Meet Jasper

Meet Jasper - an African Grey, commonly thought by avian experts to be the most intelligent bird in the world. Jasper came into our lives three days ago. He was found by a mutual friend in downtown Nairobi looking very lost and confused. He was obviously somebody's former pet because of his tame, eager-to-please nature. This friend of ours wasn't sure how she'd be able to care for such a bird and thus put him up for adoption. My boyfriend then surprised me by bringing him into my life as a gift this past Friday.

GOD, what an awe-inspiring bird. I've had birds my whole life, but only the small variety. I've always admired folks who got to live with parrots, but never thought I'd actually have the opportunity to care for one myself...but now, here Jasper is. He's sitting on my lap now looking spaced out, lost in thought and content. My boyfriend and I already have several little birds - two cockatiels and a bunch of parakeets (though we agreed to put two up for adoption since our house is getting a bit too feathery these days :p) so we've become accustomed to bird song filling our the air of our small apartment. Jasper is literally 10 times larger than our parakeets (see above pic) so my initial fear was that he may prove to be loud and occasionally obnoxious (cockatiels, for instance, can be so noisy when they're grumpy), but the big guy barely lets out a peep! He's obviously wise. We are constantly finding him deep in thought, slowly studying his surroundings. He seems to know a bunch of English words and looks at you thoughtfully when you try teaching him new words (as if he's committing the new words to memory). And, God is he amorous! His favorite thing to do is to snuggle up against your warmth and to get his neck rubbed. He makes this purring sound that makes your heart melt! Anyway, I am beyond excited about this new addition to our household. If only I could take him with me on my upcoming holiday to New York and Japan...!

Pain Free: Day one

What a peaceful day of off and on rain showers, reading, jokes, bird song and laughter. And for the first time in, I can't even RECALL how long, no headaches or migraines! I've been having these chronic headaches for the past several months that quickly escalate into this awful migraine should I attempt any sort of exertion - even speed walking! I went running with a girlfriend a month or so back only to be in bed right after with a migraine that refused to go away for almost 72 hours. The following week, stubborn me attended a zumba class with another girlfriend only to get another migraine. It was awful having them all the time because I treasure healthy living and exercise is an integral part of that! Last month, after three weeks of field work in Rwanda, I finally caved and contacted a neurologist/friend of my mother in the States. Talking with him was a huge relief because even though he wasn't able to examine me in person, he helped me to understand what symptoms could possible mean what and what sort of treatments I should consider. Honestly, in the back of my head I had been worried about having a tumor or something because, seriously, who has headaches EVERY DAY?! But the neurologist explained that should I have a tumor, I would be experiencing bad migraines in the morning that got better as each day progressed. Furthermore, sudden "thunderclap headaches" would by symptomatic of an aneurysm. Had I not been in a public place during that phonecall, I would have done a little happy dance at the realization that my headaches meant nothing serious. Nevertheless, my headaches remained a significant frustration for me, especially when they worsened into migraines which would often last for days at a time and wouldn't be alleviated by the typical medicines such as Excedrin Migraine or Panadol. The neurologist told me that there are several ways to treat migraines, but admitted that exercise-induced migraines like mine are much harder to treat. The neurologist suggested that I take low-dose beta blockers which basically slow your heart beat down keeping blood from rushing to your brain every time you try to exercise, which is GREAT because I feel like that's my main problem. When I get my migraines, I feel like blood is pulsating in my head causing it to throb like I can't explain (I have literally crawled to bed during some of these attacks).  

Anyway, today is my second day on beta blockers and I am happy to say that this is my first day in months that I didn't wake up, and go through my day, with a throbbing head. It has been such a liberating feeling. I'm not feeling soooo gutsy as to go for a run or do zumba yet, but I can tell you I'm feeling optimistic. 

Can'to supi-ku Ingurisshu (Can't speak English)

Saw this advert and found myself shaking my head with empathetic exasperation. I found this advertisement on Alc Space (an incredibly useful Japanese-English online dictionary, btw) for the well-known language learning software, Rosetta Stone. It is geared towards the Japanese who've scored well on their English exams, but still can't seem to speak English. I spent years and years in Japan before moving to Africa, 2 years of which I spent as an Japanese-English interpreter/liaison/English instructor. Teaching at the kindergarten and elementary school level was honestly a wonderful, rewarding experience. Teaching at the middle school and high school level however often left me exasperated at the way English was being taught. Like many places in the world, the type and quality of school that you are able to advance to is dependent on the grades you received on the national exam. In comparison, in the U.S. (my "Country of Origin" as we, refugee resettlement folk put it),  entrance into higher learning (be it high school, university or grad school) is based on a wider range of, let me call them, "capability measures," such as extracurricular activities, final grades on not just the SAT (our version of the national exam), but also final grades in individual courses, personal interviews, internship and conference experience, language ability, travel experience, work experience, publications, letters of recommendations, etc. Because so much importance is put on a Japanese student's score on the national exam, there tends to not be as much focus on creativity, or in the instance of language instruction - pronunciation and conversational comprehension and ability. English is one of the main subjects on the Japanese National Exam, but being able to comprehensibly communicate in verbal English is not tested. The result? Japanese students focus mostly on written English. They excel at grammar patterns, for instance, and spelling. But speaking and comprehending a native speaker of English? Good luck. It's a shame too because Japan is such a wealthy country that does so much GOOD in the world. If the majority of the population could actually verbally communicate in English (past basic communication), imagine what that would do for their economy, for their "reach" in the world, for tourism and so on!? When I was teaching in Japan, middle and high school students were being taught English pronunciation not as any non-Japanese would comprehend it. It was being taught as it is written in Japanese. For example, students were being taught that the word, "cat" was pronounced, "kato," and "dog" was to be pronounced  "dogu."  Then I'd see the young students try to communicate with such incorrect pronunciation with a foreign, English-speaking tourist. The tourist would, of course, struggle to understand what on earth they were saying and the Japanese student would in turn lose confidence and probably pass up the next opportunity to test out their English speaking ability. My capacity to teach them correct pronunciation was limited because I visited but once a week. With me teaching them American pronunciation and their instructors insisting that they still memorize the "katakana-ized" (see footnote) version of English, they were basically being asked to learn two separate languages - one that wasn't going to be on the national exam that determined the rest of their life, and another that had no effect whatsoever. What would you do? Study the "katakana-ized" version of English indeed! Oh, Japan, I feel for you indeed...  

