Kenya Day 16:
After sixteen days of living in working in Kenya I have finally forced myself to begin blogging. The first sixteen days have been both eye-opening and inspiring in so many ways. I quickly learned the stark differences in Kenyan and American culture by pushing myself out into the community and trying to communicate with the villagers in my minimal Kiswahili.
I have been working at ACCESS which is a Canadian NGO in Kakamega that basically runs nine nonformal schools in Kenya for students who might not otherwise have been able to attend school due to the fact that they are either orphaned, homeless, sick, or simply destitute. ACCESS also provides secondary school scholarships to the top students on each of its centers along with healthcare and gender equality-based education. In addition to these services ACCESS also supports a microloan fund that supports its students in small business start-ups not only by means of the loan itself but also by running vocational education workshops and supporting the students in finding outside vocational training. This organization's approach to sustainable development by supporting education and small business plans in the hopes of creating a more competent and fulfilled generation is certainly a seemingly effective way to tackle the issues of poverty, health, gender discrimination, and education in Kenya and a model for the third world in general. However, as inspired as I have been by ACCESS, this organization has simultaneously pointed out both the positives and negatives of the Kenyan government.
While the Kenyan government supports its people by providing healthcare for everyone including free treatments for AIDS and malaria which seems great, a lot of their intentions seem ineffective and almost halfhearted. For example, Kenya has made all primary schooling free for all of their citizens in the past couple of years in order to help achieve the UN Millennium Goals. However, while upholding this goal and achieving global acclaim, it must be noted that the government is only providing free schooling; the parents must still pay for books, food, and the ever-pricey uniforms that many families simply cannot afford. Because of these costs, groups like ACCESS are forced to exist.
As interesting as witnessing the effects of Kenyan politics has been, what has been even more intriguing is realizing the culture that has promoted these politics. Kenyan culture is the direct product of extreme social divisions along tribal lines. Citizens will vote for members of their own tribes to hold public offices. Therefore each election is a competition between candidates to gain as many tribes as possible and turn them against the opposing tribes who often differ not only in geographic regions but also in specific ethnicity. What is even more interesting is that the older generations of Kenyans are the ones who are now more likely to vote for a candidate from an opposing tribe out of a frustration stemming from the lack of progress in Kenyan society and a lack of change in political power. However the youth generation, who one might expect to be more progressive and more accepting, are the ones most likely to only vote for members of their own tribe. Clearly the progress that Kenya needs to elect a new wave of government officials who will enact greatly needed social reforms is moving in the opposite generational direction.
Along with the cultural effects of tribalism, I have also borne first person witness to the societal effects of a culture based on honor. About four days ago I began to feel very sick. Obviously believing in my hypochondriac-prone mind that I was a victim of malaria, I set out to the local doctor who has been acclaimed "the best doctor in Kakamega." The last thing I remember is walking in the door to the office. The next thing I knew I was waking up with a throbbing headache in an African hospital bed with my pants pulled down and "the best doctor in Kakamega" about to insert what looked like a ten inch needle into my left butt cheek. Obviously I screamed bloody murder. Amidst my attempts to knock the doctor and quickly amassing nurses out, the doctor reluctantly reshielded hid weapon and tried to calm me down. He explained to me that I had fainted and hit my head and they had been unable to wake me up for ten minutes so he needed to inject me with a hydrocortizone shot. My mind immediately racing back to my ninth grade health and AIDS education, I told him that I would need to see him open a new needle and sterilize it in front of me first. Apparently this was a huge insult to "the best doctor in Kakamega" who abruptly let me know of "my mistake" by listing his medical credentials and family affiliations and bloodline along with reprimanding me for my "rude and typical American skepticism." Seeing that we had gotten off to a bad start, I decided to leave with the doctor still lecturing me and get my malaria test at a local hospital. I had put my own health above the honor the honor of the doctor, and in Kenya that is not how things are done. My natural skepticism of African medicine and inclination towards my own safety had greatly wounded the honor of the doctor.
Well it turns out I only had a stomach virus and not the dreaded malaria, but Kenya had its own punishment in store for my "rude American ways." Not only did I have to listen to the demeaning lecture and rants of "the best doctor in Kakamega" for basically twenty minutes while gathering the strength and courage to leave, the next morning I woke up with poison ivy all over my face. Little children literally shyed away from the natural disaster that was my face. Who knew that mangos in Kenya are grown next to poison ivy? Was this a lesson in Kenyan karma? There is no way to be sure.
* sorry for typos and formatting ; I am doing most of this blogging via blackberry due to lack of internet and computers and my obvious lack of desire to leave my house recently due to my facial condition
