Adventures in East Africa Part 1

Pheewwww this past month has been hectic! I've seen and done so much I am going to need to break these posts up into several editions. As for now I am back and ready for my second year at St. Luke's! I love to travel but it feels great to be right where I belong. Karibuni Ginnie's Safari!

With the school closed it was time to head out on my adventure. My friend and myself planned to go to Western Kenya and Uganda, to get a sense of the other side of the country and visit a country I have been interested in for some time.

Driving through the Rift Valley I am always amazed, not only is it the birthplace of humanity—its beautiful, and now that the rains have begun, it felt alive. As we continued west the farms that lay on top of one another became infrequent, the land turned greener and greener; trees, forests, rivers, small mud huts and grass roofs passed by. Kericho was filled with tea fields wet with rain and people gently picking each leaf all along rolling hills and forests set the backdrop. Finally we arrived to Kisumu the third largest city in Kenya, beside the great Lake Victoria. The streets were filled with “boda bodas” or bikes fixed with cushions for passengers to sit on and the streets were clean and unlike Nairobi or Mombasa not filled with honking horns and traffic. We enjoyed some of the best fish I have ever had, and caught the tail end of the sunset on the lake. The next morning we walked down to the lake which was covered with lily pad type plant that extended out into the lake for at least a kilometer, I was told this was an invasive species and millions of shillings were spend on removing it. The lake is massive, and borders three countries.

We headed out towards to Siaya the home of Barrak’s father and where much of his family still lives. We met another Volunteer in the area who showed us around. Since the election she has become a local celebrity, and accepts visitors everyday. I could see from the sign in sheet filled with thousands of visitors from Kenya and all over the world. We passed the primary and secondary schools that Barrak opened. Her house was as big as mine in Embu and we sat under an expansive tree and waited. Finally Barraks stepsister, informed us that Mama Sarah had malaria and was resting. We chatted for a few minutes with her and wished Mama Sarah a quick recovery and headed out for another delicious meal of fish!

The next day we headed out to Kakamega, the last little circle of what used to be the Guineo-Congolian forest ecosystem stretching to central Africa. Today it looks like a small island within a sea of farms and towns. Within the park you feel closed off from the encroachment ( although during one hike we could hear the consistent hum of a chainsaw in the forest). The rainforest is cool and bursting at the seams with life! Everywhere you look there is life, trees killing each other for the suns gaze, termites eating the left over’s, ants underground tunnels, and of coarse the monkeys! Colobus monkeys are black and white have long white tails, walking into the forest , you see a shake in the tree and you can guarantee it is monkey gathering, they jump from limb to limb with acrobatic ease. The main source for anxiety and sense of “ were not at home anymore” was the baboons. These guys are everywhere, and they are big! The first day we decided to hike up to the “ viewpoint” to get a view of the rainforest, the hike was simple enough and we situated ourselves on a rock for a moment only to discover baboons surrounded us. We were reassured that these baboons were afraid of humans, and did not attack but seeing these guys up-close bulging muscles, and 2 inch fangs, I didn’t want to take any chances. We had planned to climb higher to a wooden perch but each path we took we were greeted by baboons, who didn’t look as if they were going to move! So we made our way back down to trail only to be greeted by more baboons! My friend’s theory was that my singing could scare anything away and it work a rousing version of “ hakuna matata” did the trick! The baboons walk into the thick bush and literally disappear. We stayed in bandas which were identical to those used by people in the area, mud and thatched roofs, we were beat and fixed some PB &J and slept to chorus of forest night.

The next day we took a long hike to a small waterfall and trail along a river. Miles through the rainforest I just gazed at the hugeness of these trees and life within this ecosystem. The trail wasn’t marked very well, and at times I was sure we were doomed to walk the rainforest for years, but we jumped, climbed, and crawled our way through the forest. We had yet another meal of PB&J a quick gaze at the stars, and dreams of Kisumu fish.