Footnote: Katakana is the set of Japanese characters used to write foreign or emphasized words. Like the other two Japanese alphabets, katakana is based on the syllables "a," "i," "u," "e," and "o" so words ending in a consonant such as "dog" cannot be written less they are alterted to "fit" the katakana alphabet...thus "dog" becomes "dogu," "can't" becomes "can'to" and so on. The Japanese language does not cater for "l" and "r." Japanese does have a sound that is similar, but it is more a combination of both "l" and "r," thus in the typical Japanese accent, "English" will sound like "Ingurisshu" and embarrassing misappropriations like "erection" instead of "election," will be heard. My favorite one, however, is from the movie, "Lost in Translation," where a Japanese prostitute demands that Bill Murray "lip" her "stokinzu" ("rip her stockings"). heh heh heh   

Just saw two Silvery-cheeked Hornbills right outside my living room window!! Gotta love Kenya's vast array of avian wildlife!  

The question of faith

In Sub-Saharan Africa, everybody seems to prescribe to a religion. In my experience, they're either Catholic, Protestant, Muslim or Animist. I've yet to meet a self-described Agnostic, and certainly not a flat out Atheist. Faith is an integral part of one's identity here, something akin to second nature; something everybody has and if you don't, well, that's just odd. 

Today, for the first time, I was told by a refugee that though his wife and kids identified as protestants, he did  not. "I don't have a religion," he stated frankly.  I admit, my words sort of stumbled a bit at the point in the interview. I made some vague reply, like "Huh? Your religion was?" "I've no religion," he repeated, which left me dumbstruck for a good ten seconds after which time I finally mumbled something like, "a...huh...I see." and moved on to the rest of  the interview. 

My refugees out of the ordinary answer got me thinking about my own beliefs. In Africa you get asked all the time, "are you Christian?" "Are you Christian?" "Are you Christian?" It's an innocent enough question. It seems to be their way of getting to know you, seeing what they have in common with you. Nevertheless, the question never fails to make me feel uncomfortable because honestly, I don't know what title to use to describe my beliefs. I do believe in God, but there are some fundamental concepts in Christianity that I simply cannot convince myself to overlook. I'm not the type of person that believes because it's written in a book. I believe what inherently feels right. My biggest qualm with Christianity, or any of the Religions of the Book is this belief that loving and being physical with someone of the same sex is wrong. I can't even begin to convince myself that love and dedication between two, willing adults is somehow "evil." Christians have tried to explain their reasoning, but it honestly just goes in one of my ears and out the other. I just don't get why it's wrong and I doubt I ever will. People say unions or marriage should be between a man and a woman because "that is how it has always been," or, "that is what we are created to do." They point out that only a union between a man a woman can produce new life. Somehow that proves the reasoning that unions, marriages, sex should only be between a man and a woman. But tell me, since when do human beings only fornicate to have babies? Can we not argue that most of the time we just do "it" simply because it feels good? We are human beings. We have innate knowledge of what sort of people we are attracted to - boy, girl, black, white, Asian, Hispanic, Arab... a mix of all the before mentioned ;). ...We meet that "special somebody" and we just know. Why fight the urge if it's between two consensual  SINGLE adults?      

Ah, but I digress. There is a huge part of me that wants a faith; a part of me that wants to be able to answer with confidence, "I AM <fill in the blank>" I lean towards Christianity because that is what I know best, but I have this nagging suspicion that my outlook on life, consistent need for self-improvement and years in Japan more closely coincides with Buddhism. If I had to pick a population of people whose outlook on Life I respect the most, it would be the Japanese. Japan is heavily influenced by Buddhism. I spent much of my 20s, as well as my sophomore year of high school in Japan, so you can see why I ended up being heavily influenced by their way of life. I'm still in the process of deciding whether Buddhism is a religion that I could someday call my own, but I must say that from what I have learned,  the religion just seems to makes sense to me. It encourages reflection into Self, as opposed to seeking out the problems in others. It encourages the concept of "be the change you want to see in the world." As luck would have it, there are Buddhist chapters all over Nairobi and my Japanese hair dresser/friend happens to be a member. She promises that she'll take me to meetings and has already given me some reading material. I'm yet to read anything that turns me off, so things are looking bright.

To buy or not to buy...

Canon EOS 7D

Am I nuts? I've been day dreaming about splurging on this camera called an EOS 7D. It's of the professional variety and takes absolutely amazing photos even without one of those fancy, long lenses. It was brought to my attention by a Thai friend of mine who, when off duty from his day job, takes these simply breath-taking photos. Apparently these days he supplements his income with them too. How nice would THAT be - extra dough on top of my very humble earnings in the refugee resettlement field? 

Currently I own a Power Shot SX210 IS. For a snap shot camera, it takes beautiful photos and has an impressive 14x optical zoom lens. It's a hardy camera that I've dropped a couple times, taken to the

beach (in a kayak even) and to the Masai Mara (twice). It's great for photos where everything is standing still, but try taking an action shot and your photos will look horrible. 

Though I'm based in Nairobi, I am constantly traveling for work (and when I'm lucky, for pleasure). I am constantly surrounded by all these amazing photo ops - the graceful, rolling hills of Rwanda, for instance, or the beautiful smiles of the refugee children I work to give a better chance at life. I wish I could capture such images WELL in order to better remember them myself, as well as to share them with the many who don't get to see the places I visit. Plus, let me be honest, I wouldn't mind having the back up income that could potentially come with getting good at photography with such unique subject matter all around me. I'm thinking - investment; investment in my future. 

