night. It was a fairly ridiculous show, with cardboard characters, complicated story lines, and bad acting. The first night we watched it, I was sitting in the chair in the living room as several children climbed all over my lap vying for my attention. The lights were turned off and all eyes were on the T.V. Stuart stood along the far wall with his hands behind his back as he surveyed the room. The soap opera came on, and made me start laughing quietly at the extremely poor quality of the show. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Stuart looking at me with a half smile and then he left the room.

Life in Africa is so different from life in any western country. It is those differences that perpetually draws us to the strange, fascinating, and foreign Africa. Like moths to a flame, Africa calls to us speaking of hidden promises and adventures. When you get there, you expect to feel as strange as if you were on Mars, but you are welcomed into the land, the people, the life of Africa. You don’t feel out of place so much as at home in this strange continent. Something inside you knows, that this is where all life began and sprouted from. It is like going back to an old home that you have forgotten, but as you walk around, everything takes on its old familiarity once again.

Shortly after the kids started school, one of the boys had to go back to his school as well. I forget his name, and I am sorry about that, but he was at school the whole time and I really didn’t know him. I will call him James, as it seems to ring a bell. James and few of the other boys who were assigned to Manaseh actually lived at a boarding school near Maragua. The Pioneer School for children was quite prestigous for the country and one of the best schools the kids could go to. Those four boys were very lucky because they had a rich sponsor who paid for them to go to such a wonderful school. The other children at manaseh were not so lucky.The new term was starting for the school so James had to return. The other boys, I presume, stayed during the vacation, don’t ask me why because I really don’t know.

Stuart and Damaris had arranged for Kesh, a local taxi driver who was a favorite at Manaseh, to take James back to school. Stuart asked me if I would like to go with them as sort of a sightseeing trip. I eagerly agreed, because it would be my first time away from the Karen area and it sounded interesting, so I overcame any internal objections about my period, which was still very bad. The trip was going to cost almost $100 to pay Kesh, but he offered us a “friend’s price” so he was cheaper than any other taxi driver. We left for Maragua early in the morning with Baby Tyson, who needed Damaris, James, Stuart and Me. That was the first time I met Kesh, who was tall, big and had a smile that hid much and revealed little about him.

He drove a white sedan, most likely a Honda Civic, which disappointed me because it had no umph to it. Kesh seemed very proud of his car and took good care of it. We piled into the car and made our way down the perilous hill. Maragua is north of Nairobi by about 40 miles. that doesn’t seem to far, but we had to pass through Nairobi traffic on the north side to get to Maragua. The northern side of Nairobi is the where all the suburban people live and play, so there is an enormous amount of traffic. What would normally take about an hour at most in America, took 4 hours in Kenya. The traffic was absolutely horrible until we reached the outskirts of Nairobi. There was gridlock all through the Spring Valley region and nothing was moving. Kesh had to get “creative” about how he handled the traffic. I would call his “creative” illegal, but hey it was Kenya.

From then on, the highway was surrounded by lush green valleys, trees, and plants. It looked like paradise with all of the pretty colors and surroundings.  I almost wished I could have been sent there instead of Karen, which seemed to posh to suit my desires. The countryside around Maragua was nothing but lush green hills, trees, and vegetation instead of dry plains and withering trees.  Cows, farmers, and crops filled the landscape because the rains were greater there. We didn’t talk much during the trip, because we needed the windows rolled down and the wind made it difficult to hear. Damaris focused on holding her large sun hat to her head as the wind threatened to blow it away. Stuart attempted conversations with Damaris, when that didn’t work he played with Baby Tyson.

During the drive, Damaris tired of holding Baby Tyson so she asked me if I would like to hold him. I agreed, even though I worried about Baby Tyson being in the front seat without a seatbelt. I had my seatbelt on, and I tried to find the safest way to hold him which forced me to extend my arm out towards the dashboard so if something should happen Baby Tyson wouldn’t go flying through the windshield. Yes, I know. I may seem excessively paranoid, but Kesh was going about 85 mph on a hilly highway, so he couldn’t see any dangers or cars over the hills and cattle frequently crossed the highway around us. So I was worried that something bad would happen and Baby Tyson would suffer horribly for it. I thought not having little children in the front seat of a car was common sense, but apparently “common sense” doesn’t mean the same thing in Kenya.

After a long time of driving, Kesh finally pulled off the highway onto a smaller, dirt road, which was filled with rocks. Red dust blew everywhere as the tires disturbed the peace. We were jostled back and forth as Kesh manuevered around the holes, cattle, and debris. We traveled on that road for about 30min. until we reached the school. Kesh pulled into a driveway which led the way to a courtyard. The compound for the school was huge, filled with trees and small buildings. It rather reminded me of a military base. There were many other cars parked along the driveway because, unbeknownst to me, it was a family day at the school. Everyone’s family members came to visit their student and talk to the teachers. James ran off to find his friends, while Damaris went to go speak to his teachers. Stuart and I led Baby Tyson to a spot where Stuart said the other boys could easily find us. There were about 4 boys at the school and they hadn’t seen us in a while. While waiting, I became preoccupied with leading the ever-independent Baby Tyson around the courtyard. He is very independent and wants to see everything around him when he wants to. He never wanted to wait for anyone else, so he was always getting into trouble or falling down, but that never stopped him.