The next day we headed out of the forest and our intended destination was Kampala the capital city of Uganda. This is were the beauty of traveling in Africa comes in; and this is a really abstract beauty, like those paintings where you pretend to see the meaning, but in your head you’re saying this makes absolutely no sense! We headed into the Kakamega town and enquired about how to get to Uganda, we were told three different routes to take and thanks to our masterful planning neither of us had a map, a guide book, or any idea geographically about which direction to go! I somehow remembered that Busia was closer to Uganda then Webuye, but were told that there was no direct route to the town we would have to board a matatu to Mumias and board another matatu there. Matatus were just as the always were—cramped and crowded. Due to the fact that I had a huge bag I had to take the first row of seats, not so bad but the engine is underneath you and on your shins which can melt your shoes. Of coarse in true Kenyan style I resembled Garfield stuck to the side of window as six people occupied the row! The matatu also broke down half way through and we had to wait for another one to switch into. I was stuffed into the front row again, but was disturbed when the door had some trouble closing. When another passenger got off I was moved to the front seat, luckily, because as we took off; so did the door. We waited as the driver and other villagers tried their best to reattach it, which worked! Finally we reached Busia the border town where we bought our Visas and reached Uganda! Once again we had no idea where we were in Uganda and which direction Kampala was, or how to get there, or Ugandan currency. We remedied our money woes at the bank and were lead to matatu going to Kampala full of hay literally! I had to hold my big bag on my lap for the 4 hour trip, I could barely feel my leg. We laughed at the differences in Uganda and Kenya, while stuck in traffic, we actually sat in the traffic and waited, in Kenya this would never happen, the side paths become roads and you can always get ahead! In general people of Uganda were relaxed, and very friendly.

We eventually headed out to Jinga to raft the mighty Nile River. Jinga is where the river take root from Lake Victoria, this place is the renowned by explorers for “the source” of the great north running Nile. We stayed at a camp on the banks of the river, which was beautiful. We enjoyed watching the sunset over the river and monkeys jumping from tree to tree. The next day we prepared ourselves for rafting. The rafting is regarded as some of the best in the world, having class 5 rapids, and pools of calmness. I am not one for really worrying but when I saw some videos of rapids before our trip I was a bit nervous. We teamed up with two other travelers, and had the craziest guide, who ended up being rather entertaining through out the trip. We were told to jump into the water to see if we could swim, handle the temperature, and basically not freak out. Then we were taught how to forward paddle, back paddle, and other commands on how to turn left and right. We hit the first class one rapids and we glided through, we continued through a few class 3, then finally to a class 5. My strategy was to stay focused on paddling to try not to notice the rapids flowing all over and jagged rocks. The first class 5 we were told forward paddle and I used all my might until a huge rapid like a wave was flying towards my face, a rush of water I could see the boat and my shipmates flip. In the water water I held on to my paddle with a death grip, the river pulled my down, and I could see greens, blues, black, then finally white, I wanted up, I wanted air! I popped up for a moment I sucked in the air, but was dragged down once again, I was washed pulled left and right until I was up again, AIR AIR AIR, I love air. I spotted the “rescue boat” and was pulled aboard. I tried to spot my friend and saw her on a “rescue kayak” she was on the other side of the river and I could only imagine the journey she was on!

We hopped raft to raft until we were finally back on our raft, the next rapid was called 50/50 because you have a 50/50 chance of flipping! We were given instructions to “forward paddle” and we headed straight into the churning water, any attempt at making it through was quashed by the rapids; we rapidly flipped. I held onto the boat but was mercilessly sucked down into the Nile, I was tossed around helplessly, I craved air! I tried to calm my mind but lost it when something hit me in the face ( a foot or a paddle) I surfaced gasping for air and could hardly get my mind to focus enough to hold onto the boat. Finally I gained compose and flipped the raft, again my friend was on the other side of the river, she told me a similar story of being caught under the river. The rest of the journey was more relaxed as we ate pineapples and crackers and enjoyed a bit of a swim. This leisure time was only momentary because in the distance we could see the sky turning black—rain. Behind us the sky was bright in sunny, yet here we were heading straight into a black abyss! The wind picked up and was blowing against us, we now had to paddle but we were all exhausted, but every time we stopped we were blown back, so we all resolved to paddle hard until we got there. The rain was pouring and made us all very cold, but finally we reached the next rapid.

This rapid was the most technically difficult to manage it involved leaning to one side and back paddling all to avoid—a waterfall. Well needless to say we were all exhausted from paddling in the storm against the wind, so when the time came to paddle hard we ended up beached—at the waterfall. Our guide then informed there was only one option at this point and it was to go down! The waterfall wasn’t so big but it was still a long drop, I was sitting in the back and as we went over I could see the boat tumbling vertically and in a big flop, we were down, in one piece, we all screamed and whooped at our success! The next rapids looked menacing but we went down an easier route because the water was low making everything more choppy, we ended our day with a uphill hike, in the mud, barefoot. The day concluded with a buffet of barbeque choma, which was needed! The whole day was loads of fun and something I would do again in a heart beat!