I once pretended my little Power Shot (the previous model I owned) was a professional camera and took several photos in the rarely visited Ban Nai Soi Refugee Camp in northwestern Thailand, a stone's throw away from Burma. I took them initially as part of a Cultural Orientation project for the International Organization for Migration. The project aimed to teach illiterate Burmese refugees about the many differences between their daily lives in the camps and those that they could expect upon arrival in the United States. I went into the camps and did several day long "home stay" of sorts with a refugee family from the Karen ethnicity. As the lady of the house explained her daily routine, she allowed me to take photos of her, her children and husband. It was such a neat experience and the pictures portrayed just that. Later on I sent the photos to Oxford which in turn published them under my name on their Forced Migration site http://www.forcedmigration.org/podcasts-videos-photos/photos/karen I couldn't have been prouder!   

Anyway, my point is, I'd like to get back into photography. Embrace the art, so to speak, and really train myself in getting good. I've always had a natural knack for anything involving creativity so I think I'd end up being quite good at it if I just gave it a real try. Ahhh, but the expense of a camera like the EOS 7d is as high as a ticket to Japan and back. Get this - I just checked on Amazon only to learn that an EOS 7d is running for about $1,500! Meanwhile, my boyfriend is trying to convince me to get an IPhone 5s, but honestly I don't really have any need for such a thing. I don't really see the attraction of owning one, other than to look "cool" in the eyes of others, which really, at this point in my life is not my biggest concern. I'm more worried about where I'll be a year from now, whether my ovaries are drying up and whether I'll have enough money to support a family and my constant need to travel! haha Ahh, but to own an EOS 7D...I've heard of photographers selling photos for hundreds of dollars...imagine! And for simply practicing and loving your hobby! Plus, let's all confess, as cool as IPhones supposedly are, how many mere MONTHS will pass before folks are saying the IPhone 5s is a boring toy of the past? 

Step. Twist. Owww

Rwanda is all hills so after a week or so, you inevitably get tight calves. This morning, when the workday had barely begun, I was caught off guard when one of the cement steps decided to stretch up higher than usual tripping me right in front of our guards. It wasn't me not looking where I was going, I swear. It was the step.  Though I tried to hide my beat red face by walking away nonchalantly, the reality was that I had pulled my calf muscle and it HURT like HECK! I spent the rest of the day limping, if not hopping on one foot. Reminder to self - balance focusing on where you want to go with how you're going to get there! 

Nairobi n' Me: A love hate relationship

Writing about and being in Rwanda has me contemplating some frustrations I have about living in Nairobi. Before I explain these, I feel I must first brag a bit about the positive aspects of Nairobi life. Nairobi is fun, especially if you’re young. Compared to major urban centers of the United States, Nairobi is relatively small with only 3 million people. It is not uncommon, for instance, to go out alone only to coincidentally bump into somebody you know. Small as it may be however, it offers the resident expat countless outings to choose from – Nairobi clubs are said to be the best in East Africa, there are countless shopping centers, bargain markets, great food, poetry, athletics, nature, even skating rinks and 3d movie theaters. And then there’s Nairobi’s people. They come in multiple shades and are the types with seemingly an unending supply of energy and enthusiasm. Like most Americans, they want to have the best at building a good life for themselves and their family and their willing to work damn hard to get it. Nairobi is the hub for most humanitarian organizations – UNHCR, IOM, ActionAid, you name it. It offers fantastic opportunity for the aspiring humanitarian looking for those requisite 2-3 years of “field experience.” The question however lies in whether it is worth it to stay longer than that. For me, and I believe many expats, the main frustrations are pollution, crime, corruption and the cultural complacency with regards to lateness being OK. These “cons” give me great pause when thinking about my future, and indeed the future of my children and husband should I ever be so lucky to have them.

Let me delve into the pollution issue. Nairobi is not a clean city. In fact, in many places, it is downright filthy. Piles of garbage, bags caught in gutters, goats, chickens and birds of prey munching on human trash is commonplace. How many hundreds of times have I observed Kenyans tossing a wrapper or plastic bottle on the ground without a second thought? When I see that I want to SCREAM, do you not have ANY respect for your environment? For your COUNTRY? It turns my stomach no matter how many times I witness folks doing that. For me, pride in ones country goes hand in hand with respecting it enough to keep it clean. I see Kenyan children littering and it breaks my heart because if today's children aren't taught to keep Kenya clean, how can we expect a future Nairobi to be any cleaner? I know that I don’t want my children playing around heaps of trash. Do you? Kenya's economy relies so heavily on tourism from the United States, Europe and Asia. In fact, it was because Somali terrorists were jeopardizing Kenya's tourist industry that Kenya ended up declaring war on Somalia. So it's obvious Kenya places high value on its tourism industry and has high hopes that it will continue to grow in the future. So why aren’t there more advocates for a cleaner Kenya? Why is this connection – a cleaner Kenya means a wealthier Kenya – not made? I don’t get it. Kenyans are quick to blame their government for their frustrations, but certainly all blame can’t be pushed to corrupt MPs. They are responsible for Kenya, yes, but not solely responsible. Change happens not with a crowd, but with one person who inspires the next, who inspires the next. Why not set an example by just carrying that wrapper, bag or plastic bottle to a trash bin? Be the change you want to see in the world, as they say. Stop waiting for change to happen from above and bring about the change you are capable of bringing about yourself.  Because seriously folks, who out there likes seeing huge piles of trash everywhere (even outside your national parks for crying out loud)?! Clean up your act, Kenya! You're better than that and the Rwandans have proven that it IS possible. Their streets, even in the capital city of Kigali are SPOTLESS. I challenge you to find one tossed bottle on their streets. Just try! 

