November 24th, 2007

Happy 21st birthday, Sean Cass! Welcome to the awesome world of being over 21 for the rest of your life. Do it big, keep it classy, and have no regrets. I owe you a night on the town when I get back, and I plan on getting you exceedingly intoxicated. Sawa?

Thanksgiving actually went off pretty well! Karissa and I ended up cooking the turkey that we got at TAJ SUPERFOODS (!) sort of like a pot roast. We got it butchered into four pieces at TAJ SUPERFOODS, then browned it in the sufuria (these aluminum pots that are everywhere in Kenya), removed it, cooked some veg and spice in the pan, re-added the turkey, covered it with more spice and chicken stock, then let it simmer for about an hour. It was actually quite tasty! We realized that neither of us had had turkey at all while in Kenya, and considering that Turkey is my Default Sandwich Meat, it was wonderful to taste the big bird again. I attempted my mashed potatoes but failed: what is termed “sour cream” in Kenya is actually crème fresche, so they turned out rather dairy-tasting, but not bad once covered in gravy! We also sautéed some green beans, carrots and peas and opened that delicious bottle of South Africa wine, so all in all, a successful attempt for an African Thanksgiving. But it also intensely heightened my desires to cook, and I can’t wait to get back into my spring green Williams-Sonoma apron in Awesometown and do another Makeup Thanksgiving with PIES and SWEET POTATOES and CRANBERRY SAUCE. Ooooh American Food, I am ready for you.

Last night Karissa and I ended up going out with a dozen or so Peace Corps volunteers who were staying in our hostel, as they had come into town for the holiday. We went to an Indian buffet for dinner and then for some dancing and drinks afterwards, but honestly, I was amazingly unimpressed with the lot of them. Though of course, it was nice of them to invite us out along, that’s kind of the Wazungu code of conduct around here: you see another whitie, you speak in familiar, flat American English and see what they’re up to in Kenya. Also, they have entirely turned me off of Peace Corps completely, both by their demeanor and their commentaries about doing Peace Corps. They were Public Health Educators, but very few of them were actually doing anything related to public health. They also all seemed to be in it for all the wrong reasons – like they graduated school and all they knew was they wanted to travel, so they signed up for the PC. None of them seemed to have any solid direction in their field work, either. One girl said of Peace Corps, “It’s the one job you’re too embarrassed to want to quit.” So yeah. They’ve been in the field for about six months now, and not a one was like “Peace Corps is great!” so I’m pretty much scratching that off the list of post-graduation possibilities. Which is a shame, as I’ve always toyed with the idea. But at the same time, I’m thankful that my path gets to be that much clearer. Ask and you shall receive, yeah?

Today I began to write the actual body of my ISP. Here’s the thing: our guidelines say that our ISP is not to exceed 40 pages. I wrote the first half of my introduction/context today and I’m already on page 15. So yeah, that page limit isn’t happening. Listen, I’m going to be hardcore, and they can stop reading at page 40 if they want to. The arguments that I will seek to make in my discussion/analysis of field work section require connections to several large themes, so those themes must been at least cursorily addressed in the introduction. I can’t talk about why seropositive women can’t afford to buy formula for their children without a discussion of poverty in Kenya, nor can I make an argument for the scale-up of PMTCT without a discussion of why 60% of HIV infections in sub-Saharan Africa are in women! Dudes. You’ve gotta be thorough. But I’m loving writing this. I’m pretty much getting to write out everything that I’ve been thinking about over the past couple years and frame my arguments with copious footnotes. I may have a thing for footnotes. What? Academia is sexy. Mmmmmmmmmmfootnotes.

I rode boda-bodas the other day! There are two kind of boda-bodas: bikes and motorbikes. In both situation, you sit on the back of the bike and pay the guy between 10-30 bub for a ride to where you want to go. We are outlawed from riding them by our program officially, but fuck that! I’ve heard they’re dangerous, and they obviously are because Kenyans don’t observe any kind of traffic laws and you’re just sitting on a bicycle with matatus whizzing past you and tuk-tuks cutting you off, so I didn’t ride them in town, just back and forth between Lumumba hospital and town. I rode a bike there and a motorbike back. I must say, both experiences were absolutely terrifying and AWESOME. My main thought while riding both of them was, “Well, this is sure a stupid way to die,” but I arrived safely at the end of the ride, if not a little shaky. Riding side-saddle on the bike in my skirt was perhaps one of the most Kenyan things I’ve done. Now that I’ve had the experience, I must say the motorbike was rather fun. It was the first time I’ve ever ridden one, and I’m a total hypocrite for riding it without a helmet, but helmets are a foreign concept here, kind of like personal space. For me, though, I’ll stick to tuk-tuks: my life is worth the 20 shilling (33 cent) difference between the two.