The next day we headed into Jinja town and enjoyed just wandering around the town, and drinking Mountain Dew (impossible to find in Kenya) and passion fruit Fanta (also not available in Kenya). The next day we were Kenya bound! I enjoyed Uganda, the people were friendly, the land was beautiful, I hope to return again and explore different parts.

Oh the life and times

I board a matatu first scoping out my favorite seat- it is taken this time, so I settle for a window seat. As I sit a crowd of grown men gather and start tapping at the window. Tap Tap "Hello Sister" Tap Tap " Mzungu" Tap Tap " Promote me today". At this point I realize I will never own a fish again. The tapping reminds me of playing with my Beta fish Fred, trying desperately to get a reaction from him ( sorry Fred, R.I.P). After living (close too) this town for one year, I imagined this would stop; it has not. The town is just too big, and mzungus too few ( I've counted 12 in the past year, most just going to the supermarket) I am a main attraction. I have learned to take these reaction with a grain of humility and humor, but it is still difficult ( I have had my first gray hair to prove it)!

As we begin the journey multiple people are literally breathing down my neck, I become a contortionist, as I twist a turn, fitting more and more people into the vehicle. Arms tucked in, neck turned to one side, balancing my bananas on my leg, matatus are never full; there is always room. I look out the window to the rolling mountains and changing sky. My mind runs through a labyrinth of thoughts, my eyes traces the shambas, the mountains, the jacaranda trees, the maize stalks, the clouds, I am in my own world, fully present but magically gone. The driver stops in front of the sign St. Luke's Special School and again somehow weave myself out.

Here it is among the watchful eye of Mount Kenya looming in the West tucked in between the hills in the distance, my own personal slice of happiness. The students perched on top of a termite hill point and sign my name, the race begins. Three young boys race to help me with my bag, Ken the fastest little kid always wins out, but I always find something for Paul and Martin to carry. I always pass Bernard sweeping the dirt, his smile would melt even the hardest heart.When we reach my house the crowd has formed- asking me to play frisbee or catch or color or read. I tell them in a bit , and hurriedly unpack my things and head out.

Jackline and Faith spot me in the distance and they come running towards me with arms open hugging my legs as I approach. Rebecca and Stella now spot me and each grab an arm, I twirl them in circles until the giggle with dizziness. Others join we play, we dance, we climb trees, we practice sign language, we practice spelling, we throw balls, we chase, we fall, we are happy. The wind whips through the grass and it tickles are feet. The evening is approaching and we watch the sky change colors.

My one year in Kenya has been a tapestry of thoughts, stories, feelings, awareness, but the common thread of happiness has been my students. They define every moment, this school has given me, a place to be.

I am not a farmer, but I pretend!

Sarah: The kids have no pencils.
Me: I just gave the whole school pencils a few weeks ago!
Sarah: They probably ate them, these children eat everything.
Me: A whole pencil...they would eat it.
Sarah: Yes.

This was not a signed conversation but I thought it was amusing; in fact I have many of these conversations through out the day which are always funny!

So the rains have begun, finally after nearly a year of living in Kenya I have yet to experience the full rains...until now! Everyone is very happy, and are even thankful for the tons of mud stuck to their feet! I told my students how in America we sing song for the rain to go away! A few of my students were curious to know the song, but others refused to sign the song because rain means that food grows, without the rains there is no food, its interesting the lesson you are taught by a 10-year-old.

Since everyone in my area is busy planting and tending to their farms I decided I should do the same. I am currently attempting to grow tomatoes (Nyanya), green pepper (Ho Ho) and cilantro (daniya). So far the chickens have learned to scale the gate I built in August, although I did not see the chicken myself the children reported back to me; Ginnie: 0 Chicken:39,876. I love eating chicken now but merely for vengeance! We will see how or if I get any food from this shamba but working with the kids with it has been fun at least.

Another result of the rains is having no dry clothes! I have been attempting to dry my jeans for 3 days. Today I just got greedy, the sun was shining and the birds were singing, they were basically dry except for a few inches, I thought " hey why not", torrential down pour...that is why not! So I guess it is getting another rinse, along with all my other clothes!