And then there's the crime. I have yet to meet ONE expat living in Nairobi who has not had their house or car broken into or vandalized been pick-pocketed, mugged or sexually harassed. Not one. Such experiences really put a damper on expats’ desire to build a future here. Frustrated expats sadden me because I truly believe Nairobi has a lot of potential. I don’t mean to suggest that the average Kenyan isn’t trust worthy. I believe the majority of Kenyans are good people just trying to make the best out of life. I don’t think any expat would argue against that. But then there are those heartless few who seem to believe it’s better to steal, harass, hurt and exploit expats and fellow Kenyans alike in order to get ahead in life. I have lived many different places in my life, but never have I led such a vulnerable life style as I do in Nairobi. I long to be able to walk outside my house past dusk, to be able to go out dancing without being sexually harassed and to not be charged 10x more just because of my skin tone. I don’t appreciate being perceived as a walking wallet or people thinking that because my boyfriend is black that he must be using me somehow. I don’t like having to hide my phone when I’m on public transport or having to look over my shoulder because some idiot matatu driver is driving on the wrong side of the road and on the sidewalk to boot! I love life abroad and believe I made the right choice moving to Kenya, but with frustrations like crime and pollution make the possibility of me raising a family there unlikely. I don’t want to have to worry each day if my kid is slowly getting cancer because he’s breathing in unfiltered car exhaust, whether my daughter is being grabbed by unscrupulous men who’ve “always wondered what t would be like to grab a girl of her color,” or whether my husband is going to be mugged or worse, get into one of those matatu accidents that I see so often on the news.  

It’s interesting how much an expat’s vantage point changes from when s/he’s in his/her early 20s and carefree, to when s/he’s thinking about family. I wonder what my future holds and where I’ll be even a year from now. Sometimes I wish I could take a break from the anticipation and just take a quick glimpse to put myself at ease.

Let me tell you about a secret somehow kept. It's called Rwanda.

My sojourn in Rwanda is wonderful. Many are still under the impression that Rwanda is a poor, war-torn state that nobody in their right mind would want to visit. Trust me, however, though Rwanda is still very much in it's developing stages, it is a jaw-dropping beautiful country, in terms of the genuineness of its people, rolling, lush hills, fascinating culture, you name it. This country was literally dropped to its knees in 1994. Close to 1 million people were slaughtered in the Genocide involving neighbor killing neighbor. Women, handicapped, elderly, even infants were not spared. Fortunately the violence was eventually brought to a standstill, but  a permanent scar on the hearts and minds of Rwandans - Tutsi and Hutu alike - could not be avoided. Today ,there seems to be a genuine, concerted effort by both the people and the government to build Rwanda up from the ashes of Genocide. It is now forbidden to ask someone their ethnicity, for instance. There is a country-wide effort to build up the common identity of Rwandans as Rwandans, rather than Hutu, Tutsi or Twa. Rwanda has been particularly favored for international aid because of the startling lack of corruption on a continent where corruption runs frustratingly rampant. I consistently hear from my colleagues and similarly focused professionals that Rwanda is among their top-choices in terms of where they'd prefer to be posted. Put simply, it's just an overwhelmingly beautiful place.

Mini chirps

Our polygamous budgie (parakeet), Izy, is the proud, first-time dad of three featherless peepers and two promising looking eggs (see picture to your right). Though we're thrilled, I can't say we are surprised  He is, by far, the horniest little thing I have ever seen, jumping and wiggling on top of his two girlfriends - Fluffy and Toti - any chance he gets! I have to confess though - he is adorably proud of his new status as "dad." Though we generally keep him in the smaller cage with Fluffy, Izy is fast to hop on over to Toti and the babies' cage every chance he gets. Our original plan was to keep all the birds in one cage. We have a several foot high cage that comfortably houses all of our feathery housemates. Tension quickly arouse however when Toti and Fluffy decided they wanted to give birth to Izy's children at the same time. Maybe it's something in the water? Our original, idealistic plan was that the hens (female parakeets) could both nest in the same box. B cleverly placed a divider inside an aluminum foil box, taped in shut and then cut two holes on each side of the divider. Never underestimate the determination of a female parakeet however. No sooner than B had placed the nest inside the cage than Toti decided that she would have no part in this sharing business with her arch rival, Fluffy. Toti was the first to hop inside the nest and immediately set to work on nibbling apart the divider. She thereafter violently attacked any body who dared poke a finger or beak inside (excluding Izy and our bisexual parakeet, Odi). After she ended up killing one of our favorite budgies, Charlie, we decided to get another cage to keep Fluffy alive and give her a fair chance at motherhood. Fluffy seems to adore her new cage, albeit it a lot smaller and now devotes the majority of her days fluffing herself up inside the built in nest.

Toti tucking her eggs and babies underneath 

Birds are the some of the sweetest little things I've ever had the chance to interact with, both in the wild and as pets. They are so fragile, yet somehow resilient and they can be incredibly affectionate. As I sit here blogging, our female cockatiel (Atoti) and albino (hermaphroditic?) budgie (Odiero, aka "Odi") are quietly grooming each other and sharing birdie kisses. Our other cockatiel ("Joey") is perched on my shoulder with his head down making chirpy begging noises so that I rub the back of his neck. If he had it his way, he'd have me massage him for hours while intermittently giving me grateful birdie kisses. To me, birds (especially hook-bills like parrots, parakeets, budgies, etc) look like they are constantly smile with the way their beaks turn up at the ends. It's as if they are constantly at peace.

Atoti (right) and Joey fast asleep

Today I had a somewhat stressful day. Won't go into details here, but I'll admit that by the time I got home I just wanted to crash on my bed in a halfhearted attempt to escape from it all. I had this idea that I'd sleep till tomorrow and then hopefully, when I woke, I'd be my usual upbeat self. I had let our two cockatiels sit beside me as I dozed. The two sweeties fluffed up beside my face, tucked their beaks in their feathers and fell asleep with me, as if express that they too had had stressful days and could totally relate. I woke up an hour later with fluffed up birdie faces staring back at me. I felt refreshed and loved. 

Bad omens or reminders from above?