I held his hand as he climbed onto steps, rocks, or just plain ran away. During Baby Tyson’s adventures, the other boys found us in the courtyard. They practically pounced on Stuart with glee and boyish rambunctioushness. We greeted one another and went to go find a place to have our picnic meal for us and the children. Damaris had made a big bowl of rice, that is cooked and prepared like Risotto. She cooked the rice with the exact same spices everytime, so it was very boring. I didn’t eat any of the rice, because it usually made me a bit nauseous and it hadn’t been kept cold or hot while we were driving, so I began imagining all of the potential microorganisms that were reproducing exponentially in the very nice medium of lukewarm rice (shut up, I am a microbiology major, this is what I think of).

We found a spot under some trees in a field where a bunch of other families were eating. The boys resumed their old camraderie, and didn’t have much to do with me, because to be fair they didn’t and wouldn’t get to know me. Baby Tyson was adorable because he loved cars. He climbed into Kesh’s car and pretended to drive, he shut all the doors and tried to start the car, but he couldn’t quite figure it out. He worried me though, because he was one step away from starting the car, and he could have driven off without us. It was adorable to watch him have fun in the car though, because we didn’t have toys for him to play with at Manaseh, so I knew he had alot of energy to expend. I just remembered that I haven’t put up a picture of Baby Tyson yet! well here it is. He now reminds me of Mr. Brown from the Madea series. Can’t you see the resemblence?

 As the day wore on, Damaris spent a long time with the teachers and Stuart went after her to see what was taking so damned long. Kesh and I relaxed in the back of his car waiting for Stuart and Damaris to arrive so we could head home. The boys were ready for us to go, and they wanted to play with their friends. Kesh reclined in the back while I sat in the back seat as well. Our knees touched, but nothing else, while we chatted. Kesh seemed interested in my life, and asked me lots of questions. Our conversation was easy-going and relaxed. I didn’t feel ignored for the first time or like I  was talking to thin air.

Stuart eventually reappeared with Damaris following behind. We said our goodbyes to the boys, and climbed into the car. We then made our way out of the compound and onto the red, dirt road. Along the way home we stopped at a market area for some fruit that Kesh desired. He had a hankering for bananas so he stopped the car to get out and bargain with the sellers. He was the only one to get out of the car, because he advised us to stay inside. As he proceeded to bargain with the many banana sellers next to us, sellers from farther down the road spotted our car. I kid you not, they came running for our car. Their hands were filled with fruit, which they pressed against the windows shouting prices at us. It was as if we were celebrities; we were so popular. I shook my head at them, politely refusing their generous offers of fruit. I felt bad, because they seemed so desperate, as if their next month’s rent relied on me buying their fruit.

Kesh bought his bunch of bananas and shooed away the other sellers from the car. He gave us all a banana saying “It is good for you.” I munched slowly on the banana, but I didn’t enjoy it, because it doesn’t taste like bananas in American stores. There are no preservatives, no freezing, no nothing. They pick the banana, you buy it as is. Now I am not a spoiled brat, and the banana was good, but I did taste a hint of manure when I ate the banana whether it was from the seller’s hands or that the flavor of excessive manure was ingrained into the banana during growth.  We drove off again, desperate to get home and away from the heat and traffic of it all.The drive through the Maragua area was still quite lovely and made me want to buy a large plot of land out there to retire on or something just so I could keep looking the green hills. I know that might seem pathetic, but Utah is nothing but an irrigated desert, so I am fascinated with “green stuff.” When I first came to Ohio my reaction was “Look! green stuff!”

I was dissappointed when we reached the northern outskirts of Nairobi in the middle of the afternoon to be greeted by complete and total gridlock. There was no special reason like an accident for the jam, but everyone made it much worse by trying to get around it. Instead of a two lane road, the Kenyan drivers turned it into oh say 5-6 lanes by driving on the shoulder of the road, cutting in front of one another, and in general acting chaotic. I have had an intense fear of getting into a car wreck or being in an accident, so I was starting to have a panic attack in that traffic jam. Cars came within INCHES, and I mean inches, of one another. There were no lanes or rules of any kind, just chaos. Somehow, after about 2 hours, we made it through the worst of the traffic only to enter inner-Nairobi. There were many shopping centers in the area as well as apartment complexes, so it was quite busy. Kesh and Stuart decided it would be best to stop at a gas-station/ foodie place and get something to eat. Kesh pulled into a gas station with three small restaurants attached to the convienence store inside. One of the restaurants was a Chicken Hut (or something quite similar), which served fried chicken. I thought it would be like a KFC, but I was dead wrong. It served mostly burgers with beef. Only one meal had chicken involved.

We wearily climbed out of the car. Baby Tyson had fallen asleep in the back of the car in between Damaris and Stuart. It was wickedly humid and hot that afternoon, which sapped all of our strengths. Sweat began pouring down my body since I am used to a dry heat. Baby Tyson hadn’t been given much to drink during the whole trip and he was sleeping, but Damaris declared that it would be alright to leave him in the car while we ate. I was downright horrified. It was brutally hot in the car, he hadn’t gotten much water, and she was going to leave him there???? what kind of social worker was she?

I was mad, but I decided to take a step back from the situation and analyze it. Ok….This is Kenya….they have different standards….Maybe to them it is ok to leave kids in hot cars…Nobody, even Stuart, seems to have a problem with this, maybe it is just me. Alright, it will be ok to leave him in there. Every american instinct told me that leaving him in the hot car was a horrible idea, but I had to just let it go and do it the Kenyan way. After all that is what I was there for, right? To experience Kenya.