The rains also bring bugs, so many bugs, good thing my bug tolerance is at an all time high, now I days I casually pick the beetles off instead of flailing to get them off. Of coarse at first when I jumped from a beetle attack the kids laughed and then ate the beetle, go figure. Catching flying termites is the new past-time at my school. The termites come from the ground and normally the kids just find the hole and pop one in, just like a candy, right? There is also a method of hitting your sweater against the ground which somehow gets the termite? I have to be explained this again, I think. I will fully admit I have eaten termites myself (this somehow reminds me of the 2nd grade when people use to tease "Ginnie eats bug" now I can say yes I do) they are not bad, kind of taste like fried eggs.

The term is wrapping up as we prepare for the KCPE, the final exams, essentially. I am busy with reviewing, and also trying to pull things together for the new group of Volunteers coming in tomorrow! We are planning an HIV/AIDS camp and 4 of my students are going! I am very excited to meet the new group, and have my kids participate in the camp!

A Kenyan Birthday

“And in the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years.”
Abraham Lincoln

Patrick, the bravest 3-year-old you'll ever meet ( and chronic dirt eater)! This is my door he is looking up into, he was attached to my leg the first 2 weeks of school.

Embu Town from my birthday hike, and you can see the edges of Mount Kenya, and if you look closely the purple circle of Jacaranda trees .

My birthday cake and celebration!

Once a year a day rolls around—some dread it, other relish in it, but to me birthdays are meant to be celebration of another year lived. This month has not been the easiest for me, I’ve spent more time in the hospital then I care to mention, and outside of the hospital in bed, sick. So this week when I finally felt better, (after nearly 3 weeks of being sick) I decided I wanted to celebrate and appreciate my health on my birthday. Birthdays aren’t really celebrated here, in fact most of my students don’t know on which day, or even which month they were born! Naturally I didn’t expect much when I told my neighbor my birthday was coming up; yet while I was at the hospital I received warm text messages that I should have “a quick recovery, that my birthday celebration was being planned”.

I finally returned to school I knew what I wanted to do for my birthday; climb a mountain. Behind my house there is a mountain in direct view, I love watching the sun travel around the mountain; changing the colors of the sky and the mountain itself, blue in morning, sweltering red in the evening, and finally a deep purple, before darkness covers the land like old familiar blanket. I stare and admire this mountain constantly, so naturally this would be my birthday gift to myself! My friend and bike partner (the school’s watchman) agreed to climb it with me. To my surprise he arrived right on time to hike, I was on Kenyan time and had not yet eaten. I made my favorite dish quesadillas (I even sprung for cheese in town) with mango salsa! The watchman had never had cheese before, and I tried to explain it was not butter! So we enjoyed our meal and headed out.

We hiked past the river—full from the rains, which have begun. Walking through shambas greeting children, and nearly everyone who crossed our paths. I could tell a few minutes into our journey that I had made a rookie-hiking mistake: wore the wrong shoes. I had never wore these shoes before, but I felt my hiking boots would be to heavy especially since I had been assured that this hike would be an hour ( of coarse all of our trips are always supposed to be an hour, but normally last 5, I should of known). I continued on with the discomfort, but aware of a possible problem ahead. We climbed up gently sloping hills; green from the recent rain, admired valleys dotted with farms, all while under the watchful protection of Kirinyga ( or more commonly known as Mount Kenya). The sun seemed closer, an intimate friend tapping on our backs trying figure out where we were going. A gentle breeze whipped through and provided much needed relief. The sky was the most vivid blue, speckled with puffy white, endearing, clouds. We hiked on dirt roads that I assumed would lead us straight to the top. We stopped at a farm to confirm the route. My friend spoke in Kiembu but I could make out the family pointing into the bush, yes, technically I could see a path, but I could also see how one could not even walk standing up through this path because a canopy of thorny bushes was arched together. I decided we should try a less menacing route. We walked up the road until we found a more open path and continued upward. From this height I could see the town of Embu; protected by a circle of purple (Jacaranda trees are in full bloom this month). Behind the town the expansiveness of Mount Kenya was overwhelming. To the East I could see my school; which was just dot amongst the rolling green hills. At this point my feet were throbbing with pain, I check and confirmed that my toes were raw-- blisters popped. We continued upward but the path we followed just disappeared! We would scout path, after path only to find it leading straight into thorns. We tried several different paths finally deciding to descend, to avoid going further and further into the bush. On our way down we encountered the same problem trails leading to oblivion of thorns. I began evoking my “ Man Vs. Wild” skills which I soon realized were few ( its been too long since I’ve seen it!). To make things worse descending only made my toes beg for mercy, the pain was overwhelming I had to remove my shoes—because of this my feet were exposed to thorns and other things on the forest ground, but I preferred that to excruciating pain of wearing my shoes. We continued through the bush, pole pole
(slowly slowly) until we were surrounded by bush, but we could tell the road was close—we finally decided we would have to crawl through an archway of thorns to get out. Ginnie Vs Wild, I seriously looked like I got into a fight with a tree, twigs poking out of my hair, dirt on my face, and scratched on my arms and legs, but we were free! We reached the main road again and I walked barefoot through the village, my feet pounding on the red cracked dirt. Most people in my village cannot afford shoes and most walk around barefoot anyway, although seeing a “mzungu” without shoes was truly a shock! Losing the path had taken a lot of time, now the sun was setting I could see it transforming the area to a peaceful purple, yet the sun itself was a perfect ball of orange adjacent to the mountain. Finally we arrived to familiar land by nightfall, taking each step into complete darkness, I made it home.