Oh, I’ve never explained what a tuk-tuk is here, have I? They’re one of my favorite things ever now, and in another life I want to be a tuk-tuk driver (although I’ve never met a female one). They’re kind of hard to explain, so I’ll have to video a ride for you. They’re called auto-rickshaws elsewhere in the world, and they are tiny, three-wheeled cars with a driver who uses a handle bar (not a steering wheel) to steer, and a seat in the back that holds up to three people. They are often brightly painted and named, like that matatus here, and they are noisy and vibrate-y and bumpy and SO MUCH FUN. It’s kind of like being in your own little bumper car/go-kart. I really wanna GET one in America, but I doubt they’re street legal. I can just see myself tuk-tuking up to Weaver St to buy bread and milk, oh the joy.

New obsession: British Premier League Football. I’ve actually missed it over these past couple weeks, because my baba in Nairobi and I generally watch a match every other day or so after dinner. The boys are all so athletic and just damn talented! Games are interesting, as I’m beginning to realize how much of the play is actually away from the ball, and it’s a beautifully simple game. I haven’t picked my team yet, but I’m leaning towards my baba’s team, Man U, which I know is SO cliché because they’re awesome. My mama is a Chelsea fan, and Drogba is fantastic as well, so we’ll see where I end up.

New love of Africa: MINI-BANANAS. As many of you know, I am not a fan of bananas. But in Uganda, when I was absolutely famished on safari, I tried one of these mini-bananas that are everywhere in East Africa. They’re about the length of your palm, and they are the BEST THING EVER. They taste sort of like a banana, but sweeter and smoother and far less yucky. So yes, Mini-bananas. My potassium intake is rockin’ at the moment because I’ve gone through like two bunches this week.

Also: FutureSex/LoveSounds is an effing brilliant album. I had it on all day as I was annotating, footnoting and editing my paper, and good Lord does it rock. Favorite line of the day? From “LoveStoned: “She look like a model, ‘cept she got a little more ass.” Thank God, JT. Thank God. Also: “Let me make an indecent proposal, let me take you to the back and do what we suppos’ta.” BRILL. 

Things I am looking forward to upon my return to America, besides of course seeing everyone that I adore again:
-Burritos. Good Lord, there is no Mexican food here to speak of.

-Sweet tea. mmmmSouth.

-Just American foods in general. Spaghetti and pasta sauce. Dessert. Starbucks. Sandwiches. Fresh vegetables. Salads. Flavor in my meals. ;D

-Cold liquor. And ICE. Both concepts are largely foreign here.

-Being able to walk down a street without being cat-called.

-Being able to show my knees in public.

-Being able to wear my hair down in public.

-Being able to wear tank-tops in public.

-Being able to walk alone at night.

-Being able to go out for the night in a miniskirt, dance scandalously with a random pretty boy at a club and not be violated. Oh, how I want to go dancing as I go dancing. You just can’t do it here – if you are on the dance floor without a guy, about five or six come immediately around you and try to pick you up. A woman dancing without a man here means “Hey! I’m easy! Come and get it!” And the way I would dance just makes it worse. Earwax.

-DRIVING. Oh, how I miss it.

-Cold weather! It better snow in St. Louis while I’m home. One nice, big storm that makes you stay in all day and drink hot chocolate by the fire in pajamas because everything is shut up. I would love for Katie and Jess and Jason and Tyler to experience that, as you just don’t get storms like that in the South. Omg prospective snowball fight and sledding! Do they even own winter clothes? Anyway, moving on:

-High-speed internet.

-Easy access to international news.

-Paved roads.

-Universal toilets that flush and have SEATS!

-Universal use of deodorant and toothpaste by the general populous.

-There always being water and electricity around. Seriously, not having water for days at a time = suckstown. 

This all makes it sound like I’m dying to be home, but that’s not the case at all. Kenya is brilliant, but at times, very trying. I’m much better at America than I am at Kenya, even though I’m exponentially better at Kenya now than I was upon arriving here on Day 1. And all of these things aren’t really big deals and are just minor fancies I’ve been having, although the excessive chauvinism is getting a little tiring. Part of it is just Kisumu: there are so few wazungu here that we stick out like sore thumbs, and when there are fifteen boda-bodas on the street corner trying to get business, it’s bound to happen. But the constant reduction of women here to combination baby factories, cooks and maids (and I say this with little if no hyperbole) grates often on my American, liberal-arts college-educated sensibilities.

I also know that re-entry is going to be shocking, perhaps even more shocking than my initial cultural adjustment to Kenya. Unbelievably, there is only one month until Christmas, which means in less than a month I will be, God-willing, back on American soil. Absolute madness! But I am every day looking more forward to seeing familiar faces. I have a lot of work and a lot of distance to cover between then and now: three more countries, many more bus rides and plane flights, and perhaps a few final lessons from my time here in Kenya. I’m not worried, though. Africa and I have unfinished business, and I’m nearly certain that these last three weeks won’t be the last time I’m ever in Africa.

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