Stuart followed after Damaris like a good helper, while Kesh loped behind. I looked in the car windows one last time, to make sure that Baby Tyson was truly asleep and not perturbed by us leaving him. I followed after the others, because I was a good follower, and I didn’t know what else I could do. We sat down at a table to eat at the famed Chicken Inn. I got up to order at the counter, while Stuart took Damaris’ order like a waiter. I fully expected to pay for my own meal. I didn’t expect anything more or less, but Stuart and Kesh got up with me to order and looked shocked when I said that I was paying for my meal. I only had 1,000 shilling bills on me, which is roughly equivalent to $20 american, so I was going to order by myself, so I wouldn’t have to sort bills with Stuart later. I learned that lesson my first  night when I went to Havana because I ended up paying out much more than I owed, so I didn’t want a repeat.

Unfortuneatly, all my plans for independence and self-reliance were ruined because Stuart and Kesh tacked their order onto mine as well, so I had to give Stuart one of my 1,000 shilling bills to cover my cost, which was only really 500 shillings. Stuart promised to pay me back and I agreed because there wasn’t any way around it. Both Stuart and Kesh seemed surprised that I wanted to pay for my own meal, and not mooch off Stuart. I didn’t see how mooching off of Stuart was in any way fair or right, but it seemed like it was expected of me to do so. Damaris certainly made no qualms about mooching off Stuart and he actually seemed to like it when she did. I, however, am very independent and HATE mooching off men to support myself.

Once our food arrived, we began wolfing down the food. An interesting thing I noticed was Fanta: black currant. Yes, I know, not one of my most intellectual insights into Kenya, but they did indeed have Fanta: black currant. It tasted much stronger than grape flavor, but just as sweet. Stuart seemed especially fascinated with it. The food was garden variety fried meat, stale bread, and limp vegetables, but after all the traveling we did the food seemed great. We talked a little bit, but we were so hungry from our travels that eating was our top priority. Stuart tried making little conversations with Damaris, but she didn’t bite. Stuart tried one approach to get her to talk to him and then another, but Damaris was not in the mood to be playful or talkative. It was rather amusing to watch Stuart lure Damaris into talking with him, because he seemed so intent on succeeding and she didn’t seem interested.

We finished our meals and walked drearily back to the car. The restaurant was air conditioned so the blast of heat as we opened the doors made me want to crawl back inside for just a little bit longer. Baby Tyson, thank god, was still asleep in the back seat. I was still pissed that Damaris could have been so thoughtless, but I couldn’t point out how wrong she was since I was new and everyone said to be highly respectful of your host family.

Kesh manuevered through the traffic in Nairobi again with skill and daring. By far the stupidest thing I ever saw him do was drive onto the sidewalk, which had metal poles along the edge to keep cars off, and began drving towards people on the sidewalk just so he could get around an intersection. I nearly screamed when he pulled that manuever because he just about hit three people and a couple of poles. He looked at me and asked “does my driving bother you?” HELL YES! He acted like it was no big deal, but he really was driving quite dangerously and recklessly, which bothered me because he could have hurt someone.

We slowly made our way home, through the streets of Nairobi and the outskirts of Karen, until we pulled into the yard of Manaseh. The kids were happy to see us and surrounded us. One girl, Purity, came up and asked if she could have the last of my soda. I didn’t see anything wrong with her having the last few sips of warm, stale soda,  so I let her have it. She ran off with the soda cup like it was gold. The kids grabbed my hands again, and we made our way inside. We were all exaughsted, but we played with the children again. Purity sat on the landing of the stairs with her soda cup, protectively hiding it from the other children. She knew she couldn’t come up the stairs, but she couldn’t let the other kids get hold of it either, so she hid in the darkness of the stairwell quietly drinking her soda.

Unfortuneatly, Rachel was being a brat, so she asked me for soda too. I told her that was the last of it and I didnt have any more. She got mad and fussy and then made me pinky swear that I would give her soda next time I got any. I was beginning to tire of Rachel and Prudence’s demands when they had their own mother and father to provide for them. They got lots of special treatment, but they demanded even more, which was unfair and increased my dislike for them. I was not in the mood to indulge their overinflated egos as it was, so the pinky swear was an empty promise.

We didn’t spend the night talking like before. We were just to darned tired from everything. I was glad I went on the trip because I got to see a whole different view of Kenya, not just the area where white people live. I got to meet some locals and talk to them, which opened my eyes to lots of different things. But most of all, I began to question Damaris and her motives as a social worker. It just didn’t seem right that a woman who loves children enough to be their social worker, would leave a baby inside a burning hot car so she could grab lunch.

Life at Manaseh had a slow and steady rythm of its own. Unlike the hustle and bustle of Ogden or Salt Lake City, everything there was slow and easy. No one was in a hurry racing to their next appointment or fighting afternoon traffic on the highway. Everyone got where they needed to go in their own time. They lived by the sun rising and setting, not the time on a clock. One of the funniest things in Kenya was the children’s fascination with my watch. I had a cheap velcro watch, which I thought would be useful and wore daily. As the children explored my belongings, they came across my watch attached to my wrist. They had never seen a watch before and had no idea why I would want such a thing. Esther, Rachel, and Prudence spent long hours trying to figure out my watch. They discovered the backlight button, how to make the stopwatch come on, etc. except they never figured out how to change the time. My watch was still on Utah pre-spring forward time, so I had to think alot about what time it actually was in Kenya. I wanted to change the time to Kenya time, but we could never figure it out, no matter how much we played with it.

Each day the children would get ready and go off to school. Damaris took Baby Tyson to school, because the other children didn’t really need it so Stuart and I didn’t have to wake up so early. Stuart stayed up late, and slept in as much as he wanted because there wasn’t anything to really do around the house while the children were away. The children’s chore was to keep the house clean and they did a very good job of it.