This dark cloud of bad luck has been following me around recently and I just can't seem to shake it! Yesterday, B and I went out for a bike ride. We were all pumped up, excited about discovering a new route. I was but 2 minutes out of the driveway when I found that my bike was ready to fall apart. The wheels were ready to fall off, my break pads were raw and every inch of that bicycle seemed to be rattling! So instead getting to go off on our big adventurous, new ride, we had to instead go to the bike shop at Sarit (Cycle Land), which honestly, I dislike supporting because the Indian shop owner isn't the nicest to his black Kenyan employees. But that is the only bike shop I'm familiar with so there we went. Several hours later, our bikes freshly tuned, we again try to go for our big bike ride. But what happens five minutes later? My wheel runs over something sharp (broken glass is everywhere on Kenyan roads) and my tire goes pfffffffffffffffffffffffffff!!! I was so disappointed that I literally looked up into the sky and asked out loud, "WHY? What did I do?" Soo, off we went back to the bike shop - AGAIN - to have my tire tube replaced. Thankfully, the Indian shop owner took pity on me and gave me a discounted price. 300 shillings, as opposed to 600. OK, fine maybe he's isn't as horrible of a man as I thought... Last night, I didn't sleep a wink. My allergies were at it again so I spent the entire night running back and forth to the bathroom to get more tissues for my congested nose. Poor B probably didn't get much sleep either with me sneezing every other second...Today I came home from Nakumat only to find one of our birds - little Charlie - missing. The little sweetheart is usually one of the most active of our little flock with his climbing adventures up and down here and everywhere,his attempts to step and ride on the tails of the cockatiels and his acrobatic summer flips and swings. He's a constantly HAPPY bird. Anyway, today I found him shivering at the bottom of the bird house, covered in blood. B and I have nicknamed Charlie "Houdini" because of his ever successful maneuvers to escape capture. Today though, as I reached down to pick him up, he didn't even attempt escape, but simply let out a chirpy wimper as he tried to bite down on my finger with all the strength he could muster. He was in a lot of pain - that was clear kabisa.10 minutes after nursing Charlie with birdie medicine and placing him in our "hospital cage," B runs into the house panting with a look of panic on his face. "I was almost mugged just now," he exclaimed! It was all I could to hold him in my arms, look up into the sky and shake my head, "not him too. Please God, let him be," I prayed. To get home, B has to take this unlit dirt road that connects the main highway (where the bus stop is) and our road. Commuters rarely take this road after dark, but what choice does Bryan have, other than to take an expensive cab every day? He tells me that every time he's on that path, he sends up a silent prayer for safety and unlocks the pepper spray I brought from the States. So far he has been safe. Tonight he had an all too close encounter with what could go terribly wrong. Thank God he's safe. Maybe that's it. Maybe God's trying to send me a message to remind me how quickly things can change for the worse tomorrow. so I better be damn sure to be and ACT grateful for what I have been blessed with today. 

Bolagun Market, Nigeria

Went to Bolagun Market today in downtown Lagos, Nigeria. GOOD LORD, what an experience that was! Imagine PEOPLE...EVERYWHERE! I have never seen such business, such COLOR and LIFE! The moment my friend and I stepped out of the car, we were swallowed up by it all. The three other friends who came along with us were separated from us in a split second so we made our way into the crowd towards what we knew was out there...somewhere. West African fabric. The unique colors, design and quality of the fabric are world famous. But it wasn't just fabric being sold in Bolagun, but also everything from tight fitting dresses to Korans, from live snails to pig feet, from incense to curtains. Definitely not the type of place for those prone to claustrophobia, but spectacular all the same. R and I eventually enlisted the help of boy to help us navigate the clogged streets and we quickly found ourselves surrounded by West African fabric HEAVEN. Mom requested a variety of West African material and that's just what she will get! Got a bit of everything - and what amazing colors. Can't wait to get back to Nairobi to have fitted dresses made...B will def have reason to call his girl an African queen with these fabrics.   

Family reunion excitement

In two weeks time, my American mother, brother, Japanese mom and Japanese dad will be in Kenya. I am beyond excited. I am from a very close-knit family of four and also remain close to the Japanese family I lived with on numerous occassions between the age of 15 and 27. My mother has been to Kenya once before, whereas my brother and host parents have never been to Africa, let alone Kenya. My host mother is particularly excited about the trip. When I asked her months ago what was on her Bucket List, she confessed that she has always wanted to visit Africa and see the Great Migration (one of the world's so-called 7 wonders). Needless to say, I am thrilled to be able to facilitate the realization of that dream...

My brother and host parents will be in Kenya for a week, while Mom will be in town for two. We'll be going on on a 3-day safari in the famous Masai Mara national park staying in one of those fancy tented camps. I am going to also try to fit in a visit to the Bomas of Kenya, the Kazuri Bead Factory, the Animal Orphanage in Karen, Luo dancing at Ronalo's, custom made dresses for my host mom, American mother and I, a visit to either Aromatics Spa or Wild Earth, as well as Open Hand's Orphanage. Got more ideas for me? Send 'em my way! This reunion needs to be the best ever! :) 

Internet frenzy in Addis Ababa

Am on a work trip in Ethiopia at one of my favorite hotels - The Jupiter - going absolutely NUTS with pleasure because of my soft bed with fluffy pillows and because of the unlimited, high-speed INTERNET!

Let me explain why this brings me so much blissful happiness :p 

INTERNETTTTT

In my home country, high-speed internet is a given. Everybody has access to it, be it at home, at the local Starbucks, at school, etc. In Africa we consider it more of a luxury, especially UNLIMITED internet. In the States, access to high-speed unlimited wireless demands only the purchase of a coffee or a visit to the school library. At our homes, we pay one of the countless internet companies a monthy fee of about $39 bucks for unlimited, FAST internet (or maybe it's a lot cheaper these days...It's been a while since I've lived outside of Asia or Africa...<blush>). Here in Africa, we pay by the bundle. I didn't know what that meant when I first moved here, so let me explain to those readers in a similar boat. Here, the more you surf and download, the more you pay. Internet, like talk time is generally PRE-PAID as opposed to POST-PAID. This is nice because you only end up spending what you've actually budgeted for, but it also means that once you've used your allotment, you have to either accept that you're cut off from the world, OR you have to muster up the energy to visit the local store or street kiosk to purchase more internet/talk time. So downloading, unless it's really necessary, is avoided. We don't video chat unless we're at an internet cafe because video chatting (as opposed to voice chatting) eats up more of your bundle meaning you use more money. This kind of LIMITED internet life-style explains why every time  I return to the States, I spend countless, sleepless nights grinning insanely at Mom's computer screen as I download for hours just because I CAN and video chat with everybody under the sun. And then there's TED videos and YouTube videos...I turn into a complete computer geek when I go home and it's hard to even convince myself to leave the house. Dad gets so annoyed with me for never leaving the computer desk, but if somebody's denied internet freedom for months on end, it's understandable for her to go a little overboard (and, OK, I admit, a little nutso) when provided access to it again,... right? :p