I quickly examined my poor feet—luckily due to nearly a year of solely wearing open toed shoes the bottom of my feet are like steal, if only that could be said about my toes, I’ll spare you the details but it was gross! My neighbor’s children came to inform me that I should come over in one hour’s time for my “party”. I showered, and prepared myself and headed over. I could see a table with cake with pink frosting with the words “ happy birthday” written on top! I smiled with excitement and joined my neighbor’s family and a few staff members at the table. I was meant to cut the cake with my “best friend” I choose my neighbor’s small daughter. We cut the cake and was informed I was to be feed—this 9-year-old with fork in hand choose the biggest piece that I was eat in one bite! I did my best and then was informed she had to serve me a drink, this cup being pushed towards my face I feared I would choke, but ended up fine! I was sung happy birthday many times and given a nice card, and of coarse as with every Kenyan celebration we ate….goat.

My first African birthday was a success! I am truly grateful to be healthy once again, to have so many wonderful people who care about me, and of coarse indebted to my parents for raising me (I think we should celebrate “mothers day” on our birthdays whew 9 months of pregnancy)! Getting older for some people is difficult, and yes getting older brings a variety of emotions about life, but when I think of what a crazy, beautiful, hilarious adventure my life has been thus far, well I say bring it on!

Juma nne

“I long, as does every human being, to be at home wherever I find myself.”
Maya Angelou




(pictures of pencils that my friend sent from the states, which my children loved!)


This is the last term of the year, but it has been the most unusual term for me thus far due to series of illness. I'll spare you the details, but it included being the potential 1st volunteer ever to have swine flu; which then to come find out I don't have, but rather just the normal flu.

Being sick and far away from home is an interesting experience, and something that has happened often. In Ghana stuck in my dorm with malaria scare,in Bolvia with dysyntery, and now in Kenya with everything under the sun! Health care varies place to place, but I think the most telling thing about being sick is where you long to be instead of the hospital. I spent two days in Nairobi hospital; and every minute I wanted to be back at my school.

I've spend nearly one year here in Kenya and everyday I forget any other way of life. Bucket baths, purifing water, everything starting hours late; all seem normal to me! Being stuck in the hospital really made me appreciate how much I love my job and how I long to be back "home". This term I teach nearly double what I have before, and it has been a challenge. Most of my students cannot read, or write. I handed them a blank map of Africa and only one knew where Kenya was. I feel so disappointed in the system that had failed these children, but more then that I feel a great challenge in myself.

Somedays I want to cry for these students but I know by just expecting more from them they are growing. One of my students always comes from home with a frigthened look on her face. She seems very uncomfortable with human interaction-- but she lights up with excitment if you ever praise her, and to me moments like that make all the difference. I have seen real progress in a few of my classes-- my KSL class is now, number two for languages in the whole district. I have seen their confidence and curiousity expand and it makes me so proud! Now all I have to do is get healthy so I can return to teaching.

In the past month I had some friends visit from the U.K., I met them in Ghana when I studied there almost 3 years ago. I was very happy to see them after so long and surprised how I felt as if nothing changed. Ghana was an experience that really shaped my life, and it felt "full circle" to showing them around my home in Africa. We exchanged stories from the years gone by and it I showed them my glamous life style! They were blown away by my ability to sleep on a matatu. They said they were saying their prayers and I was dreaming! They tend to be over crowded and therefore stuffed and with all the potholes its like being rocked in a crib, alternatively people has described it as "near death", but I guess its all up to interpretation!