Stuart did finally take me to Karen for supplies. We headed down the hill, past the school towards a main road where a few shops made up a Matatu stop called “Sam’s.” We stood by the side of the road waiting for any matatu to come by and pick us up. Stuart and I talked a little, while we waited,  but the weather was getting chilly and made us shiver a bit. After many minutes, a matatu began sputtering its way towards us. the paint was chipping off and the side door which was held open by the wrangler looked like it was about to fall off the van. We both climbed into the van as best we could. Cramming our way around bags of vegetables, riders, and bags. I felt awkward and rude trying to make my way to available seats, but that is what everyone had to do, so nobody felt offended.The matatu began sputtering again as the driver manuevered around several large potholes on the road to Karen.

I have never seen roads that bad before in my life. The road was asphalted, but  it clearly had not been maintained in a very long time. Potholes that could rip off your axis lined the road. The drivers knew the road well, but it was very dangerous when another car was coming because usually the other driver wasn’t on the right side of the road! The threat of head-on collisions was great, but it didn’t seem to happen that often. Karen is about 3, 3.5 miles from where we lived, so it was a short drive. We passed a Christian Missionary School, Military Complex, Up-Scale houses, and many shacks that served as roadside stores. The drive is actually quite pleasant, lined with large, green trees, flowers, and hills.

Matatus were very easy transportation for me to use in Kenya. You just tell the wrangler where you need to go, pay your fee when he collects it and he stops the driver when you are at your stop. They seem to know everything and are willing to help you. We arrived at a circular intersection at a busy shopping center, which was our stop. The matatu pulled over and we all climbed out after figuring out just how discombobulated we all became while riding. Lining the road next to the matatus were sheep, sellers, and police.

Stuart led the way through town, pointing out the large police compound where policemen armed with AK-47s emerged. We crossed the busy road, towards English looking shops and restaurants. The whole area was surrounded by a gate, which was protected by another armed guard. We went to an internet cafe. I had to pay 20 shillings for every minute, which was about $0.05 per minute. That seemed like a fair price, until I realized just how Sloooooowwww the connection was. At that rate I would pay out a fortune just to use the damned internet.

I was finally able to e-mail my Mom. I tried to be perky and upbeat because I was a good, little soldier.

————– Original message ————–
From: Rebecca
Hi Mom, I am ok. The flight was fine and my ride was there at the airport. Having a good time. My period is giving me a lot of grief, but am ok. Will be getting cell phone so maybe i could call you. otherwise I have to go to a cyber cafe. please don’t worry. I will try to keep in touch. If I call you it might be an emergency. You might need to send me that money sooner than scheduled. Much love. Bye Bye

As I was typing, Stuart stared over at me with a bug-eyed look. I didn’t realize it at first, but then it dawned on me that he was staring at just how fast I was typing on the computer. I type fast, but the keys in that cafe stuck horribly and slowed me down, but apparently it was still considerably faster than Stuart’s typing. Since you have to pay by the minute, it is not advisable to take your time on the internet. You can’t do random searches or browse on facebook.com like we are used to. You have to know what you want to do and do it FAST otherwise you could be stuck in the awkward situation of the internet going down while you are browsing.

We then made our way to the Nakumatt, which is the Wal-Mart of Eastern Africa. It is large and unfeeling with lots of merchandise. It would have been better to shop at more local stores to help the economy, but quite frankly they didn’t have what we needed and they were just as expensive as Nakumatt. Stuart was going to follow me around the store, but I didn’t want him to know that I needed sanitary napkins as that can be quite embarassing to any fellow, so I suggested that we each do our shopping and meet at the front. I felt a bit bad because Stuart looked a bit hurt as if I was ditching him, but I knew it would be worse if he had to go down the “Feminine Product” aisle. We went our separate ways while we shopped. I picked up bread, jelly, and nutella, which is a chocolate spread that I remembered from when I lived in Belgium. I had everything I needed to make myself some PBJs whenever I was hungry so my prospects started looking up. I met Stuart at the front of the store and we made our way back to the matatu stop, while Stuart continued to point out stores to me.

That was when I got my first glimpse of the Maasai, who were there at the shopping center selling brightly colored jewelry and accessories. They were bald for the most part and wore elaborate fabrics draped over their tall, dark bodies. I wish I could have gotten a photo of them, but it seemed a bit rude to do so and not buy something from them so I refrained. As we continued on our trek, it was strange to see so many security guards, police, and soldiers around the shopping area. I have never seen that many guns in any one location during my whole life. I knew robbery and theft was common in Kenya, but did they really need a whole arsenal in one intersection? It could have been because of the riots in Western Kenya, it could have been because there were more white people who needed protection or a combination of the three.

We reached the matatu stop and climbed into an empty van, which was headed our way. The matatus always waited until the van was completely full before they would leave, so you could end up waiting for quite awhile. The van was empty for the most part, so Stuart and I grabbed the best seats, which were the first bench of seats right behind the driver. You aren’t quite as squished, it is easier to get out, and you can properly tell the wrangler where you need to go. Stuart and I talked for a little bit, but I was feeling shy again. I don’t remember what we talked about, but Stuart gave me this look, which bordered on quiet understanding and penetrative knowing. That look made me very shy indeed, so I turned my head and fiddled with my bags. I didn’t think I said anything wrong, but he still looked at me like that.

While we talked, the van began filling up with locals, who looked at us as if we were aliens because white people NEVER take matatus since they can afford taxis. After a while,the driver threw down his cigarette, and made a few agile leaps towards the car. Sliding in with the dexterity of a monkey, the driver started the vehicle and drove off. Once we got back to the hill, I realized my first lesson in Kenya: never buy anything that you can’t carry up the hill.