Life lesson: A friendly face need not be trusted

Today I was asked to be a witness at a Nubian/Muslim wedding. It was a beautiful experience watching two dear friends vow to dedicate their lives to each other. After the ceremony, we headed to their home to enjoy a Nubian feast where we got to meet the bride and groom’s extended family. As I sat with the bride, a mutual friend came in, greeted us and sat next to me. As we began to chat, I glanced over at her earrings and realized they were the pearl earrings my father gave me for my 30^th birthday last year in Italy. I suddenly had a flashback of the friend’s attendance at a get-together held at my house a year prior. Not wanting to make a scene since the bride was sitting on my other side; I asked her quietly where she got her earrings. She smiled and replied, “They’re yours.” “No shit, Sherlock,” I thought, but replied with guarded annoyance, “those were a gift to me by father, you need to give those back to me.” She laughed and assented, but made no effort to actually do so. “How about you give them to me now, dear, otherwise we might forget.” She handed them to my nonchalantly.  This is a girl who has seemingly been so sweet to me for the past 2 years or so I’ve known her, only to steal from me without any apparent guilt! I was shocked, but again, I didn’t want to ruin my other friend’s wedding day. I looked down in awkward silence and saw that she was also wearing my tank top, gold bracelet given to me by mother and a ring given to me by my best friend in the States! I felt like screaming! “What give, girl, practically everything you have on is mine!” She laughed again as if it were a joke, to which I could only look at her flabbergasted for several awkward moments before taking off the bracelet and ring myself. Nooo, I didn’t take off the tank top too! Perhaps I should have though? To leave her naked and shamed? Nah that would have been too harsh. Something in her head must have clicked at that moment b/c she decided to make a half-hearted apology. “Sorry, Amity. I won’t do it again.” “Bullshit,” I thought bitterly, but me being me, replied “<name>, you really shouldn’t steal from people. Now I can’t trust you anymore.” I would have gone on, but my eyes started welling up so I cut the lecture short and looked away, proceeding to ignore her for the remaining time I was obliged to sit next to her.  

How do people think that stealing is OK, especially from people they are so outwardly friendly to? I don't get such superficial people. If I did something like steal ONCE, let alone repeatedly, I'd be sleepless with guilt and shame.   

Dadaab

Interesting article by MSF' http://www.swiftpage6.com/CampResource/2Y10R56DI4MDKDR8/1/text.pdf

I led the last resettlement mission to Dadaab in October 2011 before a series of bombings and kidnappings jeopardized our safety to the extent that my organization and many others discontinued or greatly limited services in and/or visits to the area. Our organization is responsible for all refugee in sub-Saharan Africa applying for resettlement to the United States. For those in Dadaab however, their cases are on hold till the unforeseeable future because we are no longer able to process their applications. Resettlement is hardly a solve-all solution to the plights of refugees. Indeed, the longer I work in resettlement, the more I realize the more powerful and long-term impact of skills building in a refugees local society as opposed to uprooting them to a foreign location. However, resettlement does offer the undeniable and invaluable sense of hope, especially to refugee children who, because of their youth and the sponge-like nature of their minds, have so much to gain from quality education, healthcare, safety and peace. I only wish I knew more about conflict resolution to be better able to access the situation in Somalia (and indeed that which continues to spill over into Northern Kenya). How long will it be, I wonder till "hope" again returns to the uprooted people of Dadaab? Or will they forever be considered by the international community as a "lost cause?"       

The sometimes inadvertent power of friendship

Why is it that we tend to be the hardest, and sometimes the cruelest, to the people we are closest to? I tend to think (or at least this is my excuse) that it is because we wish the best for them and therefore are willing to take the risk of upsetting them in the hopes that in the end it will be for the best. The problem arguably lies however with the fact that as we grow closer to a person, be they family, boyfriend or friend, we increasingly get to know exactly what to do in order to make that person incredibly happy, as well as incredibly miserable. I have found that there is a delicate balance one must take with those we love. As a person closest to them, we have a responsibility to be honest with them and yes, sometimes this honesty hurts. However we also have the obligation to practice caution with the power we inherit over that person’s emotions as s/he grows increasingly comfortable with you. I believe that it is important, for instance, to alert a friend or family member if they are doing something that might be detrimental to their health, future, happiness and so on. As I was reminded recently however, we have to be careful not to push too hard or too hard for too long because honesty or “hard love,” as some call it can too often have the adverse affect of heartache, frustration, or worse yet, depression. In otherwords, albeit with good intentions, in your blurting out of the honest truth, your words may have the inadvertant affect of discouraging your loved one to take the steps forward you so earnestly aspire to encourage them to take.  

Birthday blues...

I know, it sounds juvenile, but birthdays have always been a big deal for me. With the exception of last year (which as truly an amazing birthday) I generally find myself feeling surprisingly lonely when May roles around. I won't go so far as to say that I get depressed, but I defintely tend to feel lonely and have to make a real concerted effort to *try* to cheer myself up. May...and December (Xmas) ...are typically the months that I feel the most separated from my family and close friends. This year has turned out to be no different. I am on a work trip in a small town in rural Uganda with teammates that I unfortunately haven't really gotten a chance to know that well. Tomorrow is my birthday and I can tell you right now it's going to be a rough day...there's an African-style birthday party going on outside of our hotel right now and I can't help but wish I had people in my life who would make such a big deal out my birthday. Happy birthday, stranger...you are one lucky lady. Ooof...really need to shake these blues...

The question of Amnesty

Amnesty: an act of forgiveness for past offences, especially to a class of persons as a whole; a forgetting or overlooking of any past offence.

