When I arrived in Kisumu I was not met by Ed or Paul as I had expected. I stepped out of the bus from Nairobi... after the most grueling eight hour ride of my life so far... and it was a beautiful young kenyan woman who greeted me. "Cyndra!" as if she knew me. Her smile was bright and she automatically gave me a welcomeing hug. As the boda and taxi drivers crowded in around us, with their competitive heavy sales, she wisked me away with authority giving them all a stiff shoulder....with a smile. We walked through the night streets of Kisumu towards Ed's apartment. We had been in strange communication for the last few hours. A communication that was new to me then, but has already become a daily part of my life here, text messages or SMS. It was confusing because I had not really known who I was communicating with, sometimes it had been ed and somtimes it was Phanice I later found out... very very confusing. Anyway there we were in late night Kisumu with no way to get a hold of Ed and Paul. Their phone apparently lost and the guard at the gate not willing to let us into their apartment building. What to do?!? "why don't you just come to our place for the night", her friend Joanne had met up with us. "OK" I said and we walked another half mile up the street.
The streets are paved with a gravely red shoulders to walk on. The only other people we passed were on foot or boda bicycles. We sqeezed through a gap in a cyclone type fence and tip toed around a freshly planted bean crop, across the crabgrss yard and over some cement chunks and muddy trenches.
Their home consisted of a 12'x12' room with cemet walls and windows far above eye level. On the wooden plank door was a padlock and aross the breeze way is a stall with a hole in the floor for a latrine. It is quite common in Kenya not to have a toilet, less to clean up and perhaps less desease spread, good old healthy squatting.
Outside the door was a large black water barrel that caught the rain from the roof and a few plastic tubs for washing. Inside the room was a rug and a large foam bed. Their clothes were neatly folded in piles on the floor and their shoes carefully lined up along the wall..... mostly flip flops of different colors and designs. There were a few bowls of food in the corner and a clock somwhere for I heard it ticking throughout the night.
We all fit comfortably on the mattress and I pulled out my muslin sheet and the sweet little pillow Dav gave me. I feared through the night about mosquitos. I have heard many varying reports about the nightmare malaria: the malaria mosquitos only come out between midnight and 5:00am in the morning....they don't buzz, silent attackers.... it is only the infected females.... the malaria mosquitos only come out at sunset and sunrise.... they are not infected near Nairobi but definately west of there. I had decided to use preventative manuevers, sleep under a mosquito net, use deet repelant and wear a night cap and long sleeves. One out of three made me very nervous.
Joanne and Phanice are best friends, they work together, play together, and live together. They are 23 years old, bright, healthy, beautiful young girls. They have thinly braided hair, flashy white smiles and star spangled banners in their eyes. All their lives they been bombarded by adertisments for the big, beautiful, prosperous, USA! Everytime I open yahoo or google here the pop ups shout.... get your life time green cards here.... do you want to work and live in the US.... American visa available. Mount Elgon Park is two hours away but they have never gone there, Uganda and the white nile.... crocodiles and hippos, eagles and monkeys...but they have never crossed the border. They have never seen Mount Kenya or been to the beach, they dream about lands far from here and far from their culture. When Phanice saw the photo I took of her and her cell phone she exclaimed "Oh, I look like one of those American black girls" They each have their photos posted on the international bride web sight. They each have an American boyfriend that they have met and try to keep in touch with. They know they haven't got it quite right yet.... so they keep on hoping and waiting.
They are privilaged, they are independent women that are supporting themselves. They are among the few that have jobs here. They work in a chinese restraunt and get paid by the month. Their shift is eight and half hours, six days a week, but normally it runs of over a few hours per shift. They have good jobs here and recieve 3,000 schillings a month, that is about 50 dollars. Rent is 2,000 schilling. Unfortunately their particular boss is sexist and they are put in akward positions at times. Holding fast to their standards they are often punished by being moved to his other establishment on the bad side of town, where the pay is 2,000 schillings. The second night I was in Kisumu a fellow worker was attacked on her way home. She had paid for a taxi home, for they often work until 1:00pm, but had not made it up to her residence. Joanne had asked her to call when she arrived home to make sure she was safe, but their converstion was interupted by a man voice. The next day Phanice and Joanne visited Emma in the hospital, she had been badly cut on her face head and hands. I realize that without the money they recieve from the "mzungus" they meet and interact with their life would be even harder.
There are many street boys here, I have seen them sleeping on the sidewalks at night. Every day I am approached by begging hands. One more observation I will throw in here, are the 'glueboys' as Paul refers to them. The poor young boys here get addicted to sniffing glue from converted water bottles. I have seen them wondering aimlessly, completely goofy behaivor after sniffing.....destroyed brain cells I imagine.
Over lunch one day we talk about their families. "I love my mother" Joanne sighs, "she is so great". Phanice speaks of her steadfast mother who raised all four of them by herself, "she has even banded trees and has worked gathering...... to feed us all. It was hard for her". Woman raising generation after generation. Yet when I asked Joanne what she is doing in life, what is she working towards, a dreamy look passes over her and she says she is waiting for Mr. right to come along.
I don't understand how it all works, but I can't help wondering.... is it changing or does the same story happen generation after generation? Does each generation see the viscious cycle and try to mend the wrongs or do we pass down the same old info to our sons and daughters? Life is so different all over the world and yet it seems to be generic... washed into a muddy mixture of the same people. The world is definately getting smaller and the problems of Kenya are the problems of the world, each step towards spreading the wealth is a step towards healing the world. Ed keeps saying " we're here to help, aren't we?" Sista's have each other, we are all connected and have the strength of the whole. Amani