My bags didn’t weigh much, but they were awkward and unevenly balanced. Stuart offered to help me with the bags, but I didn’t want to appear like a sissy who can’t deal with her own stuff, even though I was still weak, so I declined his offer. Yes, I know I know. I am a stubborn fool who won’t relent, but I am not a sissy!

I picked up the kids from school just as before and we followed the natural ebb and flow of life at Manaseh until it was dark. The children began making their dinner, so I went upstairs again. Stuart is hilarious when he eats dinner. He is by no means skinny, nor is he fat, but he eats as much as a bear in spring, while eating it like a marine. He shoveled food into his mouth faster than anything. He always goes back for thirds or fourths if he is really hungry. Damaris and I teased him a little bit, but we understood how hungry he was. I ate as much as I could, but the food is nothing but carbohydrates, so it is a bit difficult at times. Potatoes, meat, stewed vegetables, and tea made up our dinners at Manaseh. There was very little variation because fruit was rare and bread was meant for the children. The meals became very boring very fast. Beatrice and Pastor Joseph went to bed early, while Damaris, Stuart, and I stayed up chatting.

We chatted about various things to entertain ourselves and somehow the conversation turned to the Presidential Election with Obama. Damaris began asking all sorts of questions about Obama, which I couldn’t answer because I truly do not care about elections between Republicans and Democrats (I am a Libertarian so I think we are equally screwed whether a republican or democrat is in office). Kenyans for some reason think that Obama IS KENYAN simply because his louzy, sleezebag father was Kenyan. They were extremely proud that a son of Africa could win the Presidency in the most powerful nation in the world. It didn’t seem to matter to them that he is actually half white and american, not Kenyan, because they had so much hope invested in him. I suppose it was because every African leader has been a dictator, or corrupt, or weak, so they looked to Obama to be the leader they always dreamed of. It was rather a sad thing to see, because instead of trying to raise and elect a political leader similar to Obama to rule their countries they looked to Obama to fix their problems.

I answered the questions as best as I could, but I really didn’t know or care about the election (I know that will be upseting to some of you, but it is true). We continued talking, but it was mostly Stuart and Damaris talking between themselves.  I tried to stay up as late as I could, but I became drowsy and tired around 11pm so i went to bed, while Stuart and Damaris continued to stay up much later. Another cultural note: Utahns kind of stick to a 10pm-6am sleep schedule, we don’t stay up late or sleep in till noon. I know quite a shocker, but we like it.

Cries of children woke me from my sleep the next morning. The hustle and bustle of children preparing for school echoed throughout the house, filling my ears as I tried to get some more sleep. The misty haze of the mosquito net protected me from the emerging sun. The realization of my duties for that morning shot like electricity through my head instantly awakening me. It was still very early, but the children were going off to school that morning and we were going to take them there. I hurriedly got dressed and left my room. No other adult seemed to be awake, which surprised me because Stuart was going to take the children to school to, but he was nowhere to be found. I went to the living room area, where I found Mama Rachel making breakfast and dressing Rachel and Prudence.

I sat there waiting for everyone to get ready for school, watching in amusment as Rachel and Prudence resisted their mother’s attempts to properly dress them. It was funny to see kids acting the same no matter how they were raised or where in world they live. Mama Rachel’s large frame eventually dominated the children and forced the sweaters over their small arms. Stuart eventually emerged from his room, dressed in a plaid shirt and khaki shorts. He smiled at me gawkishly as if he didn’t know how to react to me. When Rachel and Prudence were ready for school we descended the stairs and greeted the other children, who, unlike Rachel and Prudence, managed to properly dress and prepare themselves for school.

After a quick head count and item check, we headed out the door. The older children were headed to other schools that were farther away. Stuart, Damaris, and I were escorting the younger girls to their school at Rosewood(? i can’t remember the name of that school darnit) Academy. Their school was close by and small, so it was better for the younger girls to go there. Damaris fell behind as she escorted Baby Tyson, who was having his very first day of school. I never did understand that because Baby Tyson couldn’t be even three years old, and already he was off to school. Some of the older girls started running ahead and I ran to catch up to them. Eventually Stuart caught up with me and we walked at the same pace. Esther insisted on holding his hand as they walked and when she caught up to me, insisted on holding my hand as well. Esther made a small jump as she walked and we held her up. Stuart and I looked at each other and knew what she wanted. Every third step we lifted her up and swung her a little. It was great a feeling knowing that I was working with Stuart to make a child happy. For the first time, I didn’t feel as if I was working alone. We continued doing that until she tired of it and we reached the gate of the school.

Shrubbery lined the fence, parting for a small, corrugated tin gate, which led into the school yard. We followed after the children through the gate and Stuart led the way towards their classroom. The children surrounding us stopped and stared at the “Mzungus” wondering why the hell we were at the school. It was a very strange feeling, having all those eyes staring at you with wonder and amazement. My hair caused quite a stir at the school, because all the girls wanted to play with it, but they were shy so they looked on from afar. We met the youngest girls and Baby Tyson’s teacher, who seemed very nice and familiar with Stuart and Damaris. I looked on the whole affair, standing off to the side while Stuart took care of business. I felt out of place and rather useless in the schoolyard, because the children abandoned my hands and ran into their classroom, leaving me outside. Stuart eventually emerged from the classroom and we headed back to Manaseh. Stuart and Damaris talked between themselves of school matters, which I didn’t know anything about so I felt as if I was left out in the cold and wasn’t included.