Amnesty. This is a concept  that I have been struggling with lately, particularly with regards to its potential effectiveness in helping a war torn people/country heal from past atrocities and human rights violations. Currently I am in Uganda, a country that continues to struggle with how to balance bringing LRA perpetrators to justice and how to heal from the violence and trauma the rebel group inflicted. A recent on-line article put the dilemma Uganda faces well, stating: 

"The arrest of a senior Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) commander has reignited debate in Uganda about what to do with alleged war criminals: let them go, to encourage other rebels to surrender; or prosecute them in the name of accountability and justice."

Caesar Acellam Otto

The senior commander the article refers to is a man by the name of Caesar Acellam Otto. As one of Joseph Kony's top commanders, Caesar is directly responsible for the torture, murder and forced recruitment of countless individuals (both children and adults) from northern Uganda. And yet, when questioned during an interview (see New Vision newspaper) following his arrest about crimes against humanity that the LRA committed, he "threw his hands in the air and stated, 'the Ugandan Government passed a Bill in Parliament of blanket amnesty. So all rebels who left the bush before me were granted amnesty. Why not me? Why should I fear?" When Caesar was asked whether he felt remorse for his involvement in the before mentioned human rights offences, he stated, "in the military, there is no word like excuse. Therefore, I cannot apologise."

The UN Secretary-General for Children and Armed Conflict states Caesar and other LRA commanders are "responsible for the most egregious violations committed against children in the central African region." And yet from what I have been reading so far in the UG newspapers and on-line, it seems that even for big-time perpetrators of past violence like Caesar, there is a strong push for amnesty. In other words, Caesar and others would end up getting away with their crimes completely unpunished. I am left wondering how I would feel about such criminals being let go in my community after they've instigated the murder of so many of my compatriots? Would I be able to "forgive and forget" in an effort to recover from the past and obtain peace? I'm honestly not so sure...

Grasshoppers and a Ugandan History Lesson

Yesterday evening till yesterday, I was bed-ridden with God-knows-what bacteria that I had ingested from eating too many grasshoppers, a Ugandan delicacy sauteed with onions and served in small paper bags on the streets of Kampala (so so so scrumptious, but apparently not good for the gastrointestinal system!). This morning, I woke up feeling like a million bucks and, after eating a huge breakfast, decided I must take advantage of my good health and see at least a bit of Kampala on this rare day off.

After a bit of Google-ing, I decided on the Royal Palace of  "the Buganda King," formerly the President of Uganda (Pres Mutesa). The palace belonged to the Ugandan royal family up until 1971 when then Colonol, Idi Amin (under the auspices of then PM Obote), seized the royal palace and forced the Buganda king (or, "King Freddy" as he was affectionately referred) into exile. King out of country, PM Obote pronounces himself the new President of Uganda and promotes the infamous Idi Amin to General and Chief of Staff. This seems to have been the near end of Idi Amin and Obote's friendship however, as Amin thereafter decides to strengthen his position via smuggling and arms sales to S Sudanese rebels and by strengthening his ties to UK and Israeli agents. These actions apparently anger Obote and he demotes Amin to a more non-executive role. When Obote is off in Singapore at a Commonwealth meeting, Amin calls up Obote and tells him (according to my taxi driver, that is), "not to bother returning to Uganda." Amin then declares himself, and I quote, "His Excellency, the President for Life, Field Marshal, Al Hadji Doctor Idi Amin, VD, DSO, MC, Lord of All the Beasts of the Earth and Fishes of the Sea, and Conqueror of the British Empire in General and Uganda in Particular." Quite the eccentric guy, wouldn't you agree? Amin then goes on to become the paranoid, monic-depressive monster that we all learnt about through Hollywood's "The Last King of Scotland." He proceeds to kill off those around him, starting first with political opponents seen to be loyal to Obote and then on to the ethnic Acholi and Lango who were imputed Obote loyalists.

Phewwww, anyway, back to the Royal Palace I visited today. Below the palace grounds lie chambers built by the Israelis. These chambers were built by the Israelis under the assumption that they would be used as storage facilities for weapons. Little did they know however, that soon after their construction, the chambers would instead be utilised by Amin (and later on, Obote after his return from exile) as torture chambers for perceived political opponents. On the way over to the palace, my taxi driver told me that  Amin's political opponents were given two choices as to how they would be murdered - either they could choose death by execution, or they could be thrown into the torture chambers where they would die of suffocation and starvation.

Above is a photo of the chambers. As you can see, there are three in number. Upon close inspection, these chambers could maybe fit 100 people each, if everybody stood standing up straight and close together, but apparently victims were thrown in on top of each other because my guide was telling me that hundreds of people were thrown into the chambers at once. With no other means of making their suffering known to the outside world, these victims marked the walls of the chambers with their blood and feces (see photo to the right), either with hand and foot prints, or eerie messages declaring their killer (Amin and later, Obote) by name.

A step down from the chambers was a pool of water of about a foot or two deep. Under this water were electrocution devices that would, when turned on, mean instant death for any poor soul caught inside that pool's shallow depths. According to my guide, Idi Amin used to find great amusement in telling the prisoners that they would be granted freedom if they could only run from the chamber they were incarcerated in to the "safe" grassy area outside. Amin would then watch (with great amusement) as the prisoners would topple over each other in their panicked effort to reach the grass. Amin would then switch on the electricity and kill all those who had decided to make that desperate dash towards freedom. As if that weren't a gruesome enough murder, Amin would then order their bodies to be dumped into Lake Victoria or the neighbouring man-made lake to be then gobbled up by the eagerly awaiting crocodiles.    

          

The random things we miss

It's been too long since I was in the habit of regularly updating my blog. Hopefully this entry will result in a stream of others in the days and weeks to come.

Today we were invited over to a fellow friend/colleague's house, about a 10-minute bicycle ride away. It was amusing the way she advertised her get-together - "Sandwiches American-style," she texted "and REAL chocolate cake and ice cream 4 dessert." Let's just say that enticement, along with good company on a rainy Sunday afternoon, was too much for us to stay away. The afternoon did prove to be a true delight. Yes, it poured, but under the protection of her gazebo and later on her cozy home, we laughed away the cool breeze, stuffed ourselves silly and  played Life, an American  board game I think I haven't played in YEARS!