So far less interesting stories here in Nairobi! I have been eating very well and enjoying the company of other Peace Corps volunteers, and the awesome medical staff here, but I hope to be back home soon!

What is your Tribe?

A few weeks ago I was asked this question by an official Kenyan enumerator as part of the census which was occurring. I was taken by surprise because I have never been questioned on my “tribe”, I haphazardly replied “American?” and the census taker marked a number. I left feeling a bit overwhelmed, “what tribe was I?” I repeated in my head. I knew just “American” would never fly in the States, but I have never been sure the answer to this in the states either.

Tribe is a loaded word here in Kenya. After the post election violence where many people suddenly saw each others “tribe”, people who lived and as neighbors for years suddenly became enemies. Teachers attacked their students, the line of friendship and humanity was now blurred between my tribe or not.

Tribe is defined as “a social division in a traditional society consisting of families or communities linked by social, economic, religious, or blood ties, with a common culture and dialect, typically having a recognized leader” I am not sure I could say my community is very “traditional” but then again what does that mean, they keep traditions? From what I can see the Embu people have variety of economic, social, and religion within their tribe, and this is one of the least populous tribes in Kenya. What makes us belong and others not?

When I came to Kenya I expected to come across a lot of resentment amongst people from different tribes—but what I have encountered is almost the opposite. My neighbor commented that she did not want to reveal she was a Kikuyu on the census. Living in a Kikuyu dominated area, I ruled out the possibility that she feared discrimination from others. She simply said, “ I am a Kenyan, and I am teaching my children they are Kenyan”. This is a statement heard across the board from people in my area. This proclamation makes me hopeful about the future of Kenya, but also a bit rueful.

While in the Peace Corps office I stumbled upon a book “ Embu historical text”, it was accounts from village elders who described the oral history of the Embu people. The teachers at the school saw me reading the book and told me how I probably knew more about Embu then the Embu themselves. I tried to discuss the practices the book described and was told “ oh I think my grandfather told me about that, but we don’t do that anymore”. They seemed remorseful for not knowing more, but suggested that modernizing meant change. Is losing culture the price for a better, cohesive, society?

In the U.S I have come across so many bubble sheets questioning me on my “tribe”, I mean “race”. I have always felt uncomfortable answering these questions. I read each bubble looking for my place. My father is from the U.S would that make me white? The text next to White ( not of Hispanic origin), but that would be a lie. My mother is from Guatemala. I would fill both out and was reprimanded to “choose one”, but both felt like a betrayal to the other.

Coming to Kenya, has changed the way I think about “ races” and “tribes”. I can easily say to Kenyans “ I am American” without further questioning; which is impossible in the states. In a way its freeing to not explain “I am half this, half that”, and sometimes feel I am proving my “Americaness”. I also feel a pang of loss, I am part Guatemalan, a rich culture that I believe sometimes more closely resembles Kenya then the States. Is cultural ambiguity the answer, or is there a balancing act of holding on and letting go?

In my experience living amongst other cultures, I have also noticed despite the extreme variation in culture, there is a common thread of humanity that transcends all else. Sharing a belly laugh with Chinese friends in Shanghai, being moved by the kindness of a Bolivian postal worker, sharing a gaze and moment of understand with Ghanaian woman out the window of my tro tro, feeling unconditionally loved by my family in Guatemala, there has to be something said about our ability to see each other as one tribe-- of humanity.

Fast News

Pole sana for the lack of posting. I have been quite busy with training and various meetings and due to power rationing in the country have had a difficult time connecting. Here are some quick updates on my life.

1. I am very happy and proud to be a first time aunt to my beautiful new nephew! It's an interesting experience to be abroad during the time, and of coarse there is a hint of sadness to being so far, but it gives me a reason to go home in 2011.

2. I have restarted my shamba! Few friends and myself built a gate to keep animals out, the process involved climbing tree and cutting off branches to make the posts then buying chicken wire to close it up. This I hope will inspire me to keep it up during the school year). I also (in a fit of boredom) painted all the rocks outside my house bright green, I'll post pictures soon!

3.I have finished an amazing book The Invisible Cure: Africa, the West, and the Fight Against AIDS. I highly recomend this book to anyone working in Africa or anyone interested in HIV/AIDS in Africa.

4.I am very excited to have people visiting me within my service! I cannot wait to make plans and see loved ones and share what has become such a huge part of me.