The street we walked on was filled with potholes and lined with local shops, which sold everything from household items to fruit and phonecards. There was a Church on the corner made of corrugated tin and wood. A butcher shop had a slab of meat hanging in the window and the bar next door provided a dark little hole for unemployed men to hide away from reality and their wives. The hill up to Manaseh is terror in a car, and hell on foot. It has a steep incline and many rocks and holes in the ground all of which threaten to make you fall. It takes all of your energy to get up to the top, which seems more and more like Everest if you are tired. The hill was lined with large, fancy houses on the left and shacks on the right. Stray chickens would surprise you if you weren’t paying attention.

We trudged our way up to the top of the hill and entered the yard through the metal gates, which protected Manaseh from unecessary intrusions. Stuart and Damaris were still borderline ignoring me, which was very frustrating because I tried talking to them and didn’t get any kind of meaningful response. I preceded to head upstairs and rest. The long trek proved too much for me after not having eaten any breakfast and having a marginal dinner the night before as well as the overwhelming humidity. In Utah, the air is very dry and warm compared to Kenya where the air is moist and hot, which completely overwhelmed my body.

I collapsed onto my bed, while I sipped water from a bottle left over from the trip to the Nakumatt during orientation. I still needed to go into town for supplies and to use the e-mail because I had not yet had a chance to talk to Mom. My period was still horendous. I started counting up the days….7…plus 4….11 days of having a heavy period! I was feeling anemic on top of everything else now due to my stupid period. I know Stuart was aware of my desire to go into town, but he made no move to do anything to help me. After I finished off my bottled water, I realized just how badly I needed to go into town. I left the comforts of my bed and headed towards the living room, where I knew Beatrice was working. Reading her bible, she looked up, greeting me and inquiring after our trip to the school. We chit chated and talked about a lot of little things. During a lull in the conversation, I asked her “How do I get to Karen?” I felt a bit abandoned and deserted by Stuart so I gave up on the idea that he would bother show me around Karen.  My independent and stubborn streak inside me raised its ugly head and decided that I could get to Karen and back all by myself without any stupid experienced volunteer’s help.

Mama Rachel, expectedly, was shocked at what I asking to do. Women, especially foreign white ones, are not advised to travel around by themselves. Lonely Planet, GVN, VICDA, Mama Rachel all advised the us to not do the one thing I was going to do. At that point, Stuart emerged from downstairs, while Mama Rachel continued to stare at me like I was freaking insane. Mama Rachel called out “STUART!” A reluctant “Yes” was given in response as if he were actually afraid of what Mama Rachel might want of him. He entered the living room, looked at the two of us as if we were conspiring against him. Mama Rachel pretty much accused him “Why haven’t you taken Rebecca to Karen yet?”

He got all bug eyed, as he tried to think of a decent answer. Mama Rachel explained my plans to him, and he started saying “Oh no, no, no. We can go into town soon” as he shook his head vigorously in disbelief.  Mama Rachel was visibly upset at the thought of me traveling all by myself. Stuart confirmed that we would go soon, but not WHEN. I was running out of drinkable water, sanitary napkins, and desperately wanted to talk to my Mom. Mama Rachel seemed relieved that Stuart was going to take me soon, and she told me that if he didn’t she would go with me.

My stubborn streak gave way to caution and the judgement of others, so I resigned myself to going with Stuart “soon.” I was mad because Stuart didn’t say when our trip would be, and then he disappeared again. I went back to my room and checked to see what I would actually need from Karen before I left. It didn’t take long to do, and boredom set in again. The children were all at school so there wasn’t anything else to do.

I sat and read my book which I purchased to entertain myself in exactly these kinds of situations. “Angela’s Ashes” was the perfect book for the summer, it took my mind off Kenya and being sick as well as absorbed any extra time. I had never read the book before, but I was already captive to Frank McCourt’s vivid descriptions of his childhood. No one came and sought me out or bothered me at all. The keen sting of loneliness began to inflict its wounds on my heart. Tears began welling up in my eyes as the stress of everything built on me.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              Some time in the early afternoon, a knock came on my door. I awoke from an unexpected slumber and hurriedly got up to answer. The door squeaked, as I opened it. Stuart stood there awkwardly, with his hands by his side and smiling like a child sent on an errand. “Would you like me to show you around the house?” “yah, of course.” Perhaps Stuart finally realized what he hadn’t done and needed to do for the new volunteer. He seemed a bit relieved that I wasn’t mad at him. I wasn’t mad at him, I was just disappointed that he didn’t seem to want anything to do with me. I grabbed what little water I had left, and walked out the door with Stuart. He showed me the upper level of the house, starting with his room. He had a small room with two twin beds, a cement floor, and a wooden closet. He had fundraised for school supplies before he came so he had a big pile of pencils, paper, erasers, etc. on the bottom of his closet. The room seemed pretty bleak and cold compared to my room, and that made me feel bad.

Next door was the computer/office room. It was filled with four OLD computers that were most likely from the mid-nineties. It had a bench and a pile of stools to sit on. Stuart said that used to be the office/schoolroom, but it was converted to the computer room. Farther down the hall was the communal  bathroom (that I didn’t have to use…hehehe) and a spare bedroom. That bedroom was used as a storage for spare fruit, which lay rotting on the ground and made the room smell like shit. It was distressing to see that much fruit, which everyone in the house needed, going to waste on the bedroom floor. Across from the spare bedroom was another large bedroom. A large, wooden bunk bed dominated the room, with mosquito nets draped across it haphazardly. Children’s toys were strewn about the floor. Stuart explained that Rachel and Prudence, as well as Damaris lived in this room. They had a small toilet, which hadn’t been flushed, and a faucet, which provided water from the gigantic tanks below. If we wanted water at all, it had to come from that smelly bathroom.