Funny what random things you miss when you live the life of an expatriate...of course there are the obvious things you miss like family, friends, high speed internet, safety, ..., but then there are the truly random things you end up longing for. And it changes depending on which part of the world you are in, even which country within the same region!

When I lived in the "Land of the Rising Sun" (AKA: Japan), I missed hugs more than anything in the world. As an American, when I greet, I hug. It's a reflex for me; a NEED. In Japan however, they bow..., which is great. I mean, you feel cool doing it and all, but if you're an American and you haven't been hugged in a couple months, you start to go a nutso with loneliness :p Then there were the other things I missed while in Japan like central heating. Imagine going into your kitchen and finding the water you spilled on the counter the evening prior frozen solid, or your toes going numb because only one room in the house is heated and it's not the bathroom!. I missed BIG ovens, clothes sold in sizes larger than 0 and shirts with enough material to actually reach my wrist, (rather than just my elbow). And finally I missed not having to come into contact with grown, educated women who didn't feel that they had to be "cute" (after almost 7 years in Japan, by the way, that tenancy of so many Japanese women still baffles me).

When I lived in the "Land of Smiles" (AKA Thailand), I missed food that didn't give me hiccups and make my eyes water, roads clear of never ending traffic and the mild temperatures of my hometown. ...ok, that's pretty much it because for some odd reason I never really got that homesick in Thailand. 

And now that I'm living in Kenya, the random things I crave are things like wall-to-wall carpeting, reliable police, not being referred to as mzungu - I'M PINK DAMMIT, NOT WHITE! (And seriously, why refer to my color anyway?! I do have a name. Don't know it? "Miss" or "madaam" will do just fine, thank you. Or if you'd like to make my day, "mrembo" would be nice too. wink) - customer service, vegetarianism, people who value keeping time, and respect for pedestrians (there's no airbag on this human being, bana - SLOW THE HECK DOWN!! "Believe me, you'll get there!").

Interesting Article: When Your 7-Year-Old Son Announces, 'I'm Gay'

If only more parents could be as supportive as this mama! What an inspiration!

When Your 7-Year-Old Son Announces, 'I'm Gay'

Considering that my son has a longstanding crush on Glee's Blaine and regularly refers to him as "my boyfriend," I thought there was a fair chance that he would someday say, "I'm gay." But my kid is only 7 years old. I figured I had a few years before we crossed that threshold (if we ever did), probably when he was 14 or 15. I never thought it would happen this soon.

Six months ago "gay" wasn't even a word in my son's vocabulary. He has always known that some of our male friends are married to men and some of our female friends to women, and it is such a normal part of his life that he never needed a special word to describe them. When he did notice the word and asked what it meant, I told him that when boys want to marry boys and girls want to marry girls, we call that "gay." He didn't seem very interested and quickly went off to do something else more exciting than a vocabulary lesson with his mom.

Fast-forward a few months. I was on the phone with a relative who had just discovered that I was blogging on The Huffington Post and openly discussing my son's crush on Blaine. I was in another room alone (I thought), explaining, "We're not saying he's straight, and we're not saying he's gay. We're saying we love who he is," when my son's voice piped up behind me.

"Yes, I am," he said.

"Am what, baby?" I asked.

"Gay. I'm gay."

My world paused for a moment, and I saw the "geez, Mom, didn't you know that already?" look on my son's face.

I got off the phone and leaned down to eye level with him and rubbed my nose against his. "I love you so much."

"I know," he said, and ran off to play with his brothers.

Since that day, any time the word "gay" has come into conversation, he has happily announced to those around him, "I'm gay!" He says this very naturally and happily, the same way he announces other things that he likes about himself. Mention that a person is tall and he'll quickly add, "I'm tall!" If he hears the word "Legos," barely a second passes before he says, "Legos. I love Legos." Saying "I'm gay" is his way of telling people: this is something I like about myself.

It's amazing, but it's also shocking. How many people have a 7-year-old come out to them? A lot of people don't know how to react, and I don't blame them. Before my son, I'd never met a child who came out this young -- and we don't know anyone else who has. The mere idea of children having a sexual orientation makes people uncomfortable. It's something we don't think about (or just don't like to).

But here's the thing: straight children have nothing to announce. Straight is the assumption. No one bats an eye at a little girl with a Justin Bieber poster in her bedroom, or when little girls love playing wedding with little boys every chance they get. If our sexual orientation is simply part of who we are, why wouldn't it be there in our elementary years?

I've heard from countless adults who say they knew that they were gay as young as kindergarten but lacked the language to talk about it. And in most cases, they knew it was something wrong that they should hide. Because gay people are part of my son's everyday life, he has the vocabulary, and it has never occurred to him there is anything wrong with it.

On one occasion after an "I'm gay" announcement, I watched my husband reach out to ruffle our son's hair. "I know, buddy," my husband said to him. "And you're awesome, too." That's how we're handling it. We want him to know we hear him, and that he's wonderful. It feels like the right thing to do, and that's all we have to go by. We don't have any other examples.

We did take a few extra steps. Within a few days we had a quick talk with him about how some people don't like it when people are gay, explaining that those people are wrong. If he hears anyone says anything about being gay like it is something bad, he is to run and get us immediately. We had a brief conversation with his teachers: Our son is identifying as gay. We don't think there's anything wrong with that or with him. And this is the only acceptable opinion on the subject. All his teachers, while surprised, were on board. We learned that he hasn't used that word at school yet, so we'll cross that bridge when the time comes.

I don't think it will always be easy. We don't know what to expect. At this point we aren't looking for trouble, but at the same time we're preparing for it. We know we have a journey ahead of us, just like everyone does. And this is one part of the story of our son and our family.

Do I think this is the last word on his orientation? I don't know. He's 7. Maybe as he gets older he'll tell me something else, but it's just as likely that he won't. But really, that doesn't even matter. What matters is right now. And right now I have a young son who happily announces "I'm gay." And I'm so proud to be his mom.

So interesting!!!