Stuart then led me downstairs, and showed me the children’s rooms, which I had already seen. As we entered the living room, we saw Damaris hanging newly washed curtains on the living room windows. Stuart immediately stopped and asked Damaris “Do you need any help? I am just showing Rebecca around.” Damaris said she didn’t need any help, but Stuart made the offer again. I understood the need for help when hanging curtains, but I didn’t think it was more important than making a new volunteer feel comfortable in her new home. Great……even though Stuart made the offer to show me around, he was acting like it was an imposition anyway and would rather hang curtains than do this chore.

He showed me around the yard, pointing out a small vegetable garden in the yard. For the first time, I felt a bit excited that maybe there was ACTUALLY something I could help with. I inquired after the garden and Stuart responded “Oh, that is our downstairs neighbor’s garden. They just dug it up one day.” FUBAR. I couldn’t help with the garden, even though I adore gardening and have produced many fine crops of various plants over the years. The only thing resembling a garden for Manaseh were some randomly planted seeds on a rocky hill, that the children planted when they became bored one day.

We walked around the entire house, and Stuart explained to me that the basement or bottom floor of the three story house was occupied by another family who kept to themselves for the most part. They had a German Shepard mutt, who enjoyed the sun and comfort on their front porch. He was tied up, serving mostly as a guard dog and not a family companion. Stuart’s tour of the house was over so we parted ways again because there was nothing to be done around the house, and Stuart wanted to help Damaris.

Soon it was time to pick the children up from school. The school wasn’t far from Manaseh, about three blocks actually, but it is dangerous for children in Africa to travel back and forth from school because of sexual predators, kidnappers, and other malicious beings. I am not sure of this, but I believe that i was the only one who went to pick up the children from school. I remembered the way to school quite well, and had little trouble getting there. I arrived early, so I waited by a tree in the courtyard. The children began to slowly emerge from their classrooms. I watched for our children, as I remembered their names slowly. Rachel, Prudence, Baby Tyson, and Esther were in the small children class. Purity and Mary were in the older girls class. More and more children left their classrooms and began to stop and stare at the Mzungu with the long, brown hair. From the far side of the courtyard, came Purity. She spotted me from across the courtyard and began running towards me and practically jumped me right there. Overflowing with joy, my heart began to feel the reasons everyone gave for volunteering in Kenya. It doesn’t take much, but a volunteer can make a big difference to orphans by simply being there with them.

 For perhaps the first time, Purity had someone waiting for her when she got out of school. Other African mothers were there to pick up their children and Purity had me. Mary emerged as well and was happy to see me. The youngest children took much longer to leave their classroom because Teacher Nora had to get all their things for them. Teacher Nora led her students into the courtyard and saw me with Purity and Mary. We began talking and I gathered the youngest children. I had to carry Baby Tyson because he was so tired from his first day of school. We all left the courtyard together as I asked all the children about their first day of school. I was still very weak and sick, as I carried heavy Baby Tyson up the hill to Manaseh, but the children wanted to go home as fast as possible so it wasn’t hard to get them to go home. 

Once we got home the fun and games began again, as well as more washing and cleaning. The red dirt of Kenya seeped into every thread of their clothes and would not come out easily. The bottom of the washer was coated with a film of red dirt from all of their clothes. We had to wash their uniforms EVERY night before they went to school so they would be ready. I was quite surprised by just how strict the administrations for all the schools were being about those darn uniforms as there wasn’t any obvious reason for such strict policy. We completed our nightly chores and went to bed, preparing for another day at Manaseh.

I haven’t blogged Culturewatch for a while. Their latest email update has just arrived, and I’ll reproduce much of it below – but why not join the Damaris internet community for free yourself.

Primeval

Keywords: Teamwork, choice, future, power, loss, science

When temporal anomalies begin to appear in the UK, allowing access to other times and letting prehistoric and futuristic creatures through to our world, a group of scientists are thrown together to investigate and deal with the fallout. Originally led by the obsessed Professor Nick Cutter (Douglas Henshall), the team has more recently been under the leadership of former Police Constable Danny Quinn (Jason Flemyng). So far the team has consisted of researcher Connor Temple (Andrew-Lee Potts), reptile and amphibian expert Abby Maitland (Hannah Spearitt), Cutter’s lab technician Stephen Hart (James Murray), Egyptologist Dr Sarah Page (Laila Rouass), public relations officer Jenny Lewis (Lucy Brown), and Captain Becker (Ben Mansfied), who is in charge of the team’s safety. They also have to deal with their ruthless administrator, government official James Lester (Ben Miller), and Cutter’s estranged wife, Helen (Juliet Aubrey), who has her own mysterious agenda.

Many of the characters in Primeval are yearning for something lost to them. Nick is initially looking for his missing wife, and then later is bereft to find that Claudia Brown (Lucy Brown) has disappeared thanks to changes to the timeline; the whole team mourns Stephen after his death; and Danny’s life has been shaped by the loss of his brother when they were teenagers. ‘You can’t change the past,’ Jenny warns a grieving Nick, and it is a lesson we should heed. Too often, Primeval warns, we hang onto the past, wishing we could change what has happened, rather than living in the present. But it is out of our hands and the show rightly emphasises the importance of accepting the past and moving on, as there is nothing we can do to alter it.  [more...]

Emily Dalrymple

Read the article on the CultureWatch website

Defiance

Keywords: Revenge, justice, punishment, violence, war, values, ethics

Defiance tells the untold true story of three brothers who were responsible for saving the lives of 1,200 Belorussian Jews in the Second World War. Following the deaths of their parents in 1941, Tuvia, Zus, and Asael Bielski, with their youngest brother, Aron, hide out in the forest near their home. They very quickly find others coming to join them, and the eldest, Tuvia (Daniel Craig), finds himself leading a band of Jews, which becomes known as the Bielski Otriad. At first, Tuvia seeks revenge for his parents’ deaths, killing the man responsible, as well as his two sons. But subsequently he changes his approach, deciding instead to save those his enemies sought to exterminate. ‘Our revenge is to live,’ he explains.

His brother Zus (Liev Schreiber) has different ideas. He disagrees with Tuvia’s attempt to save people who, in their previous lives, would have treated the Bielskis with disdain. When discussing their worth with his brother, Zus defends his position, calling them ‘pretentious Jews. Jews who stuck up their noses at us. Jews who would go out of their way to lock their daughters away from our dirty hands.’ He believes he and his brothers should prioritise their own interests, and at first, Tuvia agrees, considering using the others as a distraction to allow them to escape if the Germans were to find them. But as the film progresses, Tuvia grows more attached to the people he is leading, and he begins to feel a sense of responsibility for them. Tuvia’s former teacher, Shimon Haretz (Allan Corduner), reinforces this idea, telling him, ‘The Talmud says if you save a life you must take responsibility for it.’ Zus, on the other hand, becomes more disillusioned, eventually abandoning the forest community, along with some others who would rather be fighting and killing Germans – dealing out their own brand of revenge. The third brother, Asael (Jamie Bell), finds himself trapped between his two conflicting siblings.  [more...]

Richard Blakely

Read the article on the CultureWatch website

Culturewatch podcast

Every Monday morning, Paul Hammond of UCB UK radio talks to Culturewatch Managing Editor Tony Watkins about new film and DVD releases. You can listen live at just after 10.30 am on DAB radio (in some areas), cable channel 914, satellite channel 0125 or online.

This week, Paul and Tony discuss The End of the Line and Looking for Eric.

You can download the podcast from the Culturewatch podcast channel or subscribe to it using iTunes by by adding the following URL (click on ‘Subscribe to podcast’ under the Advanced menu): http://www.damaris.org/cm/rss/podcasts/culturewatch.xml.

Tony Watkins

Download the podcast from the CultureWatch website

Nossa pessoal, hoje estou escrevendo este post com muito entusiasmado e com uma super gratidão a Deus pois Ele está sendo muito generoso comigo. Ele têm me dado dias maravilhosos onde não sinto nenhuma tristeza e há sempre muita alegria em meu coração. Além disso eu já me disponho dos sinais que o Espírito Santo de Deus está me dando cujo os quais são de muita prosperidade.

Oh Senhor meu Deus, tenho certeza que estou na bênção e minha vítoria terá sabor de mel como diz a musica da Damaris

Obrigado por tudo meu Deus!

Today we met as a group for the first time since our mass exodus from Kamadep.  Angie and Damaris both seemed top be in low spirits; Damaris treated us to an explanation – her mother was hospitalized yesterday, and she was obviously preoccupied with her well-being.  I sincerely hope that she and Damaris are both okay.

Angie offered no explanation; it is possible that she is just generally frustrated with all of us, since we are an unusually chatty and distracting bunch.  She made us macaroni and cheese for lunch, complete with her secret ingredient – mustard (!?).  I’m not sure how I liked the mustard addition, but a break from the food here was well-appreciated.

Emily has sprouted some kind of weird mutant form of poison ivy on her face.  Her lips are swollen and it is spreading to her hands.  She is taking it in very good stride.  It is hilarious.  I discovered that I did not have the heard to picture her and post the image.

What is alarming, however, is her theory as to how she acquired the disease.  After my demonstration as to how to eat a mango “the Indian way,” the idea seems to have caught on.  However, they apparently grew the mango that Emily chose to suck on near some poison ivy and, as she is violently allergic, she proceeded to get poison ivy all over her face.  She told me this as I was happily midway through a mango of my own.  I now am getting phantom itching on my lips and chin.

Angie gave us the options for our mid-term retreat today, and I have been charged with the job of doing a cost-benefit analysis for a visit to Nakuru National Park or a park called Hell’s Gate.

Before I research them thoroughly, however, many of us have decided to go on a weekend trip to Kakamega Rainforest this weekend (Monday is a holiday).  I am supposed to be in Kakamega at 11:20 tomorrow with a ton of water and hiking shoes.  It should be fun!

Finally, this evening I had the pleasure of meeting and talking to Mama Joyce’s husband from Nairobi, James.  He is a very nice man; we talked extensively about development and politics in Kenya.  He mentioned something interesting – that while Kenya features a very opaque government that leads to unfair distribution of aid and opportunities for extortion, Tanzania, on the other hand, is very transparent and has managed to build the reputation (at least among some in Kenya) of being a far more “fair” country.  Now, whether or not Tanzania deserves this reputation is beyond my scope, but I’m always intrigued and attentive when stark contrasts are drawn between countries within Africa.  Altogether too often, there is a tendency to clump regions together and assume the same problems are present in a given bloc.  The fact of the matter is that these countries run very differently from each other, and each has its own benefits and problems.  It might be, therefore, that the answer to many of Africa’s problems actually lie within Africa itself.

I’m too tired to continue.  Hopefully I’ll have (more interesting) stories after I return from the